By LadyKate

The heavy, silver-plated, ornate doors of the Roman government building groaned and shook under the battering ram and finally gave way.

The stately building with heavyset marble columns was the last patch of territory the Romans still held in Salonae. Quintilius Gallo had fled with what remained of his legions, and Xena's army had entered the city with no resistance. But it wasn't quite over yet, and Xena remained fully alert, fully focused as she strode into the ostentatious lobby. A bowstring snapped and sang overhead, and she looked up sharply to see the shooter on a mezzanine, in time to catch the arrow with her left hand and throw the chakram with her right.

Her soldiers were going off in all directions, up the stairs and down the hallways, past a handful of cowering clerks and servants who were still in building. Xena spotted a small band of Roman soldiers, fewer than a dozen, standing by a door at the end of a corridor. With her officers behind her, she headed that way. The fools were obviously determined to die on their post, and she quickly obliged hem.

When the door was flung open, the smell of burning hit Xena's nostrils. She saw a lanky, balding man standing by the fireplace, throwing parchments into the blaze -- some sort of official documents, no doubt. He turned, and she recognized him from the busts she had seen in the towns her army had taken: Flavius Bolanus, the Roman governor of Illyricum.

Bolanus had been a military commander once, and it was still evident in his bearing and in the resolute way he reached for the sword propped up by the wall -- though he was at least fifty now, and clad in a toga that was likely to hamper his movements. For a few moments, he stood there pointing the sword at Xena and seemed to ponder his next move, as if he actually had a chance; only the blinking of his eyes and the way his left hand was balled into a white-knuckled fist indicated that he knew how hopeless his plight was. He looked from Xena to the warriors behind her. Then, with a swift motion, Bolanus turned the tip of the blade toward his own chest. His hand shook momentarily, and the delay was enough for Xena's chakram to knock the sword out of his hand, the metal clanging on the marble floor. The governor of Illyricum was more useful alive than dead.

She caught the chakram, intercepting the admiring glances of her men, and said casually, as if she gave such orders every day, "Chain him. Get him out of here."

As Bolanus was dragged away, the Warrior Princess let her eyes wander aimlessly around the study. It was really over now. There had been a moment, back when the Romans had her trapped by the walls and she watched her soldiers falling and dying around her, when rage burst inside her head like a ball of white lightning and took over -- not blind rage but the opposite, focused and aware and yet savage enough that she would have gladly killed every Roman within her reach. But that had long subsided, and now the intoxication of combat and victory was beginning to wear off too; she even became concsious of her injuries -- the hastily bandaged wound above her knee, the jagged cut on the arm where an arrow had slashed her skin, thankfully without hitting bone or muscle.

And then Xena was aware of something else: the familiar tingle of Ares' presence, only now her awareness of it was heightened. The knowledge that he was watching her brought back an almost dizzying surge of pleasure in a battle well-fought and won, along with a jolt of sexual excitement that made her close her eyes.

"Everyone out," she said in a level voice.

After the officers and soldiers had filed out, Xena turned toward where the God of War stood. It was a few more seconds before he appeared. He stared at her without coming any closer; his lips were parted, and his eyes glowed faintly as if reflecting nearly extinguished embers.

She walked up to him, clasped her hands on the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

They had never made love like this, after a battle -- though in her warlord days, she had teased him maddeningly with the possibility, as part of that cat-and-mouse game of hers. It was something Ares had imagined many times, and yet now something made him hesitate for an instant. But she was already tugging at the laces on his pants while backing him into a high mahogany chair by the wall, never breaking the kiss, and the need to have her swept aside everything else. What presence of mind he had left went into sealing the door shut with a wave of his hand. He ripped away her undergarment and tried to unhook her breastplate, but Xena grabbed his arms, tearing her lips away from his, and pushed him down on the chair.

She undid his pants and straddled him. Then she kissed him again, a low growl vibrating in her throat, and slid down on his cock. The sensation almost shocked him; he wanted to tell her to go slow, to let him touch her, but the sheer bliss of being inside her was too much ... Tartarus, let her do whatever she wants. Her hands roamed his chest, throwing his vest open. It made him draw in his breath and arch into her -- and just then, his gasp turned into one of pain as Xena twisted his nipples hard enough to hurt even his immortal flesh.

