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Chapter Text

After-images of battle danced in the air, unseen but not unfelt. The city streets were raucous with the undoings of bloodlust and battle-rage; sounds of violent passion, pleasure, indulgence in its every form echoed from the streets and the many taverns. The victorious laughed and drank, fucked and sang; the joy of war was in the winning.

The dead lay in piles on the battlefield, waiting for the morning’s light. There would be pyres, come dawn; the dead would burn. The earth would be cleansed of the bodies, but not of the blood it had drank, consumed, swallowed — the once-dusty soil would never again be so light in color, and would never again lose the slight tint of crimson. 

Night grew on, and the sounds of feasting crested before they fell into silence. The city fell quiet. Up above the city of Corinth, high up on a hill that overlooked it and the faraway towns along the coast, sat the palace. Acrocorinth, some called it. Conqueror’s lair, others named it, though never within earshot of the warlord or her minions.

To Xena, it was a place to sleep. She had not partaken in the festivities; the war campaign had not sated any of her desires, nor had it awakened any anew. She had returned to Corinth much in the same state she had left it — irritable, angry without cause, a cat in a cage of her own making. 

Usually, she took part in the beginning, while the men were still sober enough to make memories. She acted up the violence and took pleasure in the spilling of blood and wine, drank copiously and fucked rigorously, however it pleased her. She did what she wanted, and for a long time, that had earned her the respect of her army. Her commanders bowed to her not only out of respect, but from fear. The sight of an insolent comrade, fallen to his death from the top of the hill with a knife in his eye, was a good incentive to stay in line. 

This time she had only taken part for a precursory hour of executions on the first day. Her stomach felt as though it had turned to stone, and no food, no drink, nor anything else pleasurable would settle, let alone bring any pleasure to her flesh. She had turned her irritation to her own, and beaten one of her captains to a pulp for making a half-way lewd comment about her breasts.

Sensing the lack of wisdom in such an act, she had stormed off and gone up to her palace to sulk. She wanted nothing, and saw no-one; few lived in the palace save herself, and the servants knew by now to stay well out of her way.

She sat on a satin couch surrounded by luxuries, wearing a robe of silk. Before her on the gilded table there was wine, fruit, fine cheese, meat — luxuries that any fool down in her city would have gladly paid half their wages for. She wanted for nothing.

She wanted none of it.

In a sudden fit of rage, Xena swept the wine, the fruit, everything to the floor, casting the golden plate into the air as one would a discus. It flew into a mirror and shattered the silvered glass before clattering to the floor. She felt terrible, and she did not understand why; in the face of her increasing discomfort, she was helpless, and that helplessness did nothing but send her into an uncontrollable, insurmountable rage. 

She had many outlets for her rage. In the past, all had brought her pleasure; fighting, sparring, wrestling, fucking. She thought of going down to seek a fight, and grimaced in distaste. She considered sending for one or twenty of her men for a late-night spar, and shook her head; she felt no taste for it. She had no desire to wrestle, either, and even less for fucking; her body recoiled at the thought of sweaty hands on her skin, on her arms, her legs, grabbing, pushing, pulling, needing something—

Wood and gold splintered when her fist went through the table at her feet. If there was blood from the cuts to her skin, she did not care to look; she kicked the table away and stood up, began to pace, needing something, anything to spare her from this immense, unsettling lack of pleasure. Lack of anything.

“My, how the mighty do fall.”

Xena whirled around at the sound of the voice. Nothing stood behind her; there was nothing in her palatial rooms except herself, and hundreds of reflections of her, scattered in the shards on the floor. 

“Over here, behind you.”

Xena turned. Still, nothing. Or perhaps, something — a flickering in the darkness. She squinted, her mind counting every weapon she had within reach. Was this her death? An unseen assassin come to taunt her before doling out her demise?

“My, my, Xena, your eyes aren’t quite as clear as the blue of them suggests,” came a drawling, dragging voice. Female, deep and purring; powerful in every meaning of the word. Against her will, Xena shivered.

“It reeks of divinity here,” she growled, eyeing the corner where she sourced the voice from. “Show yourself, rat.”

“I’d rather not,” came a light reply. “And you do not make demands of me, Warrior Princess.”

Something grabbed her by the throat and pulled her back, forcing her to her knees. Xena cried out, more from surprise than anything else. The stone floor was ice under her; the darkness of the room seemed immense, sentient almost.

Fear fluttered in the pit of her stomach. In feeling it, Xena felt her rage flare once again.

“Who are you?”

“My name will neither benefit nor hinder you, Xena,” replied the room. “I have come to help you.”

“This is a strange way to help,” Xena muttered. Incorporeal hands were pressing on her shoulders, keeping her in place. Fight as she might, she could not flee; she could not even raise her head. 

“So angry. So consumed by fury,” remarked the voice, plucking at the warp-strings of Xena’s mind with her tones, twisting her thoughts as though they were pieces of a tapestry being woven. “So desperate for something to change. Aren’t you?”

Xena pursed her lips and steeled herself.

An icy grip took her by the jaw and forced her to look upwards into something. Something was looking at her — a woman, an entity — and fear, again, shivered within Xena. 

“Aren’t you?” came the demand, slicing like a blade through Xena’s consciousness. 

“Damn you,” Xena spat.

The hand slapped her so hard she fell to the floor. 

“Your attitude is exhausting.”

“I am what I am,” Xena retorted, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue; the wound stung, but kept her mind clear of whatever strange clouding magics the voice was winding into it. “Why are you here?”

“Tell me you want something to change. Admit to it.”

“Why?”

“Just obey, you insolent mortal.”

Whatever magic had danced in the air before was nothing compared to the strike of dominant will that came over Xena then. She could not help that she hung her head and cried out, fighting against the voice that was willing her to do things she did not want; to admit to things even when she did not want to say the words. It was painful, but beyond pain it was pleasurable — she was tempted into obedience by a promise unspoken by the voice that had inhabited her room.

“I want something to change,” she gasped, digging her fists into her thighs whilst on her knees. “Please, it has to change. I feel nothing, I find pleasure in nothing; I am alive, but I do not live. You’re right. Please, stop—“

The will eased off of her. Gasping from its impact, Xena remained on her knees; her muscles shook with the strain of staying upright. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Xena almost bit her tongue again just to feel something other than the nameless goddess’s aura of temptation.

