Cover Art By Tango

By LadyKate

Waking up felt good.

The air was full of bird-cries and the whispery ripple of trees and the smell of fresh grass, and the lake blushed in the dawn's misty light, and Xena was sleeping next to him just like he'd always wanted, wisps of her hair fluttering on his arm, everything filled with her naked warmth, with her faintly sweaty musky smell, with her. Ares closed his eyes again, letting himself wallow in her closeness. For now, hard as he was, it was enough to lie next to her like this, her hip pressed into him, his hand resting on her stomach. The two of them together -- no warlords to fight ... no villagers to save ... no vengeful Amazons ... no whining Elijans with mommy issues ... no blonde bards.

A rush of wind made Xena shiver slightly. He pulled up the blanket over her bare shoulder and hugged her closer, her breasts soft and pliant under his arm. What a way to start the day, especially a day he was supposed to spend being dead.

For much of the previous day, they had been riding through the musty-smelling forest, its half-darkness mottled with dots and patches of sun on the wiry tangle of the underbrush, the tree trunks blanketed in leafy vines, the jagged fallen limbs of old trees. It had been a mostly silent journey. As they were leaving the Amazon village, Xena seemed somewhere else, probably thinking about Eve, and Gabrielle, and all that had happened - not something she'd talk about, certainly not to him. Eventually, the path got too narrow to ride side by side, and Ares was reduced to staring at her back. Left to its own devices, his mind drifted inevitably to reliving the last day's events. He found himself wondering if his luck would run out eventually, and one of his many enemies would catch up with him. The question of what would have happened if Gabrielle had lost came back to him too, worrying at his mind until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Xena," he said, and she turned with a slight start, her features warming into a smile. "What if -- she hadn't won?" "I had a plan," she replied almost slyly, and he shot back, doing his best to sound flippant, "I hope it was for something other than my funeral.”

Then they stopped, and she told him. She had calculated that if hurled the chakram at the pole holding up one of the Amazon banners, the banner would fall right on top of Varia while she was coming up the steps to the platform. In the confusion, Xena would have collapsed the platform -- having loosened a few boards the night before -- and topped it off by setting fire to three bundles of wet straw she'd placed under it to produce thick clouds of smoke. That should have been enough to make their escape possible.

He gaped at her in awe. At last he said, "You ... you really are something, you know that?" and a tiny smile twinkled about her lips. "I'm almost sorry I didn't get to see that," he continued, only to add in response to her amused head-shake, "On second thought, probably not." They looked at each other, and she reached out and put her hand over his. He wanted her so acutely at that moment that his eyes slid over to a clear patch of grass behind the wispy shrubbery by the path, and he wondered if they could stop here; but just then Xena turned and nudged Argo's flanks and said, "Let's go.”

By the time they got to the lake, it was evening. When he saw the water swashing placidly at clusters of tall reeds, Ares suddenly realized how much he had wanted to take a bath; it was as if some residue of the stale air of the jail still clung to his skin, reeking of misery and fear and weakness. Xena gave him a quizzical look as he began to get out of his clothes. "I'm going for a swim," he said, his voice rough; he didn't want to touch her now -- not even when her breastplate fell on the grass with a soft thud, not even when she reached behind to undo the lacings of her tunic, the motion making her breasts swell against the leather -- not yet, not until he felt clean again. He waded into the cold water, wincing as the pebbles on the bottom dug into the soles of his feet and underwater weeds lashed at his ankles, and walked on until the water was deep enough to immerse himself completely. In a moment he surfaced, spluttering, and watched as Xena too rose from a dive, the water rolling down her body like a thin glittering fabric. She came closer, and this time they did embrace; her face and mouth tasted of fresh lake water, and her wet hair, silky and cool, streamed through his fingers. Ares stepped back, and she ran her palms down his arms and caught his hands in hers; the late sunlight gave her skin an almost golden shimmer, and he had a memory of looking at her like this on their first night, in the quavering yellow light of an oil lamp.

Once they had started touching, they couldn't stop. A little later when they were coming back to the shore, he dropped on his knees in the thigh-deep water and turned Xena toward him; she gasped as he lapped at the water dripping down her legs and then moved higher, making love to her with his mouth, savoring her as if she were new to him. Finally she collapsed into his arms with a cry and a splash. A couple of ducks flew up from the reeds about thirty paces away, filling the quiet with a burst of rustling, flapping noise. "We're scaring the wildlife," Xena murmured with a weak laugh. Ares rose, sweeping her up in his arms, and grinned at her: "We are the wildlife.”

He carried her to the shore, and she broke free to get a blanket out of her saddlebag and spread it out on the sun-bronzed grass. They lay down, and the touch of the evening breeze on his still-wet skin gave him goose bumps for a moment, but even that felt good. When they pulled apart from another breathless kiss, Ares drew his fingers over the curve of her breast, brushing the faint scar on its underside and the tiny bumps around the nipple. Then his hand trailed up Xena's neck to her face, tracing its lines, as though trying to memorize her features so he'd know them with his eyes closed; she too touched his face and his mouth, and then he did close his eyes, moaning, grazing her fingertips with his tongue. Neither of them could stand it much longer, and she pushed him on his back and rolled on top of him. He wanted to remember it all, the way her lip curled and her eyes clouded when she took him in, the soft fullness of her breasts on his chest, the dampness of her hair. He arched to meet her rhythm, gripping her hips, pulling her toward him, wanting to be deeper inside her, wanting more.

Afterwards, they lay together, the trickles of still-drying water on their bodies now mingled with sweat, and Xena was touching him again, lightly stroking his neck and his shoulder, her breath warm on his chest. Ares stared up into the sky, where the orange disc of the sun floated half-hidden in the stacks of rolling clouds. It was strange to think that he might have never seen this sunset, and that it mattered to him. He knew that his near-death experience may have lent a special frantic urgency to their lovemaking; but then, whenever they made love, it was nearly always as if they were about to lose each other forever, or had narrowly escaped losing each other. So often, he had tortured himself with the thought that what they had together could end at any moment. But of course, it would end sooner or later; some day, next week or in thirty years, he would hold her in his arms for the last time. Maybe all mortal life was a near-death experience.

The clouds looked like snowy mountain caps suffused with a purple glow, and it made him think of Olympus -- only to realize that somehow, everything that had to do with godhood seemed to have moved further away from him, gliding off into some dreamlike mist. He didn't have much time to dwell on that, because Xena kissed his chest and looked up at him, the dark trees behind them reflected in her eyes. He smiled, lifting the coils of her damp hair on his palm. "What?" she asked, her voice low and teasing. "Just thinking that I have you all to myself for a couple of days," he said. A shadow crossed her face and she turned away, and Ares knew he shouldn’t have said it; but after a moment she looked at him again and smiled too, though there was a touch of resigned sadness in that smile.