She did it again, even more violently. Ares jerked his head away from her, freeing his mouth, and hissed, "Stop that."

Xena smirked at him, a hard glitter in her eyes. "What? Too rough for the God of War?"

Before he could say anything else, she claimed his mouth in another kiss, still pulling and twisting his nipples. He seized her wrists, wrenching her arms behind her back, and she chuckled into his mouth and then sank her teeth into his lower lip. She couldn't draw blood, which seemed only to drive her to greater frenzy, but she was hurting him all right, and he felt anger rising inside him, mixing with lust and with the residual thrill of the morning's battle. Oh, it's blood you want? I'll give you blood.

A salty, tangy, slightly metallic taste filled Ares' mouth as he bit Xena's lip, and seconds later her body shook in a wild spasm, her inner muscles clenching around him. His arousal shot up to an almost impossible intensity; releasing her arms, he grabbed her shoulders and threw her down on the floor, slamming into her again and again until orgasm ripped through him like a sheet of flame.

He wasn't sure how long he lay on top of her after it finally ended. He knew, more as a flash of realization than as a coherent thought, that this was what he had once hoped to attain with Xena, this was what had first made him pursue her years ago when she was still a warlord in his service -- the promise of this perfect union of sex and battle-lust that, in thousands of years, he had found only with two or three Amazon queens.

He pulled himself up and looked at her.

Xena lay still, her eyes closed, her breathing uneven. Dark blood ran from her lip, trickling down her chin and her neck. There was a bleeding bite on her chest as well, right above the breastplate; the imprints of his fingers on her shoulders were turning purple, and he saw red scratches next to those marks.

Ares sat up and pressed his palms to his temples, shaking his head as if trying to clear his vision. A wave of nausea, almost as powerful as the pleasure had been, rolled to his throat and made him gag, bringing back memories of some of his less enjoyable mortal moments. Even now, he probably would have thrown up if he'd had any food in his stomach.

He reached out to stroke her face but jerked his fingers away as she opened her eyes. For a moment, there was stark terror in her mute stare before it changed to anguish.

"Xena..." he whispered, gingerly reaching out again, wiping the blood from her lip.

"I'm okay." Her voice was barely audible.

His nipples were still smarting a bit, but that was nothing compared to the dull pain inside his chest. He longed to hold her, yet somehow couldn't bring himself to take her in his arms now. He touched her hand, only to notice that her wrist was bruised as well, and brushed his fingertips over the reddened skin. She shivered.

They stayed like this a little while longer, until Ares rose to his feet, using his powers to readjust his clothes.

"Up you go," he said gently, holding out his hand.

Another moment passed before she took his hand and got up. Their eyes met again, and the War God struggled for words to say something, anything, but finally gave up. He waved at the door, unsealing it, and took himself back to Olympus.

* ~ * ~ *

After the blue light faded, Xena paced slowly around the study. It was hard to tell which of the aches and pains all over her body came from the battle, and which from her coupling with Ares. She ran her tongue over the torn, burning flesh of her lip, which was already starting to swell. Looking down, she realized that the leg wound had reopened too, fresh blood soaking through the stained bandage. But that didn't matter; she always healed quickly, and she was used to blocking out pain. Far worse was the knowledge that she and Ares had come to this. Maybe she had been fooling herself all along; maybe everything that had happened between them from the moment of their first union that night in the field had led to this ... Xena's eye fell on Bolanus' sword, still lying where it had landed when her chakram had knocked it from his hand. She kicked it, making it slide across the floor with a screech.

A noise outside drew her attention. Xena went to the window and pushed it open. Out there in the square where a Roman temple gleamed white and gold in the sunlight and a statue of the Emperor cast its tall shadow, men and women were dancing and singing, hugging each other, even hugging her soldiers; amidst the chanting and the cheers, she thought she heard her own name.

Xena sighed and straightened up, ignoring the soreness in her back. She had an army to run and business to attend to. She walked briskly to the door and beckoned to her officers to come in. If any of them wondered what had happened to her lip, they weren't about to show it.

She listened to the casualty reports, belatedly heavy-hearted at the thought that so many warriors were dead because she had slipped up and let the Romans trick her.