“You are strong-willed. I suppose some admire that in you, Ares included,” the voice remarked. “And it will help you on your way.”

“You spoke of helping me.”

There was a light pause. A breeze drifted into the room from an open window, carrying the scent of rosemary from the gardens. 

“Your empire is ripping at its seams, Conqueror. Can you feel it?”

Xena spat blood onto the floor. “The hell it is. My campaigns have never yet failed; the men still celebrate the latest victory in the streets.”

“Battles, fights can be won. But can you win the people? The little ones, the peasants, the merchants, the everyday people; they hate you, but that you already know. They fear you and hate you. And your army? They, too, fear you. Your captains and commanders bow to you but secretly they wish they could take your place. They plot, they scheme; soon, it will all go up in flames. Will you sit on the throne when the revolt comes for your head? Will you let them subdue you and crucify you? Cut off your head? Cast your body to the dogs as if it were nothing but a bag of flesh?”

“I can maintain control,” Xena seethed.

“Oh, I’m sure you can. With violence and bloodshed, as you’ve always done. Tell me, Xena, how does it feel to have lost your soul?”

Xena thought to refuse an answer, but another slap struck across her mouth before she even had time to disobey.

“I don’t even think of it,” she answered truthfully, brief panic striking through to her core. She could not fight something she could not see; the voice was everywhere and nowhere, and the strikes came out of thin air, unannounced. 

A hand of ice struck through her chest and enclosed around her heart. A wordless cry strangled on her lips as she fell to the floor.

“I will grant you this one glimpse, Xena, so that you will remember.”

Xena gasped for air. The hand squeezed; all went black. Except it did not. She swam as if in the sweet confines between sleep and waking, her body suddenly heavy. Heavier than it should have been. 

Relaxed, she realized with a start. She was relaxed. There was a weight on her shoulder, a body resting against her own. Breaths drawn in a shared rhythm; hearts beating, one after the other. Almost apace, but not quite. 

Bliss filled her, ambrosial pleasure that carried with it only calm, and happiness. The taste of it was honey; the feel of it was heaven. Xena sighed and sank into the sleepy embrace. Her lips sought soft skin and pressed a gentle kiss atop a head of soft, silken hair. The woman laying with her sighed, breath tickling against Xena’s skin. 

She felt complete. Fulfilled. 

Ice enclosed her heart again, squeezing. She gasped, waking into pain, blood in her mouth, emptiness. A void in her heart.

Shards of glass on the floor. Darkness in the room, darkness outside the window; an insidious, terrible presence in the air, unseen, but not unfelt. 

Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. She had spent years forgetting that emptiness, and now it had been slammed back, unceremoniously, without warning. 

“Have you come to torture me?”

If she had, then the job was already done, Xena thought bitterly. She felt again the endless death of life without a soul; the pain was overwhelming in its emptiness. She would have sooner subjected to the full force of her torturers than suffer what she did in that moment, crumpled on the floor of her room, crying bitter tears onto the cold, unfeeling stone. 

“No. I have come to help you,” the voice said. “You have a choice, Xena. You want change; tonight you have your best chance to grasp it. If you do nothing, your life will continue as it is. Your empire will fall, and you will most likely find your head on a pike, your eyes being pecked out by crows. Your soul will fall into Tartarus; you will know pain everafter.”

Xena hung her head. In some ways, it felt like the only path. It was the end of the path she had walked on for years.

“My soul is already in Tartarus,” she muttered.

“Ah, but it is not. It is elsewhere. You can seek it and attempt to retrieve it; that is the other path.”

Xena’s head snapped up. She looked into the darkness, trembling. “What do you mean?”

“In your dungeons, this very night, there is a woman. She was not here yesterday; she will not be there tomorrow. She is nothing, truly — a farm girl from somewhere. She carries the key to your soul, Xena.”

“What do you mean?” Xena repeated. “What does any of this mean?”

“If you go down fighting, you will live on in memory for a time, the Conqueror, the terrible Empress who wrought fear and shed blood upon all of Greece. A fitting title for some, sure; Ares certainly would be glad to hear of it. But you will be mocked, you will be belittled — you will, eventually, be forgotten. History is full of evil souls that eventually fell to nothing. Your life will have been nothing. A waste.”

Xena dug her nails into the skin of her thighs so hard it hurt. “I hate that you gods do this. Speaking nonsense and making no sense.”

“If you choose the path of change, you will leave here tonight. You will leave your throne, your power, your army; abdicate, and leave as a shadow into the night. But you will not go alone. You will take with you this woman, this key to your soul—”

“And then what, fall in love with her?” Xena spat.

“Oh, no, I expect you’ll be in love with her within days,” replied the voice lightly. “That is the easy part. No, you’ll have to do more than love her, Xena. You’ll have to earn her trust. You’ll have to earn her forgiveness. You’ll have to teach her not to fear you. Do you think you can do that?”

A punch to the gut, figurative if not real. “I—“

“And more than that, you will have to learn to trust her. Not to fear her.”

“Why would I fear her?”

“Why would anyone fear a woman who can bring a mighty Conqueror to her knees?”

“I—“ Xena swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Do you think you can do what you must to redeem yourself, Xena the Warrior Princess? To regain your soul?”

Xena gave no answer.

“Do you want to?” asked the voice, scathing with the accuracy of its aim. Xena winced. Her nails on her thighs drew blood.

“Yes,” she whispered, the word bitter as it fell from her mouth. 

“Then hurry. She’s not as safe as she should be.”

“What is her name?” Xena asked, suddenly desperate. “Who is she?”

“Her name,” spoke the darkness, “is Gabrielle of Potidaea.”

Chapter Text

Xena remained motionless for a long while, waiting to see if the god would say anything more. After a while, she accepted that whatever presence there had been, had gone. The darkness had receded and a breeze danced on her skin, toying with a strand of hair that touched her cheek. She swept it away, annoyed.

Choose, Xena.

She had already chosen, and yet, her body would not move. She was frozen in place, in the midst of a room that was no longer her own. In the heart of a palace that was no longer hers. She would leave, she would abdicate; she would let the game-chips fall as they may. What other choice did she have? Try as she might, she did not want to die. 

A shiver along her spine brought her back to reality. She had to find Gabrielle. Gabrielle, this Gabrielle that she was supposed to save, to leave with. This Gabrielle that, supposedly, was the thread that would lead her to her soul, her salvation. Gabrielle, this woman that she was supposed to, according to this nameless god, fall in love with.