He talked her into letting him catch their dinner; she would have done a faster and better job of it, to be sure, but he was determined to show her that he was good at something, and he actually did better than he'd expected. Afterwards, when they climbed into her bedroll together, it was with no discussion, as if it were the most ordinary thing, as if they had been doing this forever. As soon as they settled in, he was swept by a warm heavy tide of sleepiness and exhaustion, and barely had time to press his lips to her shoulder before it pulled him under.

Now, lying next to her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world that they should wake up like this -- every morning of every day of the rest of their mortal lives.

A cool breeze whooshed through the grass and the leaves. Xena stirred next to him and tossed her head, and muttered something that sounded annoyingly like "Gabrielle.”

Oh well. So much for no blonde bards.

With a sigh, Ares pressed closer into her, circling her nipple with his thumb while he kissed her neck, softly at first and then more insistently, darting the tip of his tongue over her skin. Xena's breathing quickened; she moved again, and suddenly turned and opened her eyes. At first she looked almost puzzled. Then she stretched a little and smiled, drawing an arm around him.

"Good morning," she said softly and brushed her mouth against his, her other hand sliding down his chest.

He closed his eyes as their lips met again.

For now, this morning was enough.

* ~ * ~ *

The lantern filled the ceremonial hut with deep black shadows outside its unsteady circle of light. The floorboards made a harsh grating sound, as if registering their dismay at the nighttime intrusion.

The hut was unlocked and unguarded. It never occurred to the Amazons that anyone would try to steal their sacramental objects. Anyone -- let alone one of their queens.

Squelching the guilt, Gabrielle raised the lantern higher. For a moment, the amber light formed a halo around a stern-faced bird mask, then swept over the shelves crowded with small wooden figures of sacred animals and Amazon heroines, and reflected dully off a row of ceramic urns that housed the ashes of dead queens and princesses. Terreis had her resting place here, the noble Amazon from whom Gabrielle had inherited her right of caste; and Melosa, and Ephiny. Ephiny ... her beloved friend, a friend who'd given her comfort at the worst time of her life, when Solan and Hope died and she nearly lost Xena ... what would Ephiny have thought of her now?

Gabrielle walked to the corner where the chest with the ambrosia stood and sat on the floor with her legs tucked under her, setting the lantern down on the floor.

There was no other choice.

For a brief moment, she had actually considered pocketing a pinch of the ambrosia during the initiation ceremony itself. That could be the best way to pull it off: to be completely brazen and just do it in front of all the masked queens and the elders, while everyone was busy watching Eve recite the Amazon oath and receive small tokens of her membership in the Amazon Nation from the queens -- a bracelet, a bear's claw necklace, a feathered belt, an arrow. But she lingered a moment, and then it was too late; one of the elders took the small vase from the table and put it back in the chest.

So she had waited until the next night. And now, here she was, with a lantern and a small vial.

The Amazons would never miss it, she told herself. There would be plenty left ... and it wasn't as if Artemis' "sacred ointment" actually had anything to do with the survival of the Amazon nation. Except that they believed it did...

They'd never forgive her if they found out.

What was happening to her? This question had stirred in her mind a number of times over those two days as she it mulled over. Who was this person who so casually planned stealing from her own people ... and was here now, under the cover of night, to carry out her plan? She had worried that killing in battle would destroy her soul; how about thievery and betrayal?

But there was no other choice. If Ares stayed mortal, he was never going to leave -- not now -- not after he had risked his neck to save Xena's daughter. And that would destroy her soul all right.

Once he was gone, she could start worrying about doing the right thing again. She'd find a way to make up for this ... somehow.

With a sigh, Gabrielle lifted the lid of the chest, wincing at its squeak even though no one was around to hear it. As she looked at the three vases, it occurred to her that her plan might backfire. What if, instead of going off to Olympus and leaving them alone, Ares enticed Xena to become a goddess and follow him?

No, Xena would never agree to that. She couldn't be sure, of course, that Xena would break it off completely. But it wouldn't last -- not if Ares was the God of War again. Soon enough, he'd try to start a war somewhere, pit one city against another, or have a conquering army roll through the countryside, and Xena would have to stop him; and then, she would no longer trust him enough to let him close. And even if she still slept with him once in a while ... at this point, Gabrielle could bring herself to deal with it, as long as she and Xena could have their old life back.

She reached down and pulled out one of the three vases. She wondered how much she should get. It wasn't as if you could get hold of an Olympian rulebook and look up the dosage of ambrosia required to make someone a god. She tried to recall how much Velasca had taken before gaining godly powers. It was just a tiny morsel... would it be different for someone who had been a god before?

Gabrielle lifted the lid of one of the vases. The jelly-like substance inside had a faint glow. Holding her breath, she dipped a flat wooden stick into it, scooped up a lump roughly the size of her thumb, and transferred it to the vial. The glass had a strange warmth in her hands as she corked the vial and slipped it inside her top. A sudden shiver ran through her at the thought that she held in her hands a substance that could turn one into a god. Her eyes closed as the tide of a distant memory rose up and washed over her: how, the day he killed Eli, Ares spoke to her in the desert and tried to lure her into his service, and then laid his hands on her and made her feel his power. It wasn't pleasure ... at least it wasn't like any earthly pleasure. For just a few moments, she felt that she could lift a hand and shape the world to her whim, dealing life or death, fire or ice as she pleased -- her body a perfect instrument, completely obedient to her will, beyond pain and weakness. She remembered Ares' deep, calm, captivating voice. This is how I feel every moment of every day of my life...

With a shudder, Gabrielle opened her eyes. As she closed the vase with the ambrosia, her hands shook a little, and the lid made a slight grating sound. She wasn't sure if the vial was actually burning against her skin or she was just imagining it.

She put the vase back and closed the chest. She knew she had to get up and go, but her limbs felt strangely lifeless, as if her bones had dissolved.

He gave up all that -- for Xena...

Well, she was going to give it back to him -- what was wrong with that? It wasn't as if she was planning to take the ambrosia herself and then use her godly powers against him. And Ares had probably believed all along that he'd get his godhood back eventually, one way or another.

Except that, of course, he'd never take the ambrosia from her. If she marched up to him and handed him the vial, he'd know exactly what she was after -- to get him out of the way -- and see it as letting her win. She wouldn't put it past Ares to stay mortal out of sheer stubbornness.

Gabrielle raised her head, rubbed her eyes and finally forced herself to get up. Her legs felt numb from sitting down for too long, her haunches tingling unpleasantly.

She'd make sure he got the ambrosia somehow; she could always think about the how later. The important thing was that she had it.

Picking up the lantern, she headed toward the door, and froze in her tracks as she heard the soft creak of footsteps just outside.