"What about Pelopidas' regiment -- whom are you going to put in his place?" asked one of the officers, Callippus. "You know, you could do worse than give it to that woman who took over when he was killed."

Xena looked up at him.

"What woman?"

"Not sure who she is, but I saw it myself. She was riding next to Pelopidas, then he got shot, and she was the one who rallied the soldiers and led them into battle. That girl can fight, I'll tell you that much!" He shook his head admiringly. "Couldn't have done better if she'd been taking lessons from you."

No. It couldn't be.

"And she didn't look like much," Callippus continued. "No taller than this" -- he held out his hand -- "and she wasn't even wearing armor..."

He stopped, taken aback by Xena's glare.

After the first flash of anger, she felt a strange hollowness inside. It was as if someone she loved had died, yet again, and she had been helpless to prevent it.

"Oh yeah -- that was Gabrielle, the scribe," said another officer, Argyron. "I saw her today -- I'd no idea she could fight like that! Say, Xena, if she's that good, how come you didn't send her out into the field bef --"

Her look cut him off even before she spoke.

"I hope you're not questioning my judgment," she said.

"O- of course not."

She was going to send for Gabrielle, but just then, the door opened and a grim-faced Phaleron came in, pulling her by the arm with unnecessary roughness, since the bard wasn't resisting. Her face and her body were streaked with caked mud and blood, the one almost impossible to tell from the other. She looked resigned and slightly dazed, until her eyes met Xena's and came to life again. Before she could think, Xena's hand went up to cover her mouth. Then she got up from her seat and turned away.

"She fought well, Xena," Phaleron said. "Under any other circumstances, she would deserve the highest honors. But she directly disobeyed your orders, and I suggest -- “

"Phaleron." Xena's voice was dangerously low. "I suggest that you let go of her right now. I also suggest that you remember what I've told you: I do not take orders from you." She paused. "Now, leave us alone. Everyone."

Behind her, there was a brief burst of noise as chairs were moved and boots shuffled and stomped on the floor. Then she heard the door slam shut, and Gabrielle said, "Xena? They're gone."

Xena stood still, staring into the fireplace where the remnants of the fire had died long ago.

"Won't you even look at me?" Gabrielle's voice had a shrill edge.

Xena spun around, and the bard gasped.

"Xena --" she raised a finger to her own lips.

"It doesn't matter."

"This isn't from the battle, is it," she said quietly. "Did -- did he do this?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Gabrielle came closer, squinting in disbelief.

"Oh gods, Xena ... and here too..." -- she pointed to the mark on her chest -- "and this..." She touched Xena's scratched and bruised shoulders and tried to hug her, but Xena held her at bay, suddenly irritated at being fussed over.

"I gave as good as I got," she snapped, only to regret it immediately when she saw her friend's horrified look.

"Xena, what's happening to you? This isn't you..."

"Oh? And this is you?" She gestured brusquely toward the bloodstains on Gabrielle's skin. "Dammit, Gabrielle -- I thought I could trust you!"

"Trust me to do what?" Gabrielle's voice rose again. "Stand by while the Romans have you surrounded?"

"I was doing fine."

"Oh of course... the great Warrior Princess couldn't possibly need my help!"

"You know that's not what this is about. You took an oath. You lied to me."

"You had no right to ask for that kind of oath!"

"It was for -- “

"For my own good? Don't even say it." Gabrielle's mouth twisted in a bitter sneer that looked wrong, so very wrong on her face. "Whom are you really trying to protect, Xena? You want me to be this untainted little innocent so you can go on thinking you have something pure in your life -- while you lead Ares' army ... while you become everything Ares ever wanted you to be!"

Xena's cheeks were burning worse than her damaged lip. She remembered the words Ares had thrown at her that night in the field, just before they made love for the first time. Everything you do is because you want to like yourself... She felt the tears welling up.

"Oh, Gabrielle... Sometimes I think it would have been better if we had never met -- better for you..."

Gabrielle's face crumbled for a moment before the anger came back.

"Don't ever say that. Don't." It was an accusation, not a plea. "Don't tell me that all these years have been for nothing..." She stopped and laughed bitterly. "Including the twenty-five years we were stuck in an ice cave thanks to your boyfriend."

Xena looked down; when she raised her head again, Gabrielle's eyes were soft and hurt.

