Cover Art By Tango

By LadyKate

"Storm's coming.”

Xena looked up at the sky blanketed in dark bluish-gray clouds, shielding her eyes from the dazzle of silver at their edges. As if in response to her words, wind swept over the hills, flattening the silky grass, flapping at the horses' manes, startling the trees into loud rasping whispers.

"We can wait it out in that village." Ares pointed to the huddle of tiny houses in the valley below.

"Race you there," Xena shouted over another gust of wind. The first heavy droplets hit them as they rode down the hillside, and they barely had time to wrap themselves in cloaks before the downpour began. They raced the storm then, lashed by slanted jets of rain, squinting and gasping as the cool water streamed down their faces. By the time they reached the village, torrents of muddy water were rushing down the main street, splashing in cascades from under the horses' hooves. Luckily the inn was nearby. As they tied up their horses in the shed, a tow-headed kid of about twelve dove in to ask, "Take care of your horse, Miss? Sir?", and Ares threw him a coin before Xena could say that they'd do it themselves.

Leaving the boy to his task, they picked up their bags and ran inside the inn's murky warm anteroom, where rainwater pattered into a bucket on the floor. They looked at each other and laughed breathlessly, their cloaks and hair dripping.

The stocky middle-aged woman who had come out to meet them, a candle in hand, gave them a sullen look as if she were not only taken aback but almost offended by their mirth.

"You'll be wanting a room?" she asked, scratching her arm under a worn-out woolen shawl.

Xena nodded, taking off her sodden cloak and shaking off her hair. "Yeah.”

"That'll be four dinars." The innkeeper turned and shuffled ahead, leading the way around a corner into a narrow hallway. "If you want to warm yourselves, there's a fire in the kitchen," she said grudgingly as she let them into the room.

After the door closed, Xena threw down her saddlebag and looked around for a place to hang up her cloak; she found nothing more suitable than the backboard of the bed. There was no other furniture except for a wicker chair with a ripped seat and a tripod by the bedside. The room, too small to look bare, had a blatant shabbiness about it, unrelieved by so much as an attempt at decoration; the air was soaked with a dusty dankness, and when she lit the stubby candle on the tripod, it was hard to tell the shadows on the coarse wooden wall from the stains and streaks of dirt.

Xena got out of her armor, sat on the bed and began removing her boots. She looked up to see Ares take off his vest and turn to her; the candle's reflections glittered in the tiny beads of water on his face and chest and deepened the soft brown of his eyes.

"So," he said, throwing the vest down on the chair. "We can go down and sit by the fire in the kitchen -- or -- we can get warm right here.”

Xena's leather tunic and skirt landed on the chair, on top of his vest. She flopped back on the bed, smiling, listening to the racket of the storm outside.

"Get warm right here," she said.

* ~ * ~ *

It had been about five months since she had sailed to Lemnos with Ares, and Gabrielle had gone her separate way.

The first few days, on the boat, had been the worst. Xena had spent most of that journey withdrawn into her own world, a world filled with Gabrielle. Her mind had swarmed with memories of friendship and love, of fishing and cooking together and scrubbing each other's backs in a tub, and listening to Gabrielle's stories by the campfire; of Gabrielle's face made helpless and almost bewildered by the pleasure of lovemaking, of laughing together and facing death together; of all the times when she had kept her humanity thanks to Gabrielle's stubborn compassion, and when she had watched in horror as life's cruelties threatened to crush Gabrielle's light. Other things came to her too: images of Gabrielle somewhere out there, riding through the countryside, lonely and hurting. Ares had quickly given up on trying to distract her or lift her spirits, and had limited his attentions to bringing her food, dragging her outside when she spent too much time cooped up in their cabin, and gently prodding her back below if she was still up on the deck late at night. At the sight of him, or even at the thought of him in those days, anger and guilt had jostled and pulled inside her, leaving little room for more tender feelings.

She had stood on the deck staring into the empty sky, and what stared back at her was the fact, as implacable as death, that she had let Ares separate her and Gabrielle. It struck her that she had been so moved by Ares' love and his sacrifice because she had considered him incapable of love and selflessness; had she taken Gabrielle for granted because Gabrielle had always been good and loving and giving? Ares had changed for her, and that made her feel good -- knowing that she had helped a tiny spark of light grow inside the dark god to whom she had once been bound through her own darkness. That was it: she'd been so busy patting herself on the back for being Ares' guiding light that she had lost the friend and soulmate who had guided her, without whom she couldn't have stayed on her path. Maybe she had taken -- stolen Gabrielle's light and given it to Ares. That thought clenched like a stiff cold hand around her heart, the chill of it tingling right through to her fingertips.

Sometimes, in those long hours of looking at the sea, pacing around the deck, and lying on the bunk, she wanted to resent Ares and couldn't; sometimes, she resented him and hated herself for it. Xena reminded herself that he hadn't driven Gabrielle away, and that he hadn't seduced her; she was the one who had gone to him on the farm. (Once, the thought squirmed into her mind that it was Gabrielle who had told her to go to him; but she quickly flinched away from it --she would not sink so low as to blame Gabrielle.) Whatever she could hold against him, all he had done since then was love her and share in her life, and risk his life to save her daughter, and finally give up his godhood for her again. If she froze him out now, she would be punishing him for the best there was in him. Only, at that point, she wasn't sure she had any love left to give.

In the six nights on the ship, she and Ares had made love once, after that disastrous first time. They still bunked together, and she still wanted him; except that, no matter what her body wanted, something was wilting and dying inside her soul. One night, when they settled on the bunk, she felt him shiver and draw in his breath as her hand slid over his thigh, and suddenly she couldn't resist touching him through the thin linen of his pants. He shook under her touch and made a stifled sound, and the heat rose inside her in response. Already on top of him, she thought of Gabrielle and almost willed herself to stop; but he pressed into her urgently, his breath thick with need, and she knew she couldn't do this to him anymore -- even if she could do it to herself. She wanted it to be quick, but he grabbed her hips to slow her down, and then another wave of heat overtook her and she thought of nothing else.