The door took forever to open.

The moonlight streamed in, gleaming milky-white on the tip of a spear. Gabrielle felt ice-cold all over, except where the flask with the ambrosia was touching her chest.

Slowly, cautiously, the wielder of the spear leaned in through the door. Before Gabrielle saw the face, she saw the blonde hair and the tan leather shirt with fringes on the sleeve.

Cyane.

She felt dizzy, and realized that she hadn't been breathing.

"Gabrielle." Cyane lowered her spear. "What are you doing here?”

Gabrielle's throat clenched, her mouth dry. She hoped the light wasn't enough for Cyane to get a good view of her face.

Her eye fell on the urns, whitish-grey in the moonbeam that cut a pale swathe from the open door to the shelves by the wall.

"I ..." Gabrielle took a deep breath. Once she had found the words, they came almost easily. "I was thinking about Ephiny -- I wanted to come here and -- say good-bye to her ashes before I left.”

"Oh." Cyane's voice was sympathetic, almost embarrassed. "I'm sorry I disturbed you... I saw a light in the window and thought I'd check it out. I'll leave you alone, then.”

"No, no," Gabrielle said hastily. "I'm all done here -- I was leaving.”

Cyane closed the door behind them. As they walked back to Gabrielle's hut together, Cyane asked questions about Ephiny, and Gabrielle answered, only half aware of what she was saying.

I'm sorry, Ephiny. I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't understand. But I have to do this.

I know this isn't me.

I can be myself again ... when this is over.

* ~ * ~ *

The army he favored, an alliance of several cities, laid siege to the great seven-gated city of Thebes, and the Thebans had launched a sneak attack and killed over a hundred allied warriors; and so he had advised his commanders, by way of retaliation and intimidation, to execute a dozen Theban prisoners captured in an earlier battle. The men had been dragged to a field before the city walls, so that they could be seen from within the city; now they were lined up on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, shirtless, shivering from cold or fear or both. The allied commanders stood to the side, dazzling in full armor, the wind stirring the plumes on their helmets. He, the God of War, stood there with them, arms folded on his chest. He glanced casually at the doomed men kneeling in the brown dust under the bloated gray sky. His eyes met those of one prisoner, dark-haired and bearded, about thirty years old from the looks of him; the man was shuddering once in a while, the muscles in his neck moving spasmodically, his lips trembling as he seemed to be soundlessly repeating something over and over again.

Bored, Ares turned to one of his generals.

"Let's get it over with," he said, gesturing toward the prisoners. "And get ready to storm the gates tonight.”

He was still speaking when everything changed. His knees were hurting, and the rope was rubbing his wrists raw, and his arms were sore from being wrenched back, and the cold wind was biting into his bare shoulders and chest -- and he knew that these were the last things he would ever feel in this world. He tried to remember the touch of her mouth and the warmth of her arms, to see her face, and he kept saying her name, Xena, as if he could summon her there, Xena, as if he could make her hear him across the distance, Xena Xena Xena, as if he could make up for all the times he would never say it to her, all the days they no longer had. His eyes darting frantically, he caught sight of the armored enemy commanders overseeing the execution and the tall dark leathered figure that stood with them, slouching a little. The man in black leather turned and looked at him, and he stared into his own face and his own cold eyes, implacable and mocking.

Ares' breath failed him and he could no longer speak her name, and then the blindfold came down over his eyes and all went black.

After that, bafflingly, he saw it from outside again, the twitching face of the blindfolded man and the ragged breaths that shook his chest, and the swordsman prepared to deliver the blow -- but he felt it too, the cold and the pain and the blind terror, and the breeze that he knew was not the wind but the sword slashing through the air -- and, watching, he knew that he was about to see the blade cut into the man's neck, his own neck, about to see the blood spurt and --

Ares sat up with a gasp that scraped at his throat. They didn't want to die. He gulped for air in a bluish half-darkness.

"They didn't want to die...”

He heard himself mutter it aloud. Just then something touched his shoulder; he shuddered and flailed wildly, and felt the back of his hand hit something. In the same instant, he saw the mane of dark hair and the patch of white that was Xena's face, and knew he had struck out at her. They were in her bedroll, at the campsite by the lake, and it was just before dawn.

Xena caught his wrists and held them gently.

"Shh," she whispered, sliding her hands up his arms, then wrapping her own arms around his shoulders. He realized that he was shaking and drenched in sweat.

She held him close and kissed the top of his head, and part of him wanted nothing more than to sink into the comforting warmth of her embrace, but the pleasure of it was mixed with a queasy shame.

The memory that had turned itself into his nightmare came back; he could see the Theban's face and his moving lips -- saying the name of someone he loved? -- and the way his headless body convulsed in the scarlet-soaked dust moments later. He had ordered that man's death, sent so many to their deaths in one way or another, and they had all wanted to live as desperately as he had wanted to catch another glimpse of Xena's face before he was blindfolded - and they had lost everything, and their slaughter had pleased him. He had trouble steadying his breath. Did Xena know what was going through his head? Suddenly, he knew what she felt when she looked back on her past. Maybe that was what this whole atonement thing was about: running away from things that were too sickening to look back on, trying to build a wall that would hold them back. For the first time, he understood her completely; only now, he wasn't sure he wanted to understand. And he could never talk to her about it, never.

Xena reached over and handed him a waterskin. He took a few gulps, almost choking on the cold water.

"It's over," she whispered, stroking his damp hair. "You're okay now.”

"No," he said hoarsely before he had time to think.

She was silent for a moment. Then she pulled him down, gently but insistently, as they settled into the bedroll.

"Ares." Her lips brushed his ear, ruffling his hair. "You're a good man.”

So she knew...

He snorted into her neck, and wanted to make a joke about her liking for bad boys; but he didn't trust his voice not to break or falter. They lay silently, pressed into each other, her leg wrapped around his hip, her palm flattened on his back, and after a while the lump in his chest was gone.

A good man, he thought dimly as his eyelids grew heavy again. To think that it made him feel better.

Xena listened as Ares' breath became steady, and tried to push back a vague anxiety. She had thought at first, when he woke from a nightmare, that he had been reliving his near-execution. But it had clearly been more than that. "They didn't want to die..." What long-dead victims of his godly games had invaded his dream? It was unnerving not to know what was on his mind. It was also unnerving, she realized, to think of Ares feeling guilty over his past. For one thing, it could drive him mad, considering how long he'd had to accumulate his track record; and given that Ares didn't do anything by half, who could tell how far he would go if he went on what he had once mockingly called an atonement kick? But it wasn't just that... She was used to him being cocky and unapologetic, even as a mortal, and -- well, dammit, it felt good to have someone like that around.