"Xena..." She reached out and took Xena's hand. "Let's get out of here."

"What?"

"Let's leave. Now. Forget about your deal with Ares. Let him find himself another commander."

Shaking her head, the Warrior Princess gently squeezed Gabrielle's bare, spattered shoulders.

"I can't, Gabrielle. I can't. But you can."

"You know I'm not leaving you."

Xena walked back to the desk and sat down. After a long silence, she said, "I want to tell you something."

"What?"

She forced herself to look straight at Gabrielle.

"Whatever happens, you are always going to be purest thing in my life. And I will always love you." She paused, because what she had to say next was even harder. "I don't know if I'm doing this for you or for me, but I have to do it."

"Do what?" Gabrielle asked warily.

"My army will be leaving Salonae in three days. Some of the troops will remain stationed here, with Theramenes in charge. I ... I want you to stay too."

"Xe-- “

"No, wait. You can do some good here, Gabrielle, caring for the wounded -- for the prisoners ... You'll have the authority, I'll give Theramenes the orders. But you are not to go outside Salonae, you understand? Try to leave the city and you'll be stopped. Try to rejoin the army, and you'll be brought back here. And that's final," she added as Gabrielle opened her mouth again.

She rose, came up to Gabrielle and drew her into a too-fierce hug. The bard raised her hands hesitantly, her palms almost but not quite touching Xena's shoulders.

"So he finally got you to get rid of me," she said in a soft, hollow voice.

"No one's getting rid of anyone." Xena stifled back tears. "I'll be back when the war's over. We'll be together again. I promise." If you still want me in your life.

* ~ * ~ *

"I miss Gabrielle, you know." Getting no answer, Xena sighed and continued, "You don't understand that, do you. I know you and she haven't always gotten along ... I guess you just don't know her the way I do."

Argo was eating an apple from her hand, her lips flopping wetly around Xena's fingers as she stroked the mare's smooth neck and let the warmth spread under her skin. When the last of the apple was gone, she patted Argo's muzzle, feeling the animal's soft breath in her palm.

She shook her head. What was she thinking? It was the old Argo that Gabrielle hadn't always gotten along with. Did she, after all this time, still have trouble dealing with the idea of those missing twenty-five years?

"It's too bad you didn't know Gabrielle in the old days." She took another apple out of her satchel. "Yeah ... I miss her." And the old Argo, too, sometimes... "Funny, isn't it. I don't take you into battle either, but you're not going to start complaining about it or go behind my back..."

As Argo munched contentedly, Xena reflected that Ares hadn't been around either since the day she had told Gabrielle to stay in Salonae. It had been over a month -- a month in which she had led his army to victory after victory, chasing the Romans out of Illyria, taking part of Gaul, and finally entering Italy itself. Well, he had been around, lurking and watching her sometimes, but he hadn't made himself visible even once, and she hadn't called him out.

Argo snorted gently into her neck, nuzzling her. With a wistful smile, Xena scratched her behind the ear.

"I guess we're on our own now, girl."

She heard someone coming toward Argo's enclosure and turned to see Argyron.

"The messenger from Ariminum is here."

She straightened out her shoulders, her face hardening into resolve.

"What does he have to say?"

"She will only speak to you."

"Very well, then. I'll see her in my tent right away."

The woman waiting in the tent was no more than twenty, nearly as tall as Xena and of slender build, accentuated by her long, plain, silvery-grey gown. She had been leaning back slightly against the edge of the table but straightened up stiffly when Xena came in. It was possible to imagine emotion and even warmth in that beautiful chiseled face, but right now it held none.

"Xena," she said in a firm, expressionless voice.

"And who are you?"

"Lavinia Silana," she said in the clipped tones of a soldier reporting to a commanding officer. "My father, Lavinius Torquatus, is the chief magistrate of Ariminum."

"So you are the messenger they sent to me." Xena walked over to her rug-covered seat, one of her trophies from Salonae -- a chair whose silver back was formed by two crossed curved sabers -- and sat down, then pointed to a stool.

"Take a seat."

"No. For what I have to say, I'd rather remain standing."

Xena met the steady gaze of her pale hazel eyes, and knew with resignation what she was about to hear.