Xena scoffed at the thought.

Gabrielle, who at the moment was in the dungeons at the very base of the palace. The dungeons that she had, time and time again, failed to keep in order. The dungeons where, she knew, horrible things happened to prisoners that had naught to do with torture or punishment for crimes committed.

She had culled the staff and reinstated order so many times, and yet, it seemed the place itself bred evil. It drew out the horrible beast in men and inspired the worst acts, the most horrendous depravities, to come to light. It was Xena’s worst problem, and a great source of shame. 

Xena sprang to her feet and stormed out of the room. If this Gabrielle was in the dungeons, there was almost no chance that she was not, at present, being tortured in some way or another. Even if Gabrielle had meant nothing to her, Xena would have stormed down there anyway; she despised violence against the weak, the defenseless more than anything. Unearned pain and torture she hated even more. Even in her world of bloodshed and violence, she had placed strict rules; pain had to be earned, torture even more so. Only a coward raised their hand against someone who had not, at least, some fighting chance to survive.

When she left her royal rooms, it did not occur to her that it would be the last time she would see them. When she stormed through the halls of her palace, it did not occur to her to pause, to reminisce; she knew, and yet she did not acknowledge that, in some resolute part of her mind, she had already said goodbye to the colossal place and its luxuries, and was with every step taking firm strides on the path of change towards what was yet, wholly unknown.

Only when she reached the door to the dungeons below did a flutter strike her dead in her tracks. 

Excitement . 

She hadn’t tasted any emotion for a long time, let alone this one. She frowned, and then bit her wounded tongue again to wipe away the thoughts; she needed the control, and deserved the pain for having slipped up.

The scene she came upon was far worse than what she had imagined. In her walk through the palace, she had begun to wonder how she might discover Gabrielle’s identity; she had figured she would have to ask, and seek her from amongst the number of prisoners brought to the dungeons in the aftermath of the war campaign’s return. She had dreaded the task of looking from one face to another, hiding her hope, stifling her wonder as she looked for this supposed key.

She had not anticipated hearing screams and crying the second she stepped into the hall of cells. 

Anger twisted in her gut. She shoved the half-woken guard aside and stormed down the corridor towards the sound. Under the strike of her heel, the old oaken door to the torture-chamber burst into splinters as she forced her way in. All movement within the chamber ceased at once; all fell silent, the laughter and taunting words swallowed, leaving only fear in their wake. Fear of her, the Empress, the Queen, the Conqueror; fear of what she would do to them for having taken liberties with what they were permitted to do.

Xena counted six men in the chamber, and one woman. One woman, half-naked, her clothes torn to shreds; one woman, tears wetting her cheeks, sobbing, a firm, disgusting hand keeping her in place on the knee of one of her captains. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, allowing all of her fury to seep into her voice. The men nearest to her looked like they would piss their pants. The captain, whose name Xena could not even recall, remained somewhat composed; he had not even taken his other hand off the woman’s breast. At least the men were still clothed. The night’s horrors had not yet, she hoped, progressed to where she was sure they would have gone.

“Answer me, damn you,” she seethed, stepping into the chamber and pointing her words directly at the captain.

“We’re celebrating, my Queen,” answered he, apparently thinking himself perfectly within rights. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Figured I wouldn’t find out, you mean,” Xena hissed. Her hand was on the hilt of her sword. “Let go of this woman, now.”

The captain released his grip and let the woman fall to the ground. Xena felt her stomach clench at the sight of her fall so freely, not even trying to break the fall as she made contact with the floor. There were wounds on her skin, bruises that she could see. The sight made her blood boil.

She stepped over the woman. Her sword had yet to leave its sheath. Xena saw the seasoned warrior notice this, and relax; evidently, the sight of her sword still sheathed made him think he was to be spared any pain.

“Fool,” she muttered. The man looked up, confused. When she struck across his neck with the dagger from her bodice, he barely even blinked. She moved fast, and his death came faster. Blood sprayed at her, over her, and across the walls of the room. The other five men cried out in alarm and scrambled for the door, but she was again faster. They were drunk, she was not; they fell to her sword like crops to a scythe. There was no use to waste time in lecturing to them. They had been insolent and deserved death. She was not going to be around for the consequences of her actions, anyway. 

Sobs brought her out of the mist of her bloodlust. Xena turned around and made her way to the woman curled up on the floor. She had barely moved from where she’d fallen; fear dominated every inch of her being. 

For a moment, Xena stood over her. She looked about the room at the bloody mess, the bodies mangled, twisted where they’d fallen. She looked back at the woman, then shut her eyes and sighed.

Really? This one?

The gods certainly had a sense of humor.

She knelt beside the woman and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. At her touch, the blonde cried out and curled in on herself. Xena withdrew, though not without some pang in her own heart for the rejection. The woman on the floor was inconsolable, lost in the depths of fear, pain, and hurt. She needed to be brought out of it, Xena realized, and fast if she wanted to make it out during the night, and without raising any alarms.

“Are you Gabrielle?”

The woman jolted at the words, and her sobs seemed to ease a little. She gave no answer.

Xena sighed and leaned back on her heels, crouching beside the blonde. “Listen to me, this is important. Are you Gabrielle? From Potidaea?”

Sobs turned into coughs. Xena feared the woman might hurl. Judging by the blood seeping into the hair on the back of her head, she’d been dealt a painful blow. In truth, she was surprised to find she was still conscious.

“I am,” came a whimpered, broken reply. 

“Gabrielle, look at me,” Xena said sternly. She tried to avoid the usual icy tone she used for commands; she suspected it would not get her very far with this teary, broken thing of a woman. “Please,” she added, the word foreign and cumbersome in her mouth.

The blonde stilled. With what looked to be tremendous effort, she sat up and turned to look at Xena. She was young, Xena remarked, no more than twenty, twenty-five. A pretty little thing. 

Green eyes shone clear with the tears that brimmed within them. The woman looked at her as prey did its predator, trembling with fear. There was no doubt that she knew who Xena was. She did not know what her army had done to the village from whence she had come, but she guessed it was no pleasant tale. In all likelihood, her family was dead. 

Xena cursed the nameless god in her mind. There was no way she would ever get this woman to trust her for a second, let alone completely; the thought of forgiveness might, eventually, bring her to laugh, but never would she give it freely. Xena knew this, looking at her, and felt hope drain from her as sand from a broken hourglass. Hope, quickly built, and quickly burnt away.