What was she thinking? She had wanted him to change ... because she cared about him, and maybe because, if she helped the former God of War become a better man, it meant that she herself really was a good person.

And yet -- and yet -- maybe she didn't want him to change that much...

He stirred in his sleep and clutched her tighter, and made an inarticulate groan that could have been her name.

Then she thought of something else. She had changed him. For years, he had tried to make her his; now, she had made him hers. In a way, it was almost as terrifying.

* ~ * ~ *

The little flask with ambrosia had been transferred to her saddlebag, but Gabrielle could still feel its presence as she rode through the murky woods.

Somehow, she had to get it to Ares. She had to make sure he didn't know it came from her. No less important, she had to make sure Xena didn't know.

What was she supposed to do, slip the stuff in his waterskin? She couldn't even be sure it would work mixed with water (that Olympian rulebook sure would have come in handy...); besides, if it did, and Ares started shooting firebolts out of his hands all of a sudden, it was bound to look suspicious.

The ludicrous image made her smile first, and then wince. Was she actually thinking about making Ares a god without his knowledge or consent? A queasy feeling started up in the pit of her chest, and for a moment Gabrielle wondered if she should give up on the whole thing.

She couldn't. It was a matter of saving her life.

There had to be a way.

The path before her narrowed, heavy branches swooping over her head like giant bird wings. Gabrielle lowered her hand and touched the saddlebag that hid her guilty little secret, as if wanting to make sure it was really there -- or maybe, deep down, hoping to find out that it wasn't.

And then it came to her. She had to get someone else to give it to Ares. Someone Ares would trust. Of course. One of his followers, from his days as a god. Maybe a priest.

All she had to do was wait until they got to a town that had a temple of Ares.

The streaks of daylight between the trees ahead of her told Gabrielle that the lake was close. She was about to see Xena, knowing all the time that she was planning to deceive her.

This time, the doubt hit her like a cold hard blast.

Don't do it.

Reaching into her saddlebag, Gabrielle rummaged for the vial. Her fingers curled around the warm glass. She could take it out and fling it into the dense shrubbery where she'd never find it, even if she changed her mind.

She gave Clio's bridle a gentle tug with her other hand, slowing the mare down to a walk. From where she was now, Gabrielle could see the silvery glaze of the lake and the softness of the sky through the almost black latticework of leaves.

Don't do it. She would have betrayed her sisters for nothing, then. But at least she would stop at that. At least she wouldn't be lying to Xena. At least --

Near the edge of the clearing, she heard indistinct voices and Xena's laugh.

She brought Clio to a halt, and carefully moved a branch out of the way. Ares and Xena were sitting side by side, she polishing her armor, he cleaning his vest; Xena said something, and Ares answered, and then she laughed and gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

Gabrielle let go of the vial and took her hand out of the saddlebag.

She had to do it.

When she rode out of the trees, Xena looked up, and there was such love and joy in her face that it stopped the breath in Gabrielle's throat.

She dismounted and came closer. Xena rose and walked toward her, her lips quivering a little as she smiled, her eyes bright. For a moment they stood still, less than a pace apart. Then Xena stepped closer and hugged her, holding her tight, stroking her hair and her back; Gabrielle closed her eyes, and heard Xena's husky whisper in her ear.

"I'll make it up to you ... I promise.”

* ~ * ~ *

Dawn was breaking over the city, smudging the gray sky with pink, lifting the darkness that shrouded the houses, the trees, the empty horse-carts, the cobblestones. Standing by the window in her room, Gabrielle listened to the low murmur of the sea in the distance, where she could just make out the masts of the ships in the Maroneian port.

In three days, they would catch the boat to Lemnos island. A ruthless band of pirates was operating off the island's shores; Xena's plan was to either take them on if they attacked the boat, or to track them down to their hideout. Gabrielle's plan was that she and Xena would be getting on that boat alone, and Ares would be in no further need of transportation.

She had a somewhat hazy memory of the last ten days. It was almost as if none of it were completely real; her life was on hold until all this was over. Xena had been tender and solicitous toward her, and they had spent two nights together while staying at village inns. But, when they made love, Gabrielle had found that she couldn't give herself completely, not only because of everything that had happened between them but because of what was going to happen. In the end, she wanted only to get it over with, and she gave a fake cry of pleasure and made her body rigid; from Xena's look, Gabrielle felt sure that Xena wasn't fooled. The next time Xena came to her room, they just held and kissed each other, and eventually Gabrielle relaxed enough to doze off in Xena's arms.

Xena's birthday had come and gone in that haze. Gabrielle had meant to give her the scroll with Sappho's poem -- to her dismay, she'd almost forgotten about it -- but then realized that she couldn't, not while she was planning to deceive the woman she loved. She'd save it for later, for when their love was whole again.

There was one moment she remembered more vividly than the rest. Something had roused her during the night at a campsite; still half-asleep, Gabrielle heard a noise, and cautiously opened an eye to see Ares sitting up in his bedroll, breathing hard, and Xena crawling toward him in the faint glow of the nearly extinguished campfire. She watched as Xena put an arm around Ares' shoulders and he squeezed her hand. "What is it?" Xena asked quietly. Ares shook his head; "Tell me," she pressed, and he sighed and spoke in a breaking half-whisper that only let Gabrielle pick up some words and phrases. Something about Thebes, about prisoners and some order he gave, and something else she couldn't make out. He fell silent, then looked up at Xena and said, "He was waiting to die..." -- and after a moment she heard Xena say, "I know." They held each other close, and Gabrielle's heart clenched in sympathy for Ares and in shame at her plan. Closing her eyes, she reminded herself yet again that she wasn't doing anything wrong, not to Ares. If anything, she'd be doing him a favor; he so obviously wasn't suited to mortal life and its perils.

Three more days. Then, everything would be all right.

Walking away from the window, Gabrielle went to the corner where her two saddlebags were stashed, and reached into one of them to get out the vial. Later today, she would go to Ares' temple.

* ~ * ~ *

She had told Xena she was going to check out the city library. The words tasted foul in her mouth, but what was one more lie?

Luckily, it turned out that the temple of Ares wasn't too far from the inn. As Gabrielle walked toward the massive edifice of marble and granite with twin dragons guarding its front steps, her feet felt as if they belonged to somebody else, and something inside her rose up and tried to pull her back. Still, she walked on, past the faceless houses of grey stone that lined the street leading toward the temple.

Gabrielle had spent a long time thinking of something to tell the priest about why she was giving the ambrosia to him and not directly to Ares, and why she didn't want Ares to know where the ambrosia came from. Finally, she had come up a cover story that seemed to hold up quite well -- almost good enough to have been Xena's invention. She was going to say that Ares had offered to be her mentor when he was still a god (which, amazingly enough, happened to be true), and that she had traveled with him and saved his life as a mortal (true again). The fictional part would be that she had offered Ares to get him ambrosia and he had absolutely forbidden it, wanting neither to risk her life nor to be any deeper in debt to her; she had gotten it anyway, but she didn't want her god to know she had defied him. Yeah. It made sense.