"I take it you're not here to negotiate a surrender."

"I'm here to tell you that every man in Ariminum is prepared to fight to the death. So is every woman. And every child old enough to hold a slingshot." On those last words, Lavinia's voice trembled a bit and her jaw twitched. "We can't beat you, Xena. We know that. But there will be no surrender."

Xena turned away. "It's not too late to reconsider."

"Yes, it is."

The shrill edge in the messenger's voice made her look up again.

"What are you talking about?"

In the next instant, she knew: her warriors whom Quintilius Gallo had captured at Salonae and taken with him in his retreat to Ariminum.

"The prisoners ..."

Lavinia looked her straight in the eye, calm again, except that her hands were clasped together too tightly.

They stared at each other in an almost unbearable stillness, as if waiting for something to happen, and finally it did. A commotion was heard outside, and then Argyron stuck his head into the tent. He looked grim.

"Xena, you should come out here."

"What's going on?"

"They've thrown some bodies from the city walls."

"Our men," she said flatly.

"We haven't retrieved the bodies yet, but -- it sure looks like it."

Xena never flinched; yet she felt rage gripping her, like an iron ring tightening slowly around her head. She turned back to Lavinia.

"It's no different than what you did to the governor of Illyricum," the young woman blurted out, and for just a second something in her manner suggested a defiant teenager rather than an intrepid Roman.

Xena narrowed her eyes. "Bolanus was killed trying to escape. It was an accident."

"So you say."

After a brief pause, Xena rose abruptly.

"You wanted to make sure there was no way back."

"If you want to take Ariminum," Lavinia said, "you'll have to kill every last one of us."

From somewhere in the past, Xena's own voice exploded inside her head. Kill them all!

"Well," she said with a chilly smile, her tone almost conversational, "since you ask so nicely..."

Lavinia stood very straight, her head thrown back, her eyes on the Warrior Princess.

"Argyron," Xena said. "Make sure she gets safely back inside the city walls." As the officer eyed her expectantly, she added, "And gather the troops. I'll speak to them as soon as they're ready. We attack tomorrow."

She looked at Roman messenger, and then turned back to Argyron.

"There will be no quarter."

* ~ * ~ *

The moon, creamy white and almost perfectly round, rolled out from behind a thick cloud and shone down on the camp, otherwise lit only by a few sparse torches. Gabrielle glanced around warily; it would be easier to find Xena's tent in the moonlight, but she also ran a higher risk of getting caught before she made it. Her disguise had been good enough for the sentries, who had ogled her appreciatively in her tiny, form-hugging yellow dress decorated with bright multicolored beads, and had easily believed that she was a working girl plying her trade. With any luck, she wouldn't run into anyone who knew her ... or if she did, the garish makeup and red wig would successfully conceal her identity.

She suddenly realized how tired, sore and hungry she was after seven days of nearly non-stop riding. She had stayed in Salonae for three weeks, and for the first two of them she had almost persuaded herself that she wasn't going back -- until one morning when, following a nearly sleepless night, she knew for sure that nothing would keep her away from Xena. She belonged at Xena's side; that's where she was needed most, perhaps more than ever now that Xena was determined to keep her away.

After that, devising an escape plan had been a cinch.

Now, all she had to do was get to Xena.

There was a noise behind her and then a crude laugh.

"Hello, gorgeous!" a man's voice called out.

Gabrielle turned around and saw two soldiers leering at her.

"Wanna party, baby?" snickered the shorter one.

"Thanks, boys." She put on her best seductive voice. "But I'm afraid I've, uh, already got a date for the evening."

"Oh yeah? With whom?" asked the second soldier.

She had to come up with something on the spot. "Mykillos."

"Never heard of him," snorted the first man. "Can't be that important."

"So you'll be late for your date," said the other. "No big deal."

Before she could turn away, the shorter man grabbed her and tried to kiss her, his breath reeking of garlic and cheap wine. Gabrielle jammed her knee into the man's stomach and he staggered back with a gasp -- but not before he had managed to grab her fake hair so that the wig came off in his hand. He stared at it in confusion for a moment and then broke into loud guffaws, joined by his companion.

"Looks like you're gonna have to kiss me if you want your hair back," he taunted.