She sighed. The path was chosen. In any case, even if she failed, it would be better than whatever waited for her here.

“Listen, Gabrielle, I am going to leave here, this palace, tonight,” she began. “I am giving up my throne. My life. My power. I don’t…this is not the life that I was meant to live. I’m done, do you hear me?”

She spoke to the woman before her as if she understood the breadth of her despair. Gabrielle, blinking away her tears, stared at her with a hazy expression that may have been confusion, or the signs of a concussion.

“I’m leaving this place and I want you to come with me.”

Xena heard the words as if they came from another’s mouth. Gabrielle’s eyes went wide with — what, confusion again?

No, fear, Xena realized with a bitter sigh. She could have easily thrown Gabrielle over her shoulder and stormed off into the night, stealing her away from this place and taking her wherever she went. She could have ordered her to go, and guessed the woman would have, in her fear, agreed to anything. But she knew that, if she did either of those two, her path to gaining her trust and her forgiveness would be doubled, right from the start. She had to try something else; she had to be different. 

“I want you to come with me,” she tried, gentler this time. “I want to help you. You’re hurt, I can’t leave you here. When I go, the whole empire will fall to pieces. Nobody will be safe in Corinth until the dust settles. Call it the beginning of my redemption, or whatever you want. But I’d like to see you safe away from here before we part ways. Could you agree to that?”

She wasn’t so sure where the words came from. They felt natural, though foreign; the kindness she was extending felt like an extra limb she hadn’t known she had. 

When the blonde nodded, faintly, Xena learned that she could breathe, after all. For a moment, for the excruciating minute between her hopeless request and Gabrielle’s consent, she had forgotten how to work her body — how to breathe, how to beat her heart. How to think, truly. She had just waited.

“Come along, then,” she said quickly, springing into action. “We should get a head start before dawn.”

She reached for Gabrielle’s wrist to help her up. Taking a hold of it, she was horrified to hear a pained cry escape the blonde’s lips — as horrified to hear the cry, as she was to feel the crunching of broken bones under her fingers. She dropped Gabrielle’s wrist and cursed, looked her over to see if there were any more injuries she’d failed to take stock of. A head-wound, cuts, bruises — sickly, deep bruises on her stomach that made Xena’s own twist with nausea — scraped knuckles, a split lip…

“Gods, they weren’t men at all,” she whispered. “Animals.”

She spat in the face of the nearest dead man and half wished he’d miraculously resurrect so she could kill him again, this time slower, and with far more pain.

“Can you stand, Gabrielle?”

Gabrielle sat up and tried to rise to her feet. She shook her head.

“I can carry you,” Xena offered. “But I don’t think there’s anywhere I can hold you that won’t hurt.”

“It’s fine,” mumbled Gabrielle. Her voice was so small. “Just…help me, please…”

Until then, Xena hadn’t known she had a heart that could ache at such a simple request.

She looked at the blonde on the floor and paused for thought. If she carried her as one would a bride over a threshold, tongues would wag; it would raise suspicions to see the Conqueror carrying any woman in such a tender manner. She did not, under any circumstance, want to leave a tale behind of how Xena the great warlord had swept away into the darkness with a blonde maiden in her arms. She wanted to ensure that there wasn’t even a faintest thought that she, the invulnerable warlord of horrific tale, cared for anyone, or anything. To care for someone was to have a weakness. To be cared for by her, of all people, meant almost an inevitable end at the hands of one of her many enemies. It was safer that everyone thought she’d left alone; it would have been safer, Xena mused, if she did go alone.

But she couldn’t leave Gabrielle. Not only had she already given her word, but the damned woman, apparently, held the key to her salvation.

In the end, she crouched down, swept Gabrielle up over her shoulder, and stood up with a grunt. The woman whimpered some at the pressure of her shoulder on her bruised midsection, but kept surprisingly quiet. 

“We’ll head to the stables,” Xena found herself saying. “It’s not far away. And we’ll…I’ll find you some clothes.”

She was painfully aware of the fact that the woman’s skirt had been reduced to what constituted a thin line of fabric, covering little if nothing at all. If she had worn a shirt or blouse before, she saw no sign of it now.

Though it was uncomfortable for her and no doubt torture for Gabrielle, Xena did know that the sight of her carrying a naked woman on her shoulder through the palace would hardly raise any alarm. It would not be the first time she’d done it.

It would, however, be the last.

Chapter Text

All Gabrielle knew was pain. Pain, and swirling, horrible nausea that seemed to fill every cell of her being. Nausea that came both from her stomach but also from the memories that tormented her mind, the ghosting touches on her skin, the horrible laughter in her ears. She felt sick, she felt violated; she felt like she’d lost herself and all that was left was a shell of a person. A shell that held within it nothing but hurt and weakness. 

When the Conqueror had stormed into the dungeon, Gabrielle had fully expected that her death had come for her in the guise of the Warrior Princess, to be doled out by her hand. She had felt blood fall upon her and thought it her own — but when the dust settled and Xena was the last one left standing, she had not killed her as she had expected. She had not hurt her as she had feared. She hadn’t even been cruel.

She had demanded her name, told her overmuch of things that went over her head entirely, and had swept her away, apparently to safety.

Gabrielle was still halfway convinced this was some strange, cruel plot of torture. That it would all turn on its head in the end, that this monster of a woman would find the moment to strike the most pain in her, and do it. She’d taken plenty from her — her home, her family, her innocence — but there was still, Gabrielle knew, plenty left to be destroyed.

Xena, Destroyer of Nations, some had said. Xena, the Conqueror. Empress, Queen; Xena, Warrior Princess. None of the tales Gabrielle had heard of her spoke of even an ounce of goodness. 

Now she lay cast over the shoulder of this Xena, the Conqueror, the Warrior Princess. She was being carried, helpless, wounded in body and soul, and all she could do was bite her lip to keep from making too much noise. Her head ached and every movement seemed to sway her enough to bloom new pain in the bruises on her stomach. Her arms hung limp above her head, her broken wrist swaying, stabbing with pain whenever it struck the Conqueror’s back or a nearby wall. 

She was naked and wished she was not. She wanted to be wrapped up in clothes so tightly that nothing could ever come near; she imagined armor, impenetrable, that would keep her safe. 