The temple was very close now. A giant banner, black with silver lettering, hung over the portico. Coming even closer, Gabrielle stopped in her tracks and wondered if she was seeing things.

The banner said:

GRAND OPENING TONIGHT!
COME PARTY WITH US FROM SUNDOWN TILL DAWN
AT THE NEW TAVERN AND DANCE HALL
TEMPLE OF WAR!

And, in smaller script underneath:

No weapons allowed

She blinked, closed her eyes and opened them again. The banner refused to go away.

Gabrielle walked up the steps and stopped at the massive black doors with skulls, bones and swords carved into them. Ares and his taste in decorating.

Her eyes fell on a yellow piece of papyrus lying face down on the stone at her feet. She picked it up. It was an advertisement for the grand opening, with the same text as the banner and a skull-and-sword logo at the top. Thoughtfully, Gabrielle folded it and slipped it into her satchel. Then she grasped one of the two huge cast-iron rings on the door and knocked.

For a while there was no response, though she thought she heard movement and voices inside, and .... music? While she waited, it occurred to her dimly that she probably had to devise a whole new strategy. Xena, she thought ruefully, would have already had a new plan by now. She knocked again, and listened as the dull low echo of the boom died away.

There were footsteps, and then a small window opened up in the massive door and a woman's gaunt face peered at her.

"Use the side door for deliveries," the woman snapped.

"This isn't a delivery," Gabrielle said, taken aback. Well, it was... sort of.

"If you're here for the party, it's at sundown." The face disappeared abruptly and the window was about to close, but Gabrielle held out a hand to block it.

"I'm not here for the party. I need to talk to" -- she wanted to say "the head priest," but maybe that wasn't the right word -- "someone in charge.”

The woman leaned forward again. "Are you here about a job?”

"Let's say I have a business proposition." Gabrielle was getting impatient. "Look, your boss will want to see me, okay?”

The woman pursed her lips and said, "All right.”

She slammed the window shut, barely giving Gabrielle time to jerk her fingers out of the way. A moment later, there was the sound of a heavy latch being pulled to the side, and the door opened up enough for her to step through.

Even the banner advertising the tavern and dance hall hadn't quite prepared Gabrielle for what met her inside. Everything in the cavernous torch-lit temple was decked out in black, red, and silver ribbons and in garlands of red and black roses. Incredulous, she ran her fingers over a garland woven around a sculpture of a wolf -- making the fanged beast look almost domesticated -- and realized that the petals were cloth.

"Hands off the flowers, please," snapped the woman who had let her in.

Still slightly dazed by this sight, Gabrielle walked forward. The music she'd heard before struck up again; it came from a cluster of young women with flutes and lyres seated on cushions at the foot of a huge garlanded statue of Ares. Their outfits, at least what there was of them, were also red and black, with small, obviously fake silver swords dangling from their red belts.

She spotted a tall, dark-haired bearded man dressed in what seemed to be the official colors of this establishment, talking to a woman carrying a tray with silver goblets. The man looked over the goblets, pointed fastidiously to presumed blemishes on a couple of them and waved the woman away; she nodded and hurried toward a side door.

Taking her chances, Gabrielle came closer and tapped the man on the elbow. "You're the head priest of this temple, aren't you?”

The man turned. He would have seemed imposing if not for the mismatch between his slender nose and full pouty lips; they gave his haughty look an air of petulance, as if she had just spat on his boot.

"In case you haven't noticed, this is not a temple anymore.”

He hadn't denied it; her guess must have been correct.

"I have noticed," she said, far more breezily than she ever thought she could manage. "And how do you think your lord Ares would like what you've done to the place?”

The priest gave Gabrielle a mildly curious, disdainful look. "What are you doing here?”

The woman who had let her in spoke up hastily. "She said she had some business proposition.”

He reflected for a moment and then nodded. "All right, Carissa, that will be all. Go and check up on the cooks.”

Carissa stalked away, turning once to give Gabrielle an unfriendly look over her shoulder.

"So," the tall man said. "Are you here about a job?" He looked her over. "What do you want to be, a dancer or a bouncer?”

She was momentarily at a loss. "Are you -- the owner?”

"Yes," he said dryly. "Geryon, formerly the head priest of the Temple of Ares in Maroneia. And now" -- he spread his arms, indicating the unusual scene around him. "Not very dignified, to be sure. But one does have to keep up with the times.”

"Times may be changing." Gabrielle felt pretty pleased with that line; it sounded almost like something Xena would have said.

"So. Are you going to tell me what your business is, or am I going to have you thrown out?”

"I wanted," she said, as coolly as she could, "to tell you to expect a visit from your old boss.”

"You don't mean -- ?”

"Ares? As a matter of fact, I do.”

Geryon snorted. "All right, I've heard enough. Get out.”

Damn. Xena would have had him cowering in terror by now.

"You think I'm pulling your leg?”

"Look here, young woman." Geryon sighed in exasperation. "It is common knowledge that Ares has been mortal for well over a year. Indeed, it is rumored that he was killed some two moons ago near Amphipolis, in a battle with Gascar the Terrible.”

"The rumor is wrong," she said. "I fought at Ares' side when he killed Gascar.”

For the first time, the former priest looked at her with interest, if not a hint of apprehension.

"Who are you?”

"A warrior. Some time before he lost his godhood, Ares offered to train me as his champion.”

Geryon coughed and licked his lips. "And you are telling me that Ares is here in Maroneia right now.”

"That's right.”

The various emotions that flitted across the priest's face finally settled into a purse-lipped look of offended dignity. "Well, that isn't any of my concern, as long as he's still mortal. My allegiance was sworn to the God of War." In the next moment, he seemed somewhat frightened of his own audacity. "Uh - on the other hand, young woman -- if Ar -- if lord Ares is interested in a portion of the profits, I'd be happy to discuss -- “

Ares would have been pleased, she thought with bitter amusement; even mortal, he was still scary.

"It's a little worse than that, Geryon," she interrupted. "Ares is about to get his godhood back.”

Even in the golden glow of the lamps and torches, Geryon looked white as a sheet.

"What? ”

Now, she felt confident, almost lightheaded.

"I managed to get some ambrosia," she said. "The reason I came here was to make sure you were ready to receive him -- it seemed right to me that he should reclaim his godhood in one of his own temples...”

She realized that the musicians had stopped playing and were looking at them, though they were surely too far away to have overheard any of the conversation. The attendants, too, had stopped doing their chores and were staring, evidently sensing that something big was happening.