She looked at him uncertainly, trying to decide if she should try to retrieve the wig or just sprint for it and hope to reach Xena's tent unrecognized.

"Hey," said a familiar woman's voice, and the men straightened up, the look on their faces changing to one of deference. "What's going on?"

Gabrielle turned around and saw Berenice, the officer who had been there the evening she beat Mykillos in a dagger-throwing contest. Dammit ... it would have to be someone who knew her. Now she could only hope the woman would be in a helpful mood.

"Sorry, ma'am," one of the soldiers mumbled. "Just, uh, questioning the girl to see if she's, uh, any trouble." Berenice's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Says she's on her way to see a customer ... what was the name again? Oh yeah, Mykillos."

Berenice gave Gabrielle a probing look and then said curtly, "Okay, on your way, fellas. Don't make me find out if you've been drinking."

Scowling, the man threw the wig back at Gabrielle, and the two of them walked away, disappearing in the forest of tents.

"What are you up to?" Berenice asked. "You're not really here to see Mykillos, are you?"

Gabrielle shook her head.

"He's dead, you know," Berenice said drily. "Roman archer got him last week."

The bard looked down, twisting the ridiculous red wig in her hands. She felt a jab of sadness, and was unaccountably contrite over the way she had humiliated the man in front of his friends.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, lifting her eyes again.

"I know he was a jerk, but the guy really did like you. Just wasn't very good at showing it, I guess." Berenice shrugged and gave a little head shake. "He said you stayed behind in Salonae."

"I did." Evidently, Berenice didn't know she was banned from the camp. So far, so good. "I just got back."

"So what are you doing dressed like this? Not enough money in the bard business?"

"It's just a disguise in case I ran into some Romans," she said quickly.

Berenice eyed her suspiciously but then seemed to relent.

"Well, if you're looking for action to write about, you've sure got good timing."

For a moment, Gabrielle's heart stopped beating. Then she whispered, "What?"

"Tomorrow morning, we attack Ariminum. No quarter." Berenice's voice was businesslike. "Xena's orders."

There was no time, right now, to feel sick.

"Berenice ... take me to Xena's tent. Please?"

"I don't know..." The woman looked doubtful. "She must be pretty busy, getting ready for the big day..."

Somehow, Gabrielle managed not to sound too desperate.

"Please, Berenice. I know she'll want to see me."

After a few torturous moments, she said, "All right, come with me."

As they walked through the sleeping camp, Berenice talked about the killing of the prisoners and the Romans' challenge, and Gabrielle tried her best to quiet her racing mind so she could think of what to say to Xena. She could already see the familiar outline of the command tent with its feathered top when a tall figure emerged into the moonlight and stopped, turning toward them.

Even before Gabrielle saw who it was, something told her this was bad.

And then, with the numbing feeling that all was lost, she found herself staring at Phaleron.

"What's this?" the priest of Ares asked.

"Phaleron," Berenice said, her tone cool but deferential. "It's not what it looks like -- this is Gabrielle, the scribe. She -- “

"I know who this is," Phaleron cut her off. "Do you know that she was under strict orders not to leave Salonae?"

"No, I don't ... I didn't," Berenice said slowly, glancing at Gabrielle with a mix of sympathy and annoyance.

Perhaps if she bolted right now and raced straight to Xena's tent, she'd make it.

Phaleron's hands clamped down on her shoulders.

"You're under arrest."

She succeeded in freeing herself, but even energy spurred by desperation wasn't enough for her to make more than a few steps before she was tackled and knocked to the ground.

"Berenice," she called out as Phaleron bound her hands with her own belt, "please tell Xena I'm here."

"If you value your rank, Berenice, you'll do no such thing," Phaleron said. "Xena has enough to think about right now without being bothered by her nonsense."

He hoisted Gabrielle up to her feet, just in time for her to see Berenice shrug almost regretfully and walk away.

* ~ * ~ *

Xena settled into her bedroll, pulling the fur covers up to her chin.

The preparations for the battle had kept her busy for the past few hours; but now, there was nothing left to do but wait for the morning. Now, it was just her, alone with the past and the future.

Not quite alone: with a tiny shiver, she sensed the presence of the God of War. She lay silently and waited, as she had may times in these past weeks, knowing by now that he wasn't going to appear. For the first time, she broke down and said quietly, "Ares."