Cool air touched her skin and she flinched. They had come outside, leaving the palace for what Gabrielle guessed had to be the courtyard. The Conqueror’s steps made faint sounds on the pavement as she marched across somewhere and down some steps into a space that smelled like a stable. She heard the woman bark orders at guards, ordering them to go away. Hurried footsteps rushed past her and disappeared into the courtyard. She wondered if any of them saw her in her state. She wondered if any of them cared.

Gabrielle winced when she felt strong hands reach for her waist, bringing her down to the floor. The gentleness of the gesture surprised her; the brief twist of concern in the Conqueror’s eyes confused her. 

“Can you stand?”

Gabrielle tried to hold her weight on her own two feet. A sharp pain jolted from her left ankle, and she would have fallen were it not for the Conqueror, still holding her by the waist. She let herself be led to a stool nearby and sat, pulling up her knees to have some semblance of privacy. Xena handed her a cloak, and Gabrielle took it eagerly, quickly wrapping it around herself. Not for warmth, but for safety. 

“I will be right back.”

Panic shot through Gabrielle’s mind. “No, please—“ she whimpered. Inexplicably, the Conqueror halted; dark brows frowned upon her, and Gabrielle instantly regretted drawing any attention to herself. She flinched, expecting — what, to be hit? To be hurt? To be punished? 

“You’re safe here,” came a firm reply to a plea Gabrielle hadn’t finished. “I won’t be gone for more than a few moments.”

She went to leave, and then halted again. Gabrielle felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She was deathly afraid of it all; the palace, the soldiers, the Conqueror — but more than anything, in that moment, she was afraid of being alone. She saw tension ripple through the warrior’s whole stance; tension, and then, resolution.

The Conqueror knelt before her and placed something heavy in her hands. A sword, Gabrielle realized; her sword. There was still blood on the blade and the hilt from the soldiers she’d slain in the dungeon. Gabrielle looked up at her in confusion, and sought some answer in her eyes; only resolute confidence reflected back from those icy blues.

“If anyone but me comes through that door and bothers you, you run this through them.”

Before Gabrielle could say anything, she was gone.

True to her word, Xena was back quicker than Gabrielle had anticipated. Her head was swimming in the aftermath of being struck, and with the liquor the men had poured down her throat. Time was, unfortunately, very tenuous within her grasp. It might have been an hour, or it might have been only minutes — all she knew was that for a moment, the warrior was not there, and she was alone. She was alone, and afraid; she held the sword, trembling, and expected an army to come bursting through the door at any moment.

When footsteps approached the door from afar, she thought she would hurl. Her hand grew sweaty and she gripped the weapon tighter, even as some semblance of her mind, some strangely coherent part of her consciousness, told her that the footsteps were familiar. 

When Xena came in, careful not to rush and surprise her, Gabrielle let out a single, choked sob. 

“It’s just you,” she whimpered.

The expression on the Conqueror’s face, had she understood it, was every emotion, all wrapped into one. At the forefront there was confusion; somewhere, deep below, there was relief. Yet there was disgust, too, plainly visible to Gabrielle’s eyes.

A bundle of clothes fell to Gabrielle’s feet. “Here. Get dressed.”

Xena was gone again before Gabrielle could process the words.

The clothes were far too big for her, but in her current state, Gabrielle was glad to have anything at all to wear. It took her a while, balancing her wearied, weakened state and her urgency to be dressed; her fingers fumbled, and more than once she swayed, almost falling, always catching either the wall or the stool before she fell entirely. She adjusted the belt to hold most of the lengthy shirt up and away from her knees; in truth, the shirt could have passed for a short-hem dress, given her stature. The leggings were overlong, and she spent a moment rolling them up. The Conqueror had brought her sandals, too — three sizes too big, but better than none at all. 

Just as she was getting to be done, Xena reappeared, smelling like a horse.

“Are you well enough to ride?”

Gabrielle blanched. “I…no. A horse? No,” she stumbled through the words. “I can’t.”

Xena came to her side and reached out a hand. “Come on. We have to go.”

She was barely well enough to walk. In truth, Gabrielle was barely conscious enough to comprehend anything of what was happening. She certainly had not the awareness to realize that the Conqueror had just referred to her and herself as ‘we’. She gave the Conqueror her hand and let herself be held up; she stumbled, too slow for the Conqueror’s liking, along down the corridor to where a horse waited for them. One horse, not two; Gabrielle was only half surprised that Xena had seemed to anticipate her dislike of the beasts and readied one mount for the two of them.

In truth, it had more to do with the fact that Xena was very aware of the blonde’s tenuous hold on consciousness, and knew it would have been irresponsible, foolish even to stick her on a horse when the likelihood that she’d fall off was high. 

“I’m going to have you lay sideways across the saddle,” Xena explained, holding her gaze to ensure she understood. “Just until we’re out of sight. It won’t be comfortable, but you won’t fall. I won’t let you.”

Gabrielle did not understand. She still did not entirely understand when Xena lifted her and tossed her across the saddle, drawing a variety of pained groans from the bruised blonde; she knew what was happening, but it felt as though her mind were following three steps behind, her awareness dangling before her, just out of reach.

What in Tartarus is happening to me?

Xena swung herself into the saddle and adjusted Gabrielle so that she, presumably, looked more like a dead woman than living.

“Don’t say a thing until I give the word. Got it?”

Gabrielle mumbled something affirmative and shut her eyes. The position of laying sideways on a horse made her feel sicker than she already was. When the beast began to move, it got worse; she groaned out loud, earning a light smack to an uninjured part of her shoulder.

“Quiet,” growled the Conqueror, and Gabrielle obeyed. “Please,” added the Conqueror, and Gabrielle, even in her inebriated and concussed state, had the sense to frown.

It felt like an eternity before the horse halted for a moment, obeying the gentle commands of its rider. Gabrielle heard voices from afar; she heard Xena, replying:

“What business is it of you what I do and where I go? I’m off to have some fun,” she said, the tone of her voice a shade of ice that struck fear deep into Gabrielle’s soul. “With this creature here,” added Xena, laying her hand on Gabrielle’s back. 

“Don’t expect me back for at least two days. I’m going to take my time. This one won’t be back, of course,” Xena called out, her voice almost a purr — there was a heavy weight of pleasure and something sickly, the likeness of evil, in the cadence of her words. Her hand on Gabrielle’s back was hard, possessive; it made her stomach twist. 