Geryon shuffled over to the bar on the side of the hall, poured himself a goblet of wine and took a few sips, wiping his forehead. When he looked at Gabrielle again, his face had regained some color, and his eyes were suddenly suspicious.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "I think I'm on to you.”

Her heart sank. He couldn't possibly --

"You're working for Alysia, aren't you?”

She blinked in genuine confusion, but also in relief.

"Alysia?”

"That witch is afraid of the competition, isn't she," Geryon spat out. "Of course -- who would want to go to that smelly barn she calls a dance hall once my place opens up! Anything to sabotage our grand opening..." By the time he had gotten to "sabotage," the bravado had started draining from his voice, perhaps because he could see that the bewilderment in Gabrielle's face wasn't fake.

"You believe whatever you want," she said. "Go ahead, have your grand opening. I don't blame you for trying to make some money when you thought you were out of a job. But just in case I'm telling the truth -- I can offer you a way to save your butt.”

Geryon gave her a peevish look, too nervous to convey offended dignity.

"You see, Geryon," she continued, "I was actually going to give the ambrosia to you. Ares doesn't know I have it yet -- I wanted it to be a surprise. And I thought it would be proper for a priest of Ares to present him with the means to restore him to Olympus." She reached into her satchel and took out the vial. "You can still do that. Then, I suppose Ares would be inclined to be -- forgiving of this little venture.”

"Is that -- the real thing?" Geryon squeaked.

"It certainly is." Gabrielle noticed what looked like a covetous glint in Geryon's eyes, and it occurred to her that perhaps letting him have her entire supply of ambrosia wouldn't be so smart. "I'm willing to give you half," she said. "The other half, I'm keeping as insurance.”

"Oh -- oh -- okay..." His hands shaking a little, Geryon grabbed a silver bowl and held it out to her. Gabrielle used one of her sais to scoop up a little more than half of the precious substance and transfer it to the bowl. It looked like such a tiny sliver... Please, gods, let it be enough...

"By the way, don't even think of helping yourself to the stuff," she added. "Remember, Ares is going to become a god one way or the other, and then, even if you become one too, you won't have a chance against him. Let's face it, he's had a lot more practice.”

"I -- I wasn't..." Geryon gulped and wiped his forehead again, cradling the bowl to his chest with his other hand.

Gabrielle couldn't help smirking. "And don't tell him when or where you got it.”

"Okay...”

"Good luck," she said, re-closing the vial and putting it away. "You do know what Ares looks like, right?”

The former priest nodded with a grunt that was obviously a "yes." As she turned to go, he suddenly regained the power of speech -- or rather, of hiss.

"Listen, missy, if I find out that you played a trick on me and this is grape jelly -- I swear in the name of Ar-... I swear I'll track you down, and believe you me, you are not going to be smiling.”

"Well, then," Gabrielle said cheerfully. "I guess we'll just have to see who has the last laugh.”

Walking away, she heard Geryon bark at one of the attendants, "Take the flowers off the damn statue, will ya?”

As she came down the temple steps, wincing at the sunlight, it occurred to her that things couldn't possibly have gone better. With the party being held at the temple, she didn't even have to think of an excuse to get Ares there -- of course he'd be curious. Maybe the Fates, if the Fates still had anything to do with anything, actually wanted this plan of hers to work.

On her way back, Gabrielle noticed a lanky red-headed teenage boy nailing a piece of papyrus announcing the grand opening of the Temple of War to the wall of a wooden house. She remembered the leaflet she had stashed away in her satchel, and the fence right across the street from the door of the inn.

"Hey, kid," she said. "I can show you where to put up another one of those.”

The boy turned his head and scowled. "I'm all done -- this is the last one I got.”

"I have an extra one. Come on, I'll pay you a dinar.”

He gave her a gap-toothed smile. Everything was working.

The whole thing had turned out to be so much easier than she thought. Gabrielle wasn't sure if that made her want to skip down the street singing, or hide somewhere in a dark corner.

* ~ * ~ *

"Gabrielle.”

With a start, she realized that Xena was shaking her by the shoulder.

"Huh?”

"I said, are you all right? You've been very quiet.”

Dinner was almost over and they still hadn't said anything about it. Damn.

"I have?”

Act normal. She had to act normal. Gabrielle looked at her plate and realized that she had been the first to finish her meal.

"Uh, sorry." She rubbed her face and gave Xena the best smile she could muster. "I was thinking about starting a new scroll.”

"You should do that more often," Ares said amicably, cleaning up the sauce from his plate with a piece of flatbread. She glanced at him, surprised. A corner of his mouth hitched up in a slight smirk, and then she realized it was a thinly veiled gibe -- you ought to keep quiet more. Her lips tightened; with luck, she wouldn't have to put up with this nonsense much longer.

With luck -- what if her luck had run out in the end? What if, somehow, they hadn't spotted the notice nailed to the damn fence right across from the damn door?

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She took a gulp of ale and put down the mug.

"So," she said, trying to sound casual. "What are we doing after dinner?”

Ares chuckled. "Going to my temple.”

Gabrielle held back an audible sigh of relief as the tension ebbed from her body; yet the sick anxiety she had felt before rose to her throat again.

She hoped she'd managed a properly surprised look. "What for?”

"A party," Xena said wryly.

"A par-" Suddenly, she couldn't do it, couldn't fake surprise, couldn't go on lying like this ... not to Xena. For a moment Gabrielle was afraid she would throw up. She pressed her hand to her mouth and coughed, almost retching.

"You okay?”

She was about to say that she wasn't feeling well -- but then Xena wouldn't want to leave her alone for the evening -- damn damn damn --

"Fine," she squeezed out. "Just -- something caught in my throat -- “

She grabbed her mug of ale; as long as she was sipping it, she didn't have to look Xena in the eye.

"Anyway... a party?”

"Yeah. Temple's been converted to a tavern and dance hall.”

"Could've been worse." Ares shot Gabrielle a mocking look. "They coulda turned it into an academy of bards or something.”

She snorted feebly into her ale.

"Grand opening’s tonight at sundown," Xena said. "You're coming, right?”

Only now, Gabrielle realized that she couldn't. Not only because Geryon might somehow give her away, but because she couldn't bear to watch ... watch Xena get hurt, because of her -- knowing that Xena's loss was her own victory...

Gabrielle shook her head. "Actually... it doesn't sound like my kind of thing. I think I'll stay and start that scroll.”

"You know what would be cool?" Ares leaned back and folded his arms on his chest, a dreamy smile on his face. "Put on a little show like we did in Elaea and make those idiots think I'm a god. Can you imagine the looks on their faces -- “

Gabrielle almost choked on her ale. She hadn't counted on this -- what would Geryon do if he thought Ares was already a god? It could mess up the whole thing... or maybe it was really for the best...