When it was over, she kissed him and laid her head on his chest; but, instead of contentment, the dismal emptiness of the last few days began seeping into her again. Ares pulled her up and stroked her face, sweeping back her hair, and she knew that his tenderness was the hardest thing for her to bear right now. She jerked her shoulder, and he let her slip out of his arms and turn away. A few moments later, he kissed her neck, and then the warmth of him next to her was gone and she heard him clamber up on the upper bunk. She stretched and turned on her back, torn between guilt and relief.

Once they had reached Lemnos, with no trouble from the pirates, things got better. Xena was on the job now. The pain of losing Gabrielle was still there, a constant presence, or rather an absence always felt like a lost limb; but shutting out pain when she focused on the task at hand was nothing new. And her bond of comradeship with Ares was tangible again, even if the ghost of her loss still hovered between them like a patch of chilly fog.

The pirate band, rumored to be anywhere from twenty to a hundred strong, had long eluded capture, spending a lot of time on the open seas and then hiding out in different places on the island's rocky shore. A few times, the government of Lemnos had sent out as bait a merchant ship that carried an undercover fighting force disguised as merchants or slaves; but, by some unerring instinct, the pirates always stayed away. Xena wanted to infiltrate the band, and got the local authorities to agree to a risky scheme: she would go to the pirates with a tip about an incoming merchant vessel laden with goods, and the Lemnians would send a messenger ahead to warn the ship's crew to offer no resistance.

Wearing borrowed leathers, not quite as eye-catching as their regular clothes and more fitting for the role of down-and-out warriors trying their luck on the wrong side of the law, Xena and Ares went over to the rocks and caves on the shore in the hope of bumping into the pirates. It wasn't long before they found themselves staring at the sharp points of half a dozen swords. The chief, Nikia, a tall redhead whose strong angular features were marred by a badly healed broken nose, listened dourly to their story and made it clear that she suspected a trap. Finally, she said she would go after the ship -- on one condition: the two new arrivals would stay behind, chained, closely guarded, and ready to be killed on the spot if the band ran into trouble or didn't return by noon the next day. Xena coolly agreed, signaling Ares with her eyes to play along, and they let themselves be disarmed, manacled, and chained to the wall of a dank cave, with nothing to do except watch their guards play dice.

"Why do I let you drag me into this stuff?" Ares grumbled, only half-joking as he tried in vain to get comfortably seated, and Xena felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Because," she said softly. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he flashed her his wicked little grin.

"Oh yeah," he said. "That's right.”

The chain was long enough for her to move over and kiss him, and they barely heard the hooting, clapping and lewd suggestions from the guards.

The hunting party came back at dawn with the loot, and Xena and Ares were freed and given their weapons back. "You can stay," Nikia said, then added, "Finders' fee," and threw each of them a small but hefty pouch of gold coins.

"You know we're giving those back, right?" Xena said when she was alone with Ares in the nook in the pirate caves where they were told to set up their sleeping quarters. He gave her a look of innocence that twinkled into a smirk -- "Riiiiight..." -- and then she came up, grabbed his ear and said, "Hand it over.”

He yelped and told her to stop it; "Come on," she purred gleefully, pulling harder, and he finally reached into his pocket for the pouch. Someone snickered behind her, and they turned to see a stocky henchman of Nikia's who had come over to bring them sleeping mats and blankets. The pirate shook his head and guffawed louder: "Girlfriend keeps you on a pretty short leash, huh, soldier?" Xena saw Ares scowl and ball his fists; she put a warning hand on his arm, and after a moment he broke into a smile and said conversationally, "Trust me, you don't want to get her pissed off.”

That evening, as they sat by the fire with the pirates, eating roasted meat and drinking wine seized from the merchant ship, Xena glanced sideways at Ares, and it occurred to her that he wouldn't have had any qualms about joining the pirates for real -- if she had been game for it. The idle thought floated through her head that he would have made a very dashing pirate; in the next moment, shock at entertaining such an idea even in jest made her shudder inwardly, as if she'd burned her fingers. Was Ares thinking about it too? From now on, she would walk her path with a companion who cared nothing about the greater good. But he cared about her, she reminded herself; he cared about her, and he would fight with her for as long as she would have him. And she would never be tempted to go back to her old ways ... would she? Xena looked up at Nikia as the pirate chief sliced off a piece of lamb's shank, juice dripping from the blade of her dagger, firelight glowing on her tanned face and sparkling in the rings on her fingers. She didn't want this kind of life anymore. She thought of what Gabrielle had told her when they said good-bye: She would be all right. Maybe someday, she'd be able to trust herself, too.

Later that night, she and Ares made love in their corner of the caves, trying to make as little noise as they could, muffling each other's cries with kisses. Afterwards, the thought of Gabrielle came back to yank her out of the warm cloud of drowsiness; and still, she was almost happy. They were silent for a while, until he said, "So you keep me on a short leash, do you?" Xena chuckled into his chest and murmured, "Somebody has to." He laughed softly - "I didn't know you were into that kind of thing" -- and kissed the top of her head; this time, when sleep's heaviness crept up on her, she let it fill her and take her away.

They stayed with the pirates for a few more days, during which Xena learned that the band had been able to steer clear of earlier decoys by placing spies as passengers on ships departing the Lemnian port. Once she and Ares were trusted enough to have the run of the place, the next part of her plan wasn't that hard: setting fire to the pirate ship, not only to destroy the vessel and start a panic but also to reveal their location to the Lemnian militia waiting for a signal to attack.

From the overhead cliffs, Xena and Ares watched as the pirates ran out of the caves and scurried about, shouting in vain for the sentries who had been knocked out, bound and gagged; their torches, fiery points surrounded by quivering misty haloes, added to the deep ruddy glow from the blazing ship. A few large rocks pushed down the cliffside to block their way toward the ship added to the chaos. Nikia looked up, her wild hair gleaming copper in the eerie light; either she managed to see Xena and Ares or she figured everything out without seeing them, but she shook her sword in their direction and let loose a string of curses, calling them traitors and dogs. She yelled something to her crew, and three men started climbing up the rocks; Xena's chakram took down one of them and made the other two falter. Moments later, hoofbeats clanking on stone heralded the militia's arrival.

"Let's go," Xena said and slid down the rock before flipping to the ground. She turned to see Ares jump after her and wince as he landed awkwardly; she was about to ask if he was all right but one of the pirates was already charging at her, his face crimson from rage and from the fires' reflections. Xena recognized him as the one who had taunted Ares about her keeping him on a short leash. As he swung his sword and sputtered, "Bitch!", she heard Ares shout behind her, "I told you, you don't want to get her pissed off!”