Gabrielle heard the gates being pulled up. Xena kicked her heels and gave a little whistle; the horse proceeded on, out of the gates, into the road, and down the hill. The whole way down, Gabrielle counted the steps, hoping the next would be the last. She felt sick and wanted nothing more but for the world to stop swaying. It didn’t help that she had her nose pressed to the side of the horse; a lovely creature, she was sure, but with her personal tastes and her present overwhelming nausea, the smell and the sensation were far from pleasant.

It must have been a good half mile before they entered the cover of a forest. Almost at once, Xena reached around Gabrielle’s waist and pulled her up, adjusting her in the saddle so that she sat in front of her, facing forward. Gabrielle could do little more than yelp and hope she didn’t fall, but the process was over as quick as it started; she was squarely in the saddle, facing forward, and though the world tilted from the sudden movement, she felt relatively secure.

It was strange, however, to have the Conqueror behind her, unavoidably pressed up against her. But Gabrielle was tired, weary; though she wanted nothing more than to be alone and to not be touched for the rest of her life, she felt sleep begin to tug at her awareness. She fought it with all her might, nodding in the saddle, until at last Xena sighed behind her and said:

“For the love of gods, just let go and sleep. You won’t fall out of the saddle.”

I won’t let you.

That was the implication of her words; that was the part left unsaid, but not unheard.

She did not want to sleep. She did not trust that when she woke up, she’d be safe. She did not trust Xena; she would have been a fool to.

And yet, as she fell into the lull of the horse’s cadence, and felt the strong arms encircling her, firmly on the reins and yet a perfect safeguard against her falling, she found herself sinking into the sweet, tempting embrace of Morpheus.

Firelight danced on the edges of a forest clearing, entwining with the blue and grey shadows of the night. Some paces away, Argo was nosing in a bush, seeking a morsel to eat. Beyond that and the occasional crackle of the fire, the forest was silent. Gabrielle slept peacefully, curled up on a bedroll by the fire, covered by a blanket that she held tight against her. Xena sat not far from her, leaning against a tree. Her sword was unsheathed, resting on the ground beside her; she was tossing a dagger in her hands, unable to settle. 

She should have slept. It had been hours of riding from Corinth, and they’d made good headway into her aimless journey; at present, her only direction was ‘away’, and her only map was the road ahead, or lack thereof. For the last hour of riding she had deliberately pushed Argo into the forest, away from any roads, paths, or trodden tracks. She guessed that there could be someone following sooner or later, or seeking her out, and had no desire to be sleeping by the roadside like a sitting duck.

Her thoughts were torn between two things. One was the state of the realm. She had abdicated — in a fashion. There were no good options to take the throne. All her closest advisors and commanders had been ruthless, cruel warriors, and given the chance, they would have brought Tartarus to Earth with the use of her armies. She had gathered the most battle-hungry, bloodlust-ridden fighters to her cause; she would have hated to see any of them with their hands on true power. It had been a hasty decision, one which she partly regretted, that she had left instructions deliberately vague. If the forces divided into smaller fractions, making alliances and enemies, she had every hope that they would destroy one another fighting for the throne, and dissolve her empire with the least possible injury to civilians.

She was not the Conqueror anymore. In some sense, she had no need to worry about the realm. Not now, not ever. She did not need to think about war, or armies, and yet she could not ignore the thoughts that haunted her; she had made a choice, and the consequences of her choice were, as of yet, unknown.

Xena hated not knowing. It forced her into the realm of hope, an emotion she despised. 

The second thing pulling at her thoughts was Gabrielle. She did not know her condition. She did not know how much pain she was in; she did not know the full extent of her injuries. The woman had slept during the ride, and had woken briefly when they camped. Xena had given her clean water and a cloth to clean her wounds, and had stepped aside, giving the woman her privacy. She had not said it, but it had been implicit in her posture and behavior that she did not want Xena touching her. Or anyone touching her, Xena reasoned, in vain, to herself.

She had drank some water, but had shunned any food. Now she had slept, still as stone, for hours. Xena had kept an eye on her, and it was partly because of her vigil that she, herself, had not slept. 

Some part of her wanted to hate the woman. She did not like what the god had implied; of love, of falling to her knees. It made her sound weak. Vulnerable, even. Just the thought of being vulnerable before anyone was enough to make Xena’s insides twist. The meeting with the faceless entity in her rooms had been the most vulnerable she’d felt in years, and she had hated every second of it. She did not want to be helpless. She had spent her whole life becoming who she was so she wouldn’t be helpless.

Xena pursed her lips and leaned her chin atop her forearm. She wanted to hate Gabrielle. It was easy to fuel hate; all she had to do was tap into her anger, and forget the other person was real. It should have been that easy. But Gabrielle was real, and try as she might, she could not hate her. She felt uncomfortable, that was sure. Some degree of despising, certainly, though most of it was tied to the fact that she hadn’t been free to choose whatever she wanted for this new life. Gabrielle was, largely, a forced aspect of this changed path. 

Admittedly, so far she hadn’t been troublesome, if one didn’t count the concern that nagged at the edges of Xena’s mind. 

She didn’t know what was to come of it all. She was willing to try, though the willingness made her feel humiliated and, again, vulnerable — but as long as she was the only one aware of what she was trying for, she could bear that pain, and the discomfort that came with it. 

The brief glimpse she’d seen bothered her. She hadn’t even remembered her body could feel like that. It had been years since she had unclenched parts of her shoulders and jaw; she hadn’t even remembered her arm could be so limp, or that her leg could hang in such a way over the edge of a bed. Even in the throes of passion, she had not relaxed, not fully; she had always kept a blade nearby, and an eye out for her lover, lovers, or someone coming in from outside to catch her by surprise. 

She even slept with one hand under her pillow, resting beside a dagger. It had become so second nature to her to always be alert that the notion of not being alert felt alien. Wrong, strange, somehow out of place. 

Unreal, even.

She didn’t know if the other person in the vision had been Gabrielle. It might have been; it might have not. She didn’t know if the vision had been a telling of the future. Again, it might have been; it might have not. 

All she knew was that she’d caught a taste of something she’d thought she’d never have, and then she had been told that maybe, just maybe, she could have it. For that, she was willing to try, to push through shame and humiliation and change herself. For that, she was willing to befriend this Gabrielle of Potidaea.