He was so close that she could feel his warmth, so close that she thought she could touch him if she held out her hand. And then he wasn't there anymore.

She sighed and turned over on her side, closing her eyes.

The rage that had gripped her when she saw the bodies of the prisoners, some stabbed and others beheaded, had abated by now. But she still felt a grim pleasure at the thought that at this very moment, the Romans behind those city walls were terrified of her, that her mere name made them tremble.

It was too familiar, that feeling. If she held any real beliefs in her days as the Destroyer of Nations, foremost among them was the conviction that fear was the one human emotion that could be trusted. Love, admiration, respect -- all these could be faked. When they feared you, you knew it was for real.

Well, they feared her now ... even Gabrielle, probably. Maybe even Ares. Big bad God of War, afraid of a girl. A bitter smirk twisted her lips.

Obviously, she wasn't going to sleep. Xena threw the covers aside, got up and lit an oil lamp by her bedside. The pale, yellowish ghost of her own face stared at her from the side of a silver pitcher.

She could take Ariminum tomorrow and then go on to Rome. She had little doubt that she'd be victorious. And then the war would be over, and she would return to Gabrielle ... or would she?

Xena thought back to the time she fought the Horde. Back then, Gabrielle had been horrified by her willingness to do what she thought was necessary to win -- and in the end, the bard's stubborn belief in the value of compassion had helped her, Xena, hold on to her own humanity and find a better way than indiscriminate killing. But there wasn't always a better way. If Gabrielle were with her now, would she do all she could to stop the massacre -- or fight right alongside her? She wasn't sure of the answer, and that frightened her.

This wasn't just about facing Gabrielle, or facing Eve. The war would be over, and she would return -- to what?

She poured herself some water, put the pitcher down and drank slowly.

Kill them all.

It wasn't the same, really. Not like when she and her army laid waste to cities and villages in her native Greece. Not like the things for which she had spent all those years trying to atone. This time, she was fighting Rome.

Just as she was fighting Rome back in Britannia ... when her obsession with revenge against Caesar had caused Gabrielle to shed blood for the first time.

This time, she had tried to protect Gabrielle from following a path that threatened to destroy her soul. And now, she was about to destroy her own soul ... and Gabrielle's, more likely than not.

She wondered, not for the first time, if Ares had drawn her into this. Then, she knew that it didn't matter. Ever since she had taken over Alcibiades' army, she had told herself that she had no choice. But there was always a choice.

The truth was that some part of her, the dark part that would always be there, had wanted to do this, had reveled in the power and the conquest ... and she had let it happen.

Oh, she had done an excellent job of telling herself that she was fighting for the Greater Good, that this was different from what she had done as a leader of armies in the old days.

It was different all right. But after tomorrow, there would be no denying that, in too many ways that mattered, it was the same.

* ~ * ~ *

The pallet on the floor of the tent was so thin and lumpy that finding a comfortable position -- or even one that wasn't wretchedly uncomfortable -- turned out to be a lost cause. The manacles chafing at Gabrielle's wrists didn't help.

She felt like walking around, but the chain that fastened her manacles to the pole in the middle of the tent wasn't quite long enough to even let her stand. She sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest, huddled as if she were cold.

The guard who had brought her bread and water (at least she no longer had a gnawing emptiness in her stomach adding to her misery) had eyed her as if she were some unusual, amusing but not particularly appealing small animal. Probably wondering, she thought, why some bedraggled whore was being held in a tent reserved for detainees from Xena's own ranks. She had to look awful, that ridiculous dress torn while she struggled with Phaleron, her hair matted, her face dirty and streaked with tears.

Among the thoughts swirling in Gabrielle's mind, a vivid memory floated to the surface: how, shortly after she and Xena first met, she tagged along to the tomb of Xena's brother; how Xena talked to the dead Lyceus and said softly, "It's hard to be alone"; and how the eager, clumsy, long-haired, wide-eyed kid she was then -- had that really been her? -- spoke up: "You're not alone."

And now, Xena was alone again ... or, worse yet, with him. And she, Gabrielle, was as alone as anyone could be.

Maybe one really could find comfort in talking to the dead.