"Ares. We're not putting on any show," Xena said. "You're going to behave, right?”

"Mmm... right.”

Gabrielle looked up and saw them exchange a quick glance, the amused sparkle in Ares' eyes reflected in Xena's. She drained her mug and got up.

"Well," she said, "I guess I'll go up and write.” She forced herself to lean down and give Xena a quick kiss on the cheek; her lips felt hot and dry as parchment, and she had to push back another surge of nausea. “Have fun,” she said, and turned to walk away.

A moment later she heard Xena’s step behind her, and felt the touch of Xena’s hand on her arm. Her head swam and her stomach churned; the worst part was turning around and facing Xena. Somehow, she managed it.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Xena asked. Her eyes were concerned, even anxious; her hand was still on Gabrielle’s arm, fingertips lightly stroking her skin.

“Of course.” It was strange how normal her voice sounded, how her hand didn’t shake when she raised it and put it on top of Xena’s. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

* ~ * ~ *

As they walked up the temple steps in the throng of revelers, Xena glanced at Ares and wondered if he was really so casual about the whole thing. He was about to be reminded very starkly of his fall from power. What if someone recognized him -- as a mortal, on an equal footing with his own former servants and worshipers? Was it this fear, not just a general love of mischief, that had made him want to pull that pretending-to-be-a-god stunt?

Maybe they shouldn't have gone ... shouldn't have left Gabrielle alone for the whole evening, anyway. Her face was suddenly burning, and guilt lay like a stone in the middle of her chest. Ever since they'd gotten news of Eve's capture, she had been so wrapped up in what was happening to Eve, and then to Ares ... and Gabrielle was dying inside. She had promised to make it up to her -- as if she ever could! -- and now, here she was going to a dance hall with Ares -- and leaving Gabrielle alone. They wouldn't stay, she told herself; just look around to satisfy Ares' curiosity and then go back.

They reached the top of the steps and walked through the portico of the former temple. Music was drifting from the wide-open doors, the steady beat of the drums chopping its way through the lilt of flutes and lyres. Xena looked at Ares again in the rich golden torchlight, and saw his jaw twitch and tighten. She reached over and took his hand, feeling his warm fingers tremble in hers. It hit her how different he looked now. What if one of his former priests saw him, and didn't recognize him? Would that be even worse?

So different... It wasn't just the tiny wrinkles near his eyes and mouth or the other traces of mortality on his skin, or the glint of silver on his temples, or the small tuft of hair sticking out on the side of his head -- she wanted to smooth it over but wondered if it would only make him more self-conscious. He needed a haircut. But there was something else ... it was almost as if his face, his eyes, all of him had once been encased in a cold hard shell, and now it had fallen off or melted away, leaving him -- no, not soft, but exposed, vulnerable ... human. She squeezed his hand tighter as they stepped through the doors into the temple's round anteroom.

"Hey, hey, hey," said the burly-looking attendant, poking her in the shoulder with a fat finger. She glared at him and he jerked his hand back. "Didntcha see the sign? No weapons allowed." He pointed to the chakram at her belt.

"That's not a weapon," Ares said cheerfully. "That's a fashion accessory.”

"Come on, lady -- don't give me any trouble...”

Xena smirked, her spirits lifting a little. "You heard what he said. Watch it -- it's a sharp accessory," she added as the attendant reached out tentatively to touch the edge of the chakram.

He shifted his eyes from her to Ares and back and finally sighed. "All right, go on.”

Crossing the anteroom, they reached the main hall, the music floating around them as the drums fell silent for a moment.

It was quite a sight, the black and silver and red everywhere, the air aglow with dozens of lights, the men and women dancing and drinking, the quick-footed serving girls carrying trays with silver goblets or wine-filled helmets-turned-pitchers. Two columns looming behind the altar had become pedestals for large brass cages, a busty girl in a tiny leopard-spotted skirt and top writhing in one and a muscle boy in a matching loincloth in the other. The drumbeat picked up again, bursting out of two alcoves on opposite sides of the hall, and the dancing sped up. Several female voices soared above this sea of sound; turning her head, Xena saw five women in sleek black and silver standing on the altar-top, baying a popular song as they swayed to the music, their faces ablaze in reflections from the firepit in front of the altar.

She threw a cautious glance at Ares. He was looking around, mouth agape. Then his eyes rested on the black stone wolf with a garland of fake red and black flowers draped around its snarling muzzle. He started laughing -- not bitterly, not hysterically, but with what seemed like genuine, almost helpless merriment. It made her laugh, too.

"Ooohhh..." Ares wiped the tears from his eyes, and looked at her with a sly smirk. "You know something -- I approve.”

"You do, huh?”

"Especially of the flute girls.”

"I bet." She grinned at him, still holding his hand.

"Hey. Wanna dance?”

She had to go back -- Gabrielle was back at the inn, alone... "Ares -- I don't know -- “

"Oh come on." He drew an arm around her waist, pulling her toward him. Then, the music stopped.

The flutes and lyres died first; then the singers' voices were abruptly cut off on a jarringly dissonant chord, and, looking in their direction, Xena saw them scramble rather ungraciously off the altar. Finally the drums rattled to a halt; she noticed an attendant signaling frantically to the drummers. All that remained was the puzzled din of voices, the sharp tapping of shoe heels on the stone floor, and the clinking of goblets, but even these sounds were beginning to hush. She stepped back from Ares, still holding his hand.

She felt cold inside. It had something to with --

"My lord Ares!”

Ares' hand jerked slightly in her grasp.

The scattered gasps in the crowd dissipated into a silence in which someone's hurried steps echoed dully through the hall.

A tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man was walking toward them, carrying something in his hands. His legs seemed a little unsteady, and when he dropped to his knees before Ares it looked as if he had collapsed rather than knelt deliberately. His lips were trembling, his eyes wide with mortal terror. He raised his hands, and Xena saw that he was holding a small silver tray in his hands with a gob of red jelly-like substance on it. The realization of what it was came like a hard punch to the chest.

"My lord Ares," the man rasped. "It is my honor to offer you this humble gift -- “

How the hell did a priest of Ares in a town on the edge of Greece get his hands on ambrosia? The question scurried across Xena's mind and settled somewhere in the back of it, to be retrieved later. The pain spread through her, bright and searing. Of course -- she had always known this moment would come.

Ares licked his lips almost convulsively, his eyes riveted on the silver tray, and it seemed to Xena that she could see some of that cold hardness return and set into his face.

She'd been going to give him a haircut...

She had no right to stand in his way. He was born and made to be a god. He had given it up for her, and now he would get it back.