Chapter Text

 Gabrielle woke up screaming. She scrambled up to a seated position, panting from the remains of her dream, and immediately doubled over as the pain from her bruises struck through her. She heard a metallic sound from behind, like a blade striking stone, and turned around to find Xena, wide-eyed and confused, halfway to her feet with a sword in her hand. There was a dagger on the ground at her feet; Gabrielle frowned, and guessed that its fall had been the source of the sound.

She did not move. Neither did the Conqueror. The sword was still poised, aimed at her; Gabrielle thought she saw a flicker of anger in the woman’s eye.

“Just do it already," she sighed, resigned. 

Xena blinked. “Do what?”

“Kill me.”

The warrior frowned. “I told you I wasn’t going to do that.”

Gabrielle’s eyes were still fixed on the sword, still pointing at her. Xena followed her gaze, and slowly came upon the realization; she sheathed her sword with haste and sat back down with a huff.

“I thought you— we — were being attacked,” she muttered, picking up her dagger. The sight of a different blade in Xena’s hands was of no help in dissuading Gabrielle’s quivering fear. Again, Xena noticed, and put the dagger down. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

Gabrielle wasn’t so sure where she found the guts. Perhaps it was the aching pain of her body, draining much of her focus from the conversation at hand. Perhaps it was a night of poor sleep, for obvious reasons; perhaps it was the fact that the woman before her infuriated her to no end.

Is there such a thing as hate at first sight?

“Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,” she spat, glaring at the Conqueror, the Destroyer of Nations. If she was to die, at least she was going to get a few quips in before her end.

Her world was swaying at the edges. Her head ached; she felt sick. She watched, squeezing her fist around the fabric of her blanket, as the woman, her presumed captor, clenched her jaw. Anger rippled through her, but did not find release; tension settled in her shoulders, and with heavy, forced breaths she said:

“I can understand that.”

She rose to her feet, and Gabrielle flinched. In response, all she heard was a sigh.

“I’m going to go see if I can find us some fresh food.”

Gabrielle stared at her, confused. Xena shrugged and reached for her sword again, again causing Gabrielle to flinch — only she laid it on the ground beside her, carefully, and said nothing before stalking off into the woods.

When Gabrielle next woke, it was to the smell of smoke and fish. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, or how; the pounding in her head had gotten less intense, but seemed to flare the moment she opened her eyes. She shifted under her blanket and let out a faint groan, only to still it half-way out of her throat when she realized she was holding something.

The sword was in her hand, pointing downwards to her feet, resting on the bedroll and hidden under the blanket. She was very aware of the fact that the blade of the thing was not far from her body; if she had rolled over to her stomach, she might have hurt herself. She had slept, it seemed, curled up on her side with her hands wrapped around the hilt. 

Slowly, she unwrapped her fingers from around the hilt and moved her hand to help herself up. The sun was overhead, and the day must have been well along; she guessed it was noon, if not a little later.

“You hungry?”

Gabrielle started. Xena had not been in her field of vision, and for a brief moment, she’d forgotten all about her. She sat not far from her, leaning against the same tree as before. In her hands she held what looked to be a piece of flaky fish, which she popped into her mouth whilst Gabrielle sought words and comprehension to give an answer to her question. 

“I’m…” Gabrielle shook her head. “Thirsty.”

A waterskin landed on the ground not far from her. She took it and opened it with some effort; her wrist, set with a splint, was cumbersome to maneuver. As she drank, she stared at the splint, brows furrowing in confusion. It hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep.

“I set it for you,” Xena told her, noticing her stare. “I hope that’s alright.”

Gabrielle shuddered at the thought of Xena doing anything to her in her sleep. “I’d rather you woke me up if you were going to touch me,” she muttered, looking anywhere but in her direction.

Had she been looking, she might have caught Xena flinch. As it was, she saw nothing; she only heard her answer.

“I will keep that in mind.”

Then, after a pause:

“I’m sorry.”

Gabrielle’s head whipped around so fast that the headache, half-subsided, exploded under her scalp anew. She groaned and pressed her hand to her temple, regretting moving at all. Xena, sitting still, said something that Gabrielle, in the midst of her pain, did not hear.

“You’re sorry?” she asked, having shut her eyes and rubbed some of the pain away. “You’re sorry?”

“Gabrielle, you’re in pain,” Xena was saying, ignoring her growing anger. “I have a tea that would help—“

“No, say that again. You’re sorry? For what?” Gabrielle demanded, glaring at her with all her might.

“For doing something that made you uncomfortable.”

Whatever overture of kindness this was an attempt at, Gabrielle had no desire to hear it. She sat up, grimacing with another jolt of pain from a wound on her leg, and leaned forward to glare at the Conqueror. Xena, whatever; she might have as well been called the bane of Gabrielle’s existence.

“I don’t want your apologies, not for something as little as that, or anything else,” she seethed. “Apologies won’t fix anything. Because of you, my family is in all likelihood dead. Because of you, I was separated from them. Because of you, my home is destroyed! Because of you, I am stuck here, wounded, hurt, broken—”

Xena was watching her, stone-faced. Her fists, however, were clenched where they rested atop her knees.

“No amount of apologizing will fix any of that. So don’t waste your breath, your Highness,” Gabrielle finished with a huff. “And save your tea; I don’t want anything from you.”

She laid down and turned away at the precise moment that her strength gave way. A moment longer, and she would have ruined her perfectly valid, if not stupid outburst by fainting, or toppling over, or some other thing that would have made her look weak. 

Xena said nothing. For that, Gabrielle was glad. Had the conversation continued, she was certain she would have cried — and had she cried, she might as well have dug herself a grave and laid down there to die.

Waiting for Gabrielle to fall asleep again was torture for Xena. Everything about her current situation was torture; there was nothing that she could do that was right. Everything was wrong. She did everything wrong. She hadn’t thought when she’d made the splint and wrapped Gabrielle’s wrist. She should have thought; she should have realized that Gabrielle would despise any notion of anyone, let alone her touching her whilst she was unconscious. With the apology, she had been sincere — its reception, cruel as the words had been, had not been unjustified. Gabrielle had not said a word of a lie; Xena had nothing to offer to dispute her accusations. She was right — everything about Gabrielle’s situation, down to the events of the dungeon, was her own fault. She may not have been the one leading the charge into Potidaea, but it had been done in her name. Plenty of villages and towns had fallen in its way, and Xena had been pleased then. She was sure that when she’d been told of Potidaea’s destruction, she had been approving — though, for the life of her, she could not recall the very instance of that report. There had been too many; she had been too callous to care.