Soon enough the man was on the ground bellowing and clutching at his wounded hip, leaving Xena and Ares free to move on to their next opponents; she noticed that Ares was limping a little and started to tell him to be careful, but he gave her a hard challenging look and she knew that she had to let him take care of himself.

The battle was a short one; most of the pirates were already wounded or dead or throwing down their weapons by the time Xena confronted Nikia. The pirate chief had a dark bleeding cut on her cheek and another jagged one on her arm, and her voice was hoarse but strangely calm as she said, "You're Xena" -- having obviously heard militia members call out the name. Nikia raised her sword abruptly; Xena blocked it, and found herself face to face with the pirate, staring into her dark green orange-flecked eyes.

"Shall we give them a good show?" Nikia said, her face twitching in either a sneer or a grimace of pain, obviously determined to go down as a good loser. Xena had to remind herself that she was doing the right thing -- that this woman and her band had not only looted but killed and sold captives into slavery. Their swords clashed again; even without looking back, Xena knew that the rest of the battle had stilled and everyone was watching them.

Nikia fought well -- well enough to get in a kick that sent Xena sprawling with barely enough time to parry her blade, but not enough to last much longer after that. A few more moves left her disarmed and backed up against a wall of rock with Xena's sword at her chest. "Come on," Xena said, every gulp of air hurting her throat. "Give up -- they'll spare your life.”

Nikia stared at her, fear and scorn struggling in her bloodied face as short gasps rushed from her lips; then her right hand went for the dagger at her belt and darted out, in a thrust intended less to kill than to invite a death blow. The flat of Xena's sword slammed down on her wrist; the woman's cry drowned out the thud of metal on flesh and bone, and the clatter of the dagger on the rocky ground. Nikia crumpled to her knees. As two Lemnian officers came up to take her, Xena turned and walked off, sheathing her sword; but there was no turning away from the sound of Nikia's choked groan as they bound her hands.

"That was good," Ares said, squeezing Xena's shoulder. There was an odd lack of enthusiasm in his voice, but she wasn't going to dwell on his moods.

She showed the militia where the pirates' loot was; the goods were still being loaded into bags when she and Ares headed toward their horses. When they were getting in the saddle, he said suddenly, "She wanted you to kill her, you know.”

"We can't all have what we want," Xena snapped, ramming her boots into her horse's sides with a hardness that made her wince in the next instant. She was hoping he'd drop the subject; but as they trotted off, their way illuminated by a swaying circle of yellowish light from the lantern in Xena's hand, Ares pressed on.

"You think you did her a favor? Letting her live like a caged animal instead of dying like a warrior?”

Xena glanced back; the burning ship still reddened the night sky, and she could see the captive pirates being herded together for the march back to town, but it was too far now to see which one of them was Nikia, and the voices on the beach were fading away and mingling with the whooshing breath of the sea. Xena sighed and lifted her lantern, peering ahead to make sure they stayed on the path.

"She'll have a chance to turn her life around," she said reluctantly, and heard Ares chuckle in response.

"You really think everyone should buy into this atonement thing," he said. Xena pressed her lips tight and urged on her mount, irritation and vague alarm starting to churn inside her. She wished Gabrielle had been there.

They didn't speak again on the way back to town; but after they got to the inn and dismounted at the stables, Ares caught her hand and held it, and there was no mockery or doubt in his eyes as he said, "We make a good team, huh?”

She let him draw his arms around her and leaned against his warm chest, closing her eyes, listening to the rustle of hay, the soft snorting of the horses, the flapping of tails on sleek hides. "Yeah," she said, her fingers winding around his. "Yeah.”

They had four days to wait for their ship. On the second day, Xena was busy mending another rip in her boot when Ares came up to her and said, "Let me have that.”

She looked up in amusement. "You mend boots?”

"Watch me," he said. She handed him the boot; he examined it skeptically, then drew his dagger and began methodically slashing at the leather. Xena was so stunned that by the time she jumped up, grabbed his wrist and shouted, "Have you lost your mind?", the boot was quite beyond salvage. He dropped it to the floor, looking with satisfaction at the crumpled heap of his handiwork, and then turned to her, grinning brazenly.

"There's a cobbler's shop around the corner," he said. "We're getting you a new pair of boots." She wanted to hit him or kiss him or both; in the end she shook her head, gave him a look of mock exasperation and said, "Let's go." He glanced at her feet and asked if she was going barefoot, and she told him that if he tried to carry her, he'd pay for that and for cutting up her boot.

At the shop, Ares slouched by the wall and watched as the cobbler, a wizened little man with a wispy gray beard, measured her feet. When the old man was done and asked Xena what kind of leather she wanted, Ares spoke up before she could, and told him to use the best. The cobbler pointed out rather timidly that the tab would come to ten dinars; "Eleven if you get them done by tomorrow morning," Ares parried, ignoring Xena's furious tug at his vest. The old man looked caught between excitement and doubt; Ares reached into his pocket and showed him the money, which led to a burst of wheedling thanks and assurances that the job would be done.

"Wait a minute," Xena cut in. "I am not paying eleven dinars for a pair of boots.”

"That's right," Ares said smugly, "you're not." Before she could say another word, he added, "Paid in advance," and threw the gold to the cobbler who pocketed his fee with a speed that belied his frail appearance. She wasn't going to pry a handful of coins from an old man, and there was nothing left to do but go back to the inn.

Out in the street, she whipped around on Ares and demanded to know where he got the money; her heart took a steep dive at the sight of his mischievous smirk. "You -- you took it from the pirates," she whispered.

"They're not gonna miss it, are they?" he retorted, but her dismayed look wiped the sly satisfaction off his face. "Oh, come on, Xena" -- he rolled his eyes -- "you think it's better if the king and his moron councilors collect all the loot?”

"It's supposed to go back to its rightful owners," she said through clenched teeth, turning away.

"Yeah, supposed to -- if they ever track them down," he snorted, following her as she strode toward the inn, her bare feet kicking up billows of hot pale dust. "Do you know how much they would have had to pay anyone else to take care of their little pirate problem?”

"I'm not anyone else," she shot back, the blood pounding in her ears. She was already inside the inn when she realized that Ares wasn't behind her.

For the next hour or so, Xena lay flat on the bed trying not to think. Then he came back and told her to come with him.

"What else do you want to buy me with stolen money?" she asked bitterly.

"Dammit," he said, "just come with me," and she sat up with a sigh and put on sandals and a cloak. Their destination turned out to be a street corner in the shade of bright-leafed poplars where two Hestian sisters in white robes sat at a table collecting donations for the town orphanage. Speechless, Xena watched Ares empty a pouch of gold coins, at least fifty dinars, into their bowl. As the two women stammered their thanks, Ares pondered something for a moment, then reached into his pocket again, pulled out a pendant -- a cluster of pearls on a silver chain - and tossed it in as well. Xena wasn't sure whether she was more moved or appalled; but when his other hand lightly squeezed hers, she squeezed back. They had already started to walk away when Ares turned back, leaned on the table and said casually, "Hey, if Aunt Hestia pops by, tell the old girl Ares said hello." The sisters already looked too stupefied for their plump dimpled faces to register any additional shock.

On the way back, he said dreamily, "That thing would have looked good on you." She sighed -- "Ares, did you really think I was going to wear jewelry from pirate loot?" -- and then stopped and turned to him; the anxiety in his eyes made the rest of her anger ebb. "I'm proud of you," she said, even though she wasn't sure that she should be. They kissed, and then walked the rest of the way in silence, his arm around her waist. When they were back at the inn, he came up behind her and asked quietly, his hands on her shoulders, "You'll wear the boots, right?" She chuckled and elbowed him lightly in the side. "I'll wear the boots.”

He had one more surprise for her during their stay in Lemnos. The next day, he disappeared for a few hours, and when he returned with Xena's brand-new boots, he rummaged about in his pocket, held out his hand and opened it to reveal a sparkling ruby on a chain.

"It's not from the pirates' loot," he said quickly, before Xena had time to be horrified.

She narrowed her eyes at him: "Then where's it from?”

"Trust me," he said, "this one's rightfully mine." Then she guessed it; her eyes dropped to his gauntlets, and she grabbed his wrists and turned them and saw the empty spot where the stone used to be. This time she wanted to kiss him or cry or both, and part of her still wanted to hit him for making her feel like this. "Just because you've got principles doesn't mean you shouldn't have a pendant," he said smoothly, fastening the chain around her neck. "There.”

"Don't do it again," she said and leaned forward to give him a short tender kiss. She didn't have the heart to ask how he had paid for the chain and the setting.

When they returned to Maroneia, a letter from Gabrielle was waiting for Xena at the inn. It was the kind of letter she might have written if she had left for a brief visit. She described her journey, and passing through a village where someone recognized her and she suddenly had to tell tales of her adventures to a large eager audience; she wrote about coming back to Potadeia and staying with her sister and niece, making friends with Lila and Sarah's new calf, helping them fix the house -- all very ordinary, except for what was left unsaid. At the end, there was an "I hope you're well," and then a small blot of ink where Gabrielle's quill had paused, and some scratched-out letters that might have been the start of an "I love you.”

Alone in the room, Xena read the letter again from the beginning, and then started again at the middle, and skipped to the end again. "I should've read more of your scrolls," she whispered, belatedly realizing that she had said it aloud. It had taken her five years after they'd started traveling together -- five years before she finally read one. One. So she had never been much of a reader; but hadn't she owed Gabrielle that much? Selfish -- selfish. The tears she'd been holding back finally got the better of her, and a droplet fell and smudged a couple of letters. She ran her hand over the scroll, the papyrus dry and brittle under her palm, and then rolled it up slowly and put it away.

Ares didn't ask about the letter when he returned with cold cuts and bread for their supper, and she didn't tell him anything. After a quick silent meal, she undressed and got into bed, lying on her side with her face to the wall. He climbed in next to her; there was hardly more than a finger's width of space between them, and she could feel the warmth of him on her skin, hear his breathing, until he sighed loudly and tossed about for a bit, jostling her with his shoulder and elbows, and finally turned his back to her. Xena closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cold, scratchy, dusty wall, and thought of Gabrielle.

When she woke up at dawn, she felt warm and comfortable and good; then she realized that somehow she'd snuggled up to Ares during the night and settled into his embrace, and she didn't know anymore if she felt comfortable or trapped. After a few moments she tried to wriggle free, only to hear him sigh and feel his arms tighten around her; before she could let herself go all sappy at his wanting to hold on to her, she clenched her jaw and freed herself with a jerk. Ares stirred and mumbled some sleepy vexed question, his eyelashes fluttering half-open; "I have to go out," she said sharply, and didn't look back at him as she pulled on her tunic and walked out of the room.

She went down to the outhouse and then over to the stable, the damp straw on the ground prickling at her feet. As she patted Argo's sleek golden head, and Argo nuzzled her shoulder in response, it struck Xena that this was where she had last seen Gabrielle; these wooden stalls, these rough-hewn beams had witnessed their good-bye. Argo flicked an ear and gave her a reproachful look. The quiet of the stable, with its familiar munching of horses and the crisp rustle of hay and straw, had suddenly grown oppressive, as if everything here were waiting for something -- for someone. Waiting for Gabrielle to come back, only she never would.

Back in the room, she told Ares to get up and get dressed. "Come back to bed first," he said, but she looked the other way and started to put on her boots -- the boots he had bought her with stolen pirate loot.

"I want to get out of here," she said. Out of this inn, out of this town.

They left Maroneia and turned off the crowded main road, and rode in a dull, heavy silence. By the evening, when they made camp, Xena couldn't bear to be so alone anymore. As she started to spread out her bedroll near the fire, she caught Ares' stare and nodded, silently inviting him to join her. He came up to her, and she felt a twinge of shame at the thought that she'd been giving him the cold shoulder all day through no fault of his. "I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his hand, and heard him sigh in response. When they got into the bedroll she reached for him, silencing him with a kiss when he tried to speak, stroking him until he was ready and then moving on top of him. Then it was done, and the brief aftermath of pleasure drained from her body; and she was still alone with her grief.

She was sharpening her sword the next morning when a blade clanged sharply against hers; caught by surprise, she jerked her hand and dropped the whetstone in the grass, and nearly let go of the sword. She looked up to see Ares standing over her, sword in hand, a strange hard look on his face.

"It's sharp enough," he said. "Now do something with it.”

She gave him a questioning frown. "Come on," he said, jabbing the tip of his sword at her weapon.

"Not in the mood," she muttered, lowering her eyes and picking up the whetstone, but he jabbed again, more forcefully - "Well, get in the mood, dammit!”

"Leave me alone," she snapped, only to have him knock the sword from her hand and taunt, "Are you going to let me beat you?" Really pissed off now, she grabbed the sword and jumped up and parried his next blow, and in a moment they were dancing their elaborate weave of steps and jumps and spins around the black patch of the campfire's remnants. As they fought, some invisible fog seemed to lift, and suddenly Xena was aware of the smell of fresh grass, and the babble of birds in the trees, and the happy gurgle of the nearby brook and metal swishing through the air, and the sting in her upper arm where Ares' blade had nicked the skin, and the sweat sliding down her face and neck, and the wispy bits of clouds in the gleaming sky.

They fought hard, and somewhere along the way her anger turned to elation. Ares kicked her sword away, and she charged him before he could have her at the point of his blade, taking them both down, turning his wrist to make him drop his weapon before he could recover from the surprise. Then they wrestled in the cool dew-silvered grass, and she felt a surge of desire far sweeter than their coupling the night before, a desire so wonderful that it didn't even matter if it was satisfied or not; and, knowing that he felt it too, she laughed as she dodged his attempt to pin her to the ground.

All was well for a few days after that, until Ares woke up one night and heard a strange, low sound, and realized that it was Xena; lying on her stomach next to him, she was weeping in quiet choked sobs that would have racked her whole body if she'd given them free rein. A hollow, chilly ache grew in his heart. He wanted to turn her around, hug her, let her head shake under his hand and her tears soak into his chest; but something stopped him. Maybe it was the knowledge that in her place, he would not have wanted her to see him like this; or the thought that he couldn't very well comfort her over a loss that she no doubt blamed on him.

She had too much passion for living to let herself drown in sadness for long; eventually, something inside her rebelled and pushed her to come up for air. It helped that there was always work to do -- bandits or thieves or slavers to be dealt with, a burgeoning civil feud to be stopped in one town, an unjust execution in another -- and that a good fight was always just around the corner. It helped that there were rivers and lakes rich in fish, and valleys where one could ride at a gallop and feel the wind's rough caress on one's face. It helped that most of the time they took a greedy tender joy in each other's bodies, and that they loved each other.

But still the sadness was there. Occasionally, Xena would wander off into the woods on her own, ostensibly to hunt or lay traps. Once, she was gone so long that Ares followed her. He found her sitting in a small murky patch of sun-dappled clearing, hands folded in her lap, tears running down her face. She didn't see him approach behind the cover of trees, and he retreated as quietly as he could. When she returned to camp with a dead partridge, its head dangling pitifully from the twisted neck, she looked calm and composed; he ventured an uncertain, "Everything all right?" and she curtly replied, "Fine.”

There was a day when he thought he was going to lose her.

It had started out well enough, when they arrived in the nick of time to save a village from being torched by some thugs who were extorting money from the peasants. Ares nearly got himself killed charging three of the hoodlums and getting ambushed by a fourth, and then again pulling an unconscious woman out of a burning house. When it was over, Xena tended to the bleeding cut on his chest and the burn on his arm, and asked, in a teasing tone that didn't quite cover her concern, if he was trying to prove something. "Like what?" he asked, wincing as she put a stinging herbal balm on his burn. "Ooh ... that you're mortal," she said lightly. "I already know." He chuckled with her, and reached for a kiss when she was finished with the poultice; but they were interrupted by peasants eager to thank and to gape at their saviors.

Talking over each other, several villagers explained that the thugs worked for a group of women who had taken over an abandoned temple of Hera nearby, claiming that their prayers had resurrected the great goddess and demanding tribute for her worship. Xena shook her head and promised to do something about it (meanwhile, Ares had to stifle a laugh at the thought of the Twilight of the Gods being fodder for yet another human scam). One of the village elders, a portly graying woman of about fifty, invited them to stay for dinner, and then asked Xena, "You remember the time you were here some thirty summers ago, don't you?”

She didn't. The woman launched into her story, and the moment Ares heard the first words of it he knew this was going to be bad. "This warlord, what was his name again? -- oh yes, Kirillus -- he had an army all set to take our village; I remember it very well, you see -- my father was our chief elder then. Well, then you took his army from him and brought it here -- there was this man that you thought was your father, and -- “

Xena cut her off with a grim "I remember," and added that they had to leave right now and wouldn't be staying for dinner; some fresh water from the well would be enough. Clucking her tongue in regret, the elder sent a couple of boys to fetch the water and begged Xena at least to accept some bread and wine for the road. While they waited, she turned to the crowd and continued her tale. "She thought, you see, that our people had beaten her father to death, and she was mad enough that she could have destroyed the whole village with that army -- only her friend stood up to her, a mere slip of a girl she was, and made her come back to her senses. And what do you know, it turned out the man wasn't her father at all; it was Ares, God of War, who had taken her father's likeness to trick her into leading an army for him. He was furious, too, when she refused -- nearly killed her, he did, before our very eyes.”

The villagers murmured and gasped, and a teenage girl asked what the God of War had looked like. The elder began an enthusiastic description, then paused to look at Ares -- who couldn't decide if it was worse to direct his eyes at Xena or at the villagers, or down, or up at the sky -- and said, "Come to think of it, now, he looked a bit like Xena's friend over here, only young, and much taller and more handsome of course -- no offense, sir -- after all, he was a god ..." Rescue came in the form of a boy who handed him a dipper full of cold water, and Ares was immensely grateful, both for the water and for something to hide behind. He tried to convince himself that the dread jabbing at his chest was just from the blow to his ego; of course it hurt to think that he had changed so much. Bad as it was, it was better than wondering what was going through Xena's mind.

As they rode away from the village, the memories came back to him. He had been furious with Xena then, and even more furious with himself because he, the God of War, couldn't bring himself to kill a defiant warrior who had dared him to do it. Maybe that was when she had first messed with his mind, and begun his undoing. He also found himself thinking about Kirillus, his devoted follower whom he had so casually set up as a decoy for Xena -- wondering if the man had died from his wounds, or had been left crippled, after she'd beaten him. With a faint, distant surprise, Ares realized that it had been a while since he'd had one of those fits of remorse; maybe because his godhood was really over now, or because he was too busy worrying about Xena. He wished that he had never done any of it -- or maybe that the accursed village had burned to the ground before they had gotten there.

He didn't expect Xena to talk about it -- but she did, after they had been riding for a while. "You nearly turned me that time, you know," she said, her voice bright with anger.

"What do you want me to say?" He was startled by the hollow weariness in his own voice. "I'm glad it didn't work.”

"It didn't work," Xena said slowly, "because she risked her life to stop me. To stop you." Her laugh made him shudder. "And look at us now.”

"Yeah," he said bleakly. "Look at us.”

By nightfall, it was raining, and they took refuge in a small cavern in the steep side of a ravine. Wrapping himself in the thin blanket, Ares huddled in the cave's dank darkness -- the feeble fire they'd made from a pile of damp branches had yielded only fleeting warmth - and wondered what he would do, where he would go if Xena left him. Memories and hopes and fears swirled and tumbled through his head, and somehow, exhausted by this muddle of thoughts, he fell into an anxious jerky sleep.

When he woke up sometime later, the touch of Xena's hand on his arm was the only thing he was aware of at first; then came the smarting of the burn on his other arm, and a blurry, stinging knowledge that something was terribly wrong. Then he remembered, and thought that perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming, because Xena was lying next to him.

"What - what are you doing?" he muttered, not daring to touch her yet.

"I was wrong," she said flatly. "You've changed and I was holding the past against you. It's ... it goes against everything I believe.”

Somehow it irked him that she would drag her principles into this, and he said almost brutally, "You think I've changed? You think I care about your damn peasants? You know why I'm doing this.”

"That's good enough," she said, her palm resting on his cheek now. "You are what you do. You're doing good, Ares. You're doing good." He could see her eyes glitter in the dark as she added, her voice dropping, "It just hurts to remember these things -- because..." Her voice broke off. He caught her wrist and kissed her hand, a lump of emotions he couldn't name rising to his throat.

She crawled under his blanket, and they held each other; the rain had stopped, but rainwater was still trickling down the tangled tree roots over the cavern's entrance. They lay like that for a while, and then she sighed into his chest and said quietly, "I miss Gabrielle..." He knew, dimly, disbelievingly, that what had just happened between them was more intimate than being inside her. He held her closer. "I know," he said.

They didn't talk about it again.

The next day, they got off to an early start; there was still the matter of the scam artists who operated out of Hera's temple. They took care of the problem and moved on -- to other places, other villages, other gangs to be routed. And so it went; they traveled together and spent evenings by the campfire, and slept together, and hunted and fished and swam, and took refuge in country inns on stormy days.

* ~ * ~ *

Ares opened his eyes and closed them again. Outside, the rain and the wind still whipped at the walls and the shuttered windows; the candle had burned out, and the shutters hardly let in any light. The musty odor of the bedding reached his nostrils; but it didn't matter, because Xena lay sprawled on top of him, limp and sweaty and warm, her hair slightly damp from the rain, smelling of freshness and herbs. The sexual excitement he felt now was a low-simmering glow, more a pleasure in itself than a need for pleasure or release. He remembered how they had ridden to the inn, racing against the storm, and smiled to himself.

This was the life he had wanted. Well, not quite; despite moments like these, he knew that that Xena was never quite happy, and never quite his -- perhaps less so than when Gabrielle had been with them. If this was the most he could have, he would make the best of it. It still felt like a miracle to have her asleep in his arms.

* ~ * ~ *

Xandra, when I'm with you, this emptiness that I have felt my entire life -- it's gone.

Gabrielle paused and re-read the line. Her chest suddenly felt tight, and she knew she needed a few moments to compose herself before she could go on. Taking a deep breath, she put her quill back in the inkwell. She wondered yet again if she should have chosen another name for the heroine of her play. Tyra... Kara...

The papyrus was golden in the lamplight, the thin dark shadow of the quill stretching across the top of the scroll. The play was almost completed; she had only to finish the jail cell scene in which Queen Xandra is about to be led to her death, then write the scene in which Corinne goes to the Fates' temple and burns their loom to undo the false destiny created by King Acrisius -- and then the ending in which the heroines meet again in their own, restored, real world.

The idea for the play had come to Gabrielle when she was in Potadeia, about to leave for Athens. The plot had been inspired by re-reading one of her old scrolls -- the one that recorded Xena's account of what happened after they'd foiled a raid on the temple of the Fates. The Fates had offered Xena a chance to start over, erasing her dark violent past, yet she had chosen to restore her old life in order to be reunited with Gabrielle and to spare her the lot of a hate-filled slave. What if, she thought, some enemy of theirs had tampered with the Fates' loom so that she and Xena had not met, had not traveled together -- and then, in their new lives, their paths did cross and they were drawn to each other all over again? Briefly, she had considered giving the bad-guy role to the God of War (it seemed logical enough for a god to be the one to alter Fate), but then realized that, after everything they'd been through, she didn't have the stomach for it. So she based her villain on Caesar: King Acrisius, who had once betrayed and tried to kill the great warrior Xandra, and was ultimately ruined by her vengeance. In the play, Acrisius managed to take the Fates captive and re-weave the thread of his destiny to have Xandra as his ally and his wife. And it worked, until the poet Corinne, Xandra's friend and companion in their real lives, arrived at the court; then the love in their hearts was rekindled, and the queen risked all to save the young bard from the king's wrath.

Gabrielle picked up the quill again and swept her hair, now grown to shoulder length, away from her face.

Who would have thought that she'd have a play produced in Athens? Yet the theater director had enthusiastically accepted Destiny after reading just the first act, and if everything went as planned it would open in couple of months. Sophisticated Athenian audiences would be watching and judging her work. The prospect was both exciting and intimidating.

CORINNE: I can't let you die.

XANDRA: Some things are worth dying for. Isn't that what your poem was about? Being prepared to sacrifice everything for love?

Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Everything for love... Xena was out there somewhere right now. Xena and Ares were somewhere out there right now.

Was there a chance that Xena would see the play? The thought of it made Gabrielle's face hot. Her hand with the quill shook slightly, leaving an inky scratch on the papyrus; she reached over to pick up the cup on the table and take a sip of tepid herbal tea.

SOLDIER: Queen -- it's time.

CORINNE: I'll love you forever.

* ~ * ~ *

It had not been easy.

The journey to Potadeia had been the first time in years that Gabrielle had traveled alone. Sometimes in those days and nights on the road, she had imagined talking to Xena -- about where she would camp and what she was going to eat, about the funny shape of a cloud, about what kind of bird was soaring overhead as if etched into the bright sky, about her fancy that birds were really descended from dragons. When some villagers in a tavern recognized her as the Bard of Potadeia and begged for tales of the Warrior Princess, she wasn't sure she'd be able to get to the end of her story -- the one about how she and Xena helped a group of Athenian soldiers fight the Horde -- without tears. But she didn't break down then, only later that night, in her bed at the inn, when the memories came again, demanding to be let in.

When the cluster of Potadeia's neat little houses were already in sight, it struck her that she was about to see her sister, once her dearest friend in the whole world, and that she had hardly thought about it since leaving Maroneia, preoccupied instead with her separation from Xena. It made her feel ashamed. This should have been a homecoming; instead, she still felt as if she had left her real home. Lila's astonished delight at her arrival only deepened Gabrielle's shame.

Having recovered her daughter from captivity in Gurkhan's harem, Lila had also regained much of her vitality and even her youth. She and Sarah were fixing up the house, which didn't look quite so gloomy anymore; Gabrielle helped them out, grateful for the opportunity to keep herself busy. Sarah mostly kept her distance, but this time she and Lila had a chance to talk about the years that had passed since she and Xena had visited Potadeia with baby Eve.

As days went by, Gabrielle's desire to talk to Lila about what had happened between her and Xena grew into an urgent need; if she could only talk to someone about it, she thought, it would be easier to put it behind her. And she should have been able to talk to Lila. They had never had any secrets; for all the differences between them, and the distances, they had always understood each other so well. Lila had never questioned her passion for poetry or her interest in philosophy, or her need to get out of Potadeia, or, eventually, her love for Xena. She needed that now, to be understood wordlessly, not in some grand gesture of love and acceptance but simply as a matter of fact.

She wasn't sure where or how to start; it was Lila herself who brought up the subject. One night, they sat by the fireplace after Sarah had gone to bed, and Lila asked, without lifting her head from her embroidery, if she and Xena had had a quarrel. Gabrielle sighed, awkwardly smoothing the rust-colored skirt she wore around the house -- much like the one she'd worn when she first left home with Xena, only she had trimmed it to knee length -- and said, "It's ... it's complicated." An uneasy silence crept in between them, and Gabrielle berated herself for her cowardice. She forced herself to look up into Lila's kind eyes, bright and warm from the fire's glow. Thoughtfully, Lila said, "It usually is..." She lowered her head again, letting the shadows blanket her face, and went back to embroidering. After a moment she asked, "Want to tell me what happened?”

Then Gabrielle knew, with hollow resignation, that she would never be able to tell. How could she explain that she had given Xena permission to take another lover -- that the three of them had traveled together -- that she had lied and cheated and plotted in a desperate effort to get Xena back, and had finally had to choose between losing Xena and losing herself? For that matter, how could she explain that even before that, she and Xena had hurt each other beyond words, beyond pain, and still stayed together? Could any of it make sense to anyone ... except the two of them, and -- maybe Ares, of all people? She could only say, her voice drained and colorless, "It wasn't a quarrel really... we just kind of -- drifted apart.”

Lila came up and knelt in front of her and hugged her, and Gabrielle felt clumsy and stiff as she wrapped her arms around her sister. "I'm so sorry..." Lila said gently, and Gabrielle held her closer and laid her head on her shoulder. "I'm all right," she said. "I'll be all right." "Yeah, you will" -- Lila stroked her hair, then drew back and touched Gabrielle's face and added quietly, "I love you, Gabby." Gabrielle's eyes were watering; as she murmured, "I love you too" and kissed Lila's cool cheek, she felt another twinge of shame at the thought that she had shut Lila out, that the special bond between them would never be restored.

Gabrielle stayed in Potadeia for another ten days or so, long enough to discover that she was now a hometown legend. Then she moved on to Athens, as she had planned, and found that her fame had preceded her there, too. She was invited to teach at the Academy of Bards. She had admiring students; she met scholars and philosophers, and successfully pitched her play to one of the city's leading theaters. She renewed her friendship with Virgil, who lived in Athens with his mother and his young brother and sister.

After a long period of neglect, the bard part of the Warrior Bard was flourishing, and it felt wonderful -- sometimes, almost enough to make up for the fact that the person with whom she most wanted to share her success wasn't there.

Of course, there was no leaving behind the warrior part, either. Her students at the Academy wanted to see her in Amazon garb rather than a dress, and sometimes she gave in to their curiosity; some of them also approached her about teaching them her fighting moves. Once, she was on her way home from the theater with several of her students and with Virgil when they found themselves in the midst of a street riot started by supporters of a politician who had been expelled from the assembly on charges of corruption. Before she knew it, she and Virgil were battling the rioters, and she was using a staff she had grabbed from one of the rowdies after downing him with a single kick; they were able to stop the mob from looting a shop before the militia arrived to restore order. When the fighting was over, she received an enthusiastic round of applause from her awed students, and her exploits were the talk of her class at their next meeting at the Academy.

For all the praise, the incident left her with a vague queasy aftertaste. Partly, perhaps, it was the knowledge that she had used her combat skills against people who were not trained fighters -- and who, for all she knew, might have had legitimate grievances, even if they'd chosen a bad way to express them. Partly, it was the realization that having combat skills entailed consequences she couldn't escape: Whether she liked it or not, whether she was with Xena or not, there were times when she would have to either fight or stand by and watch innocent people get hurt.

This stark truth was brought home to her again two months later. A letter from Lila arrived, telling her that Potadeia was involved in a dispute with a neighboring town over a piece of choice grazing land; the conflict threatened to turn violent, and the townsfolk wanted her help. By the time she returned, the rival town, Olynthus, had allied itself with a small-time warlord named Tryphonius and instigated two raids on Potadeia's shepherds and cattle herders; Potadeia's elders were mobilizing a fighting force, and expecting her to lead it. She suggested negotiating an agreement by which both towns would have access to the disputed land; the town council of Olynthus, sure of its victory, refused. Finally, she agreed to take Potadeia's none too confident band of defenders out into the field to meet Tryphonius and his army; and she couldn't deny that she was pleased when, at the mention of her name, an alarmed buzz ran audibly through the warlord's ranks.

"Stay out of this, Tryphonius," she said coolly as their horses stood side by side so that she and the warlord faced each other, an arm's length apart. "Let the town councils settle the dispute; it isn't any of your business." "Well, well," the man sneered, shaking a shaggy mane of graying blond hair, "I expected the Battling Bard of Potadeia to look a little more impressive. Maybe they should've -- " Before he could finish, her arm shot out and she landed a hard punch in his chest, knocking the man out of the saddle; by the time he had scrambled to his feet, cursing loudly, she had already dismounted, and a couple of swift kicks took him down again even before he had time to draw his sword. The mutterings among his men swelled to a wave, but the cheers that erupted among the Potadeians rose even higher.

Tryphonius and his army retreated; Olynthus agreed to negotiate the next day, and when Gabrielle went back to Athens she was even more of a local legend.

And all the while there was a hollow space inside her, an empty core that was Xena's absence. There were times when she hardly felt it, and times when it turned to a cold hard lump -- and still other times when it was a tight knot of pain: when people talked to her about Xena; when she re-read one of her scrolls about their adventures; when she woke up after dreaming of Xena; when Sappho's poem forced itself into her mind; when a letter from Xena arrived, which happened twice. They were short, terse, just-the-facts letters, one informing her that the job on Lemnos was done and that she and Ares were back and headed inland, and the other, three months later, giving a brief account of her recent travels. Gabrielle wrote to Xena as well, sending her letters to Xena's usual mail drops, never knowing when they would be picked up; only they were never the letters she composed in her head.

Occasionally she wondered, with an odd detachment, if she would ever find love again. Virgil spent many evenings at the small cozy house where she now lived. She enjoyed his company, and the memory of the kiss they had shared at the library in Megara was both troubling and sweet. He was warm and affectionate with her, but there was something peculiar in his manner, as if he were waiting for something -- perhaps for some kind of signal from her. Then, one evening, she offered to read to him the first two acts of her play. After she put aside the last of the scrolls, her eyes met Virgil's. He gazed at her thoughtfully, then looked down for a moment. When he raised his head again, something in his face was different; he wasn't waiting anymore. He smiled and said, "It's beautiful, Gabrielle.”

About a month later, she saw him at a book vendor's with a slender dark-haired woman, his arm around her waist. Gabrielle turned away for a moment, her lips tightening; the ache that jabbed at her heart was made worse by the knowledge that it was an ache she had no right to feel. When she looked at Virgil again, he waved at her, a wide, friendly, open smile lighting up his face. He introduced her to his companion, Lais. They chatted, and she smiled, and invited Virgil to bring Lais the next time he came to her house. It still hurt a little.

Then she came home and sat down to work on her play, and forgot all about it.

* ~ * ~ *

Gabrielle glanced at the window and realized with a faint shock that a gray pallor was already starting to spread across the black sky. She had to get a few hours of sleep; she had a class to teach at the academy, and she had reluctantly promised three of her women students to teach them to fight with the staff. But she was almost finished; all the remained was the last scene, and she had already played it out so many times in her mind.

XANDRA: You brought the world back to us.

CORINNE: I'm glad. I like this one better.

XANDRA: Even though you're not a famous poet?

CORINNE: Fame -- who needs it?

* ~ * ~ *

"So is it your message that you can't change fate?" said a big long-faced woman with blonde hair arranged in a heap of ringlets. "Or that you shouldn't change fate?”

"Uh ... you shouldn't.”

Gabrielle stood with her back to the wall in the theater portico, where the banquet to celebrate the premiere of Destiny was in full swing. Dozens of people came up to compliment her and ask questions. Was Xandra her famous friend Xena? Was it true that she herself had met the Fates? Could you really alter destiny by tampering with your life thread? (The question left her stumped; all she could say was, "I don't recommend trying it.") Were Xandra and Corinne just friends or lovers? ("They are two women who love each other very deeply," she replied.) She hoped her answers made sense, because she only half-heard some of the questions, distracted and almost dazed. Writing those lines had been one thing; hearing them spoken onstage was another, even if the actresses didn't look anything like herself and Xena.

Twirling a goblet of wine in her slightly moist hands, Gabrielle looked around, trying to see over the heads of the people around her. She spotted some of her students milling about, and Virgil and Lais, who had come up to congratulate her before. She saw a tall woman with jet-black hair hanging loose about her shoulders; her heart fluttered wildly, and then the woman turned and Gabrielle saw a round, plain face, a stranger's face. Only then did she realize that she was looking for Xena in the crowd. Her legs felt weak, and she leaned against the wall and took a sip of wine.

Of course Xena wasn't there. After debating it with herself for a while, she had written to Xena to let her know about the play; but Gabrielle couldn't even be sure that she had gotten the message in time.

".... the whole world just to save her beloved friend.”

She looked up with a start, to find herself facing a slight young man with a dreamy look on his face.

"I'm sorry -- what did you say?”

"Your heroine risks destroying the whole world just to save her beloved friend," the young man repeated. "It's so -- inspiring.”

Was that really what she was saying in her play? Gabrielle smiled and muttered "Thank you," but suddenly she felt uneasy. There was no wine left in her goblet, and she motioned to an attendant for a refill.

As she fielded more compliments and questions, the crowd was beginning to thin. A fat man with a gray-streaked beard monopolized her attention for a while, talking about a treatise he was composing on the subject of fate; she nodded and made polite remarks. Finally, he thanked her for writing such a thought-provoking play and went away. Gabrielle wondered when it would be all right for her to leave.

"Not bad," said a male voice that made her shiver even before she knew she had recognized it. "Of course, it could've used more fight scenes.”