* ~ * ~ *

Fully dressed now, Xena lifted the flap of her tent and looked outside. The two guards at the entrance jerked to attention, somewhat shocked to see her up.

"Peleas," she said to one of them, "go get all the regiment commanders. I need to see them in my tent."

The mute question in the man's eyes was, Right now? Aloud, he said, "Yes, my lady."

Xena watched him as he walked away, and then went back and sat down in her chair. She no longer felt restless. Gabrielle had told her she could trust her to do the right thing, and she would do it.

* ~ * ~ *

"Eli? I'm not sure where you are ... I'm not sure you can hear me... but I could really use some of your wisdom right now."

Gabrielle sighed and rubbed her now-dry eyes. There were distant voices outside, and the cold moonlight poured in through a small window cut in the side of the tent.

"I wonder if you know what Xena's about to do. I mean, you know she's not that kind of person anymore, right?" The kind who'd take a town and slaughter everyone in it ... "She spent years becoming someone different ... making up for the bad things she did ... and now she's about to lose it all." Her voice dropped to a mere breath. "How could that happen, Eli? How did it happen?"

She tried to evoke the image of Eli in her mind, his eyes gentle and smiling at her, but all that came to her was his face in the agony of death.

"Maybe it was all my fault," she said tonelessly. "You taught me the way of love and peace, and I walked away from it." She had turned to violence because she didn't care about anything except helping Xena -- and then, before she knew it, she was living a warrior's life, fighting and killing left and right... "What could I do? I had to look out for Xena ... for Eve ... for your followers... for the Amazons... I got to be a little too good at fighting. And when you're good at fighting, people expect a lot from you."

She paused, not sure if she was waiting for an answer.

"I guess I made a mess of things," she said. "I thought I was doing what was best. I gave up the way of peace, but I wasn't cut out to be a warrior either. Xena could see that ... that's why she wanted to protect me, even if it meant losing her own way ..."

Gabrielle sat still for a moment, listening to the silence. She felt the tears coming on again.

"Eli ... if you can hear me, please help her," she whispered hoarsely. "You wouldn't abandon her just to punish me for leaving your path, would you? Please help her."

She buried her face in her knees and wept quietly in defeat.

And then, a familiar voice that was definitely not Eli's said, "Very touching speech. You ought to get it published."

* ~ * ~ *

As the flap of the tent went up, Xena turned her head sharply and saw Phaleron.

"You called the commanders to a meeting," he said, without bothering to greet her. "Why?"

"You'll find out soon enough, when they get here."

"They're not coming yet. I told Peleas to hold off on summoning them until he hears from me."

She rose abruptly from her seat.

"You countermanded my order?"

"I merely delayed its execution." He bowed with a deference that came across as fake and slightly mocking. "I wanted to know your reasons first. After all, I am your second in command."

"Well, that's just it, Phaleron," she said, smiling wryly; soon, he wouldn't be her problem anymore. "You're second. Don't forget it."

If her words stung, his face didn't show it.

"I am also the priest of your patron god." He paused. "Why would you wake the commanders in the middle of the night before a battle? Surely you can tell me that much. Is there a change of plans?"

"There isn't going to be a battle."

Phaleron raised his thin eyebrows.

"You're postponing it?"

"I'm calling it off."

"You mean, we're bypassing Ariminum and moving on to Rome?"

Xena wondered if his puzzled look was entirely sincere.

"We're not moving on to Rome. We're pulling back."

"You can't do that."

She chuckled. "Watch me."

"Let me tell you something, Xena." He came up close to her, so close he was almost in her face. "You aren't just fighting this war for yourself, you're fighting it for Ares."

"Let me tell yousomething." She gave him a scornful look. "I always have my own reasons when I fight. Or when I don't fight."

She stepped toward the exit, but the priest of Ares blocked her way, his chilly composure momentarily giving way to undisguised fury.

"Ares --"

"Trust me, Phaleron. If it's between Ares and me, I will deal with it my way," she said in a deliberately insinuating voice. "Right now, I'm calling my commanders. We have nothing else to talk about."

"You're right," Phaleron said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "There's been enough talk."

She glanced down and shook her head.

"So you're just another man with a death wish."

"I'm a man who knows something about duty," he said. "If you want to leave this tent, you'll have to go through me."