This was torture. That was the conclusion Xena had arrived at. She was being tortured, having to face the truth of her actions; the consequences of her evil. It was bad enough to see and be aware of Gabrielle’s pain, of her hate for her, of her visceral fear of her, as though she were a monster of legend. It was bad enough to be verbally punched with the truth with nothing to offer as a shield. But worse yet, Xena had to accept, was the fact that Gabrielle was one of many. One of a number she had no hope of ever counting in its totality. 

Even if she gained Gabrielle’s forgiveness, she had no hope of repeating the same with hundreds, no, thousands of people. And, in truth, she didn’t even have hope that she’d ever gain Gabrielle’s to begin with.

This was torture, and for the life of her, Xena could not understand why she continued to subject herself to it. She could have left. She could have taken Gabrielle to a town where she was safe, and left. Was this a pain that she felt she deserved? Was this a punishment that she felt was righteously given? Justified?

Gabrielle’s shoulders relaxed under her watchful eye as she fell asleep. Xena crept over, as silent as she could, and tried to see where her sword was. Her face fell when she saw the sword tucked against Gabrielle’s chest, her whole body curled up around it, hands tightly wound around the hilt. It had been there earlier, too, when she'd done the splint; she'd half hoped, evidently in vain, that Gabrielle wouldn't reach for the thing when she fell asleep a second time.

“Damn,” she muttered. There was no getting the sword from Gabrielle's grasp without waking her. Xena sighed, shook her head, and walked over to add some fuel to the fire. A thick stick would serve her just as well, she figured, and stalked off to a smaller clearing beyond the bushes, some twenty paces away. There she found herself a small sapling, a three-yearling about as thick as her wrist — or perhaps Gabrielle’s — and broke it off. Fashioning it into a usable staff using only her dagger was rough work, but it was simple and took her mind off the gnawing, aching pain that sat heavy on her heart. 

In the end she had a staff, about shoulder-height. The surface was smooth, and the weight of it sufficient. Xena swung it once, twice, and sought to get used to the balance of the thing. She had some practice with a staff; soon enough she was flowing through exercises, parrying imaginary enemies, blocking, dodging, attacking — flowing through, and then pushing through. Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours; she practiced, poured all her thoughts into her muscles, until at last she could take no more.

The day had gone, and night had fallen. 

It was not far to the stream, but her trembling legs made the journey nearly impossible. Twice she fell, both times in a way that earned her scrapes along her palms and knees. They stung when she washed herself off in the stream, gasping in the icy grip of the water; gasping, and then forcing herself to stay still, staying completely underwater in the freezing cold until the pain forced her to retreat. 

Her hands shook so badly after her self-assigned ordeal that she barely managed to get redressed. The way back was almost a crawl; there was a slight slope up to the campsite, which in her state felt more like a mountain. It was only by sheer force of will that she did not climb up it on her hands and knees. Finally, Xena stumbled back to the campfire and slumped down against the tree. So weary was she that no thoughts persisted in her mind. She set her dagger down to where she could reach it, pulled her cloak over her knees, and leaned back to catch a few winks of sleep before dawn.

Gabrielle heard Xena return. She had heard her training, and had briefly sat up to squint through the trees at her as she ran through motions as though they were ritual. She had slept, and woken to darkness; she had heard Xena, gasping in the stream nearby. She had laid still, her hand tightening around the sword, listening to wearied footsteps approaching the camp. When Xena had slumped down, it had been with a stifled whimper of pain. Her breaths had been labored, strained somehow. Gabrielle almost thought she heard a sob. 

When Xena finally fell asleep, Gabrielle turned around slowly and sat up. She held the sword in her hands, weighed it, and looked at the sleeping Conqueror. It would’ve been so easy to run her through with the blade; she was sure that, with all her exertions, Xena would not be aware enough to resist before the deed was done.

Darkness tugged at the edges of her vision again. Gabrielle felt herself swaying; the hand holding the sword shook. With a soft sigh, she set it back down, and laid down beside it. 

She couldn’t do it. Some part of her wanted to kill her. There were too many parts that did not, however; there were too many voices in her head, conflicting, confusing her. There was hate, sat foremost atop her mind; there was disgust, and anger, and hurt, all perfectly justified and without question rightful in their intensity. But there were softer feelings, feelings of doubt, feelings of pity — and feelings that, Gabrielle realized with a start, were beginning to resemble empathy.

Gabrielle set her jaw and shut her eyes, tugging the blanket tighter around herself. She shivered, though the night was warm, and wished she had another blanket to push away the chills that seemed to come from within her bones. 

Chapter Text

The next day went along in relative silence. Gabrielle rode on Argo, led by Xena; neither of the two were willing to talk beyond the shortest, most curt questions and answers pertaining to their basic needs. Beyond a ‘I don’t want to eat’, Gabrielle hadn’t engaged much in conversation at all.

Xena had elected not to push her on the subject. She was still licking her wounds from the last lashing from Gabrielle’s surprisingly sharp tongue.

They passed a town sometime mid-afternoon. Xena led their path roundabouts away from any houses and people, feeling that they were still too close to Corinth to risk being seen. Gabrielle gave no comment; she had been, in Xena’s opinion, too quiet since their break for lunch at noon. Stolen glances at the blonde told her little — she looked pale, which was understandable, and her eyes were hazy, but Xena wasn’t certain if this was due to injury or pain, or to being deep in thought. She swayed in the saddle, but being an obviously unpracticed horsewoman, this was perfectly normal. 

To spare Gabrielle some of the discomfort of riding, Xena risked taking the road for the rest of the day in favor of a smoother ride. She new that the path would lead eventually them up into the mountains and beyond; there was plenty of wilderness there to hide out in, and plenty of game to hunt. The thought of a nice hare, or perhaps a deer for dinner made her stomach rumble. A few days on scout’s rations were tolerable, but nowhere near pleasant. She’d briefly considered stopping in town for a meal, but had decided against it. She was worried about being seen, being recognized; she worried what would come of it if word of her being there reached Corinth. 

In the next town, they would stop. That, too, she had decided. Gabrielle had scarcely eaten a thing since they’d begun their journey; according to Xena’s tally, she’d so far eaten two torn pieces of bread, some dried fruit, and three pieces of