Maybe it was best this way, for everyone. Best for him ... certainly best for Gabrielle. Lowering her eyes, she saw herself coming back to the inn, looking at Ares' empty room ... she wondered what would be worse, to go through his meager mortal possessions or just to leave them there, to be picked apart by the innkeeper and the servants. The pain sharpened. But maybe, in the end, it was best for her, too. At least she would stop chasing the impossible dream of a life with Ares -- of having both Gabrielle and Ares in her life.

She let go of his hand.

The small crimson lump twinkled softly, winking at him, and Ares knew that he couldn't look away even if he tried. He also knew that the shimmer wasn't just from the torchlight. No, this was a glow no human craft could have faked ... the real thing. It all came back to him: the splendor of Olympus and the ruthless magnificence of the Halls of War; the thrill of striding storm-like through a battlefield, urging warriors on to kill and die, igniting their rage and feeling it flow back from them into his own immortal blood; the sense that he had within him a force unbound by space and time, a power that made the world his playground. One couldn't possibly describe this to a mortal, any more than one could describe the color red to someone born blind. But he knew what it was like, he still remembered, and he felt a jab of panic at the thought that this memory was slipping away from him. Maybe some day, if he stayed mortal, he'd forget completely.

This was his chance, then. He could let this little piece of jelly dissolve under his tongue, filling his mouth with its thick tangy sweetness, and the power would fill his body again, burning away every pain, every weakness, every mortal flaw. His humiliation at the Amazons' hands, the terror that had racked him when he was on his knees waiting to die ... all that would fade into a mist, the memories still there but their sting gone. And those other ghosts of death and suffering that had harassed him lately -- memories that left him torn between shame at his past and shame at his regrets -- they'd lose their power too, once he knew that death and suffering were no longer his own lot.

Or would they? Maybe some of his mortal instincts would survive ... maybe, if he went back to playing with his toy soldiers of flesh and blood, he would never quite be able to forget that he had been like them once, and knew too much of their pain and terror. What then? If he regained his godhood and couldn't do his job anymore, what could he do?

He could risk it. He had been mortal before, if only for a short while, and had gotten his godhood back, and things had returned to normal ... almost. But maybe he didn't want things to return to normal... Tartarus, that’s it -- I’ve lost my mind.

Ares reached out -- it seemed to him that he was moving with an unnatural slowness, as if underwater -- and took the tray from the priest's unsteady hands. His own hand shook a bit, in yet another mortifying reminder of his weakness. His thumb pressed on the tray, almost touching the ambrosia. It wasn't just that he wanted to be a god; all of him, spirit and flesh, craved godhood, craved to feel the rush of power shoot through his body -- it was something like mortal hunger and thirst, or sexual longing, only far, far stronger. He had never wanted anything so much -- except for --

Suddenly, he realized that Xena was no longer holding his hand. He made himself take his eyes off the ambrosia, and looked at her.

She stood stiffly, her hands clasped in front of her, her face still and very beautiful.

He wanted to reassure her that she wouldn't lose him, that he would always love her -- he had loved her before when he was a god, why would that change? Only -- would she let herself love the God of War? Maybe she could become a goddess with him, maybe they could split it ... but no, she wouldn't, he knew her too well. Dammit, if he could only talk to her... if they had only been alone... He became conscious of the silent crowd around him, all those people gaping, their faces frozen in shock and greedy anticipation. They'd be talking about it forever. Ares, God of War, had to ask his girlfriend's permission before he got his godhood back. Right.

For no special reason, the memory of one particular moment sprang up in his mind: how, just before Gabrielle got back to the campsite by the lake, he was sitting with Xena, cleaning his vest while she was polishing her armor, and they were talking about ... what was it? -- oh yeah -- fishing -- she had told him he was getting really good at it, and he teased her about getting better than her, and she laughed and punched him in the arm.

He could become a god, and she might -- might -- still share his bed sometimes. But it would never be like that again. Never.

Another moment came back to Ares then: the time he regained his godhood on Sisyphus' island, with Xena's help, after his first bout with mortality. I won't forget this ... those were the last words he had spoken as a mortal. Yes, you will, she replied, her eyes filled with same sadness he saw there now, the same quiet resigned pain. And he remembered what she said to him afterwards. It's your loss, Ares. For a while, you weren't just mortal -- you were human.

Their eyes met again. Xena gave him a small, forced smile and nodded slightly, as if to say, Go ahead.

He wasn't sure how long he had been standing like this, the tray with the ambrosia in his hand. A few barely audible whispers and murmurs rolled through the crowd, and Geryon -- he had suddenly remembered the priest's name -- cautiously raised his head and gave him a puzzled glance.

His whole body, and most of his mind, screamed in protest at what he was going to do. Shut up, he told them.

His jaws refused to move at first, and his mouth was horribly dry, but he finally managed to give a reasonable approximation of a laugh and then to speak.

"Sorry, pal," he said, thrusting the tray back toward Geryon. "You've got the wrong guy.”

The look of utter bewilderment on the priest's normally dignified face was comical enough, but Ares had already turned toward Xena, only vaguely aware of the murmurs rising and swelling up around him. Her eyes were very wide, her lips trembling slightly -- he had seen that look on her face before, on Olympus, when he had just given up his godhood to save her and the ones she loved. Only it wasn't quite the same look; still stunned, still moved, but there was less disbelief in it, and more tenderness.

A gaunt woman ran up to Geryon to help him up, fixing Ares with an irate glare. The priest reached out, a little shakily, to take the tray back.

No, wait a minute -- he couldn't just leave a chunk of ambrosia here at the temple; there was no telling what psycho was going to get hold of it and gain the powers of a full god...

"Hold on," he said. "Why don't we make a proper sacrifice to the gods, huh?”

The tray arced in the air and disappeared into the fire-pit before the altar. The chorus of gasps turned to shouts and squeals as the flames rose, flaring scarlet and then gold before settling down.

It was gone -- really gone.

He looked at Xena again. Her eyes and her smile said, Well done.

"Geryon?" A middle-aged blond man with a neatly trimmed beard, clad in an elegant blue coat, stepped forward from the front of the crowd.

"M- m- m- " the priest stammered, his features working frantically. "M-m-mayor Deon...”

"What in Tartarus is going on around here?”

"Everything's cool." Ares had no problem thinking quickly now. "It was an act -- all part of the show." He flashed the spectators his most wickedly charming grin. "You bought it, didn't you? You actually thought I was Ares. Wow. I'm flattered.”

There were scattered, still-tentative laughs in the crowd. Ares himself started to laugh, quite genuinely this time -- it was hard to believe but he felt good -- and then Xena was laughing too, and more and more people joined in, even the mayor, and finally Geryon too twisted his mouth into something resembling a snicker.

Ares reached over and took Xena's hand.

"Let's get out of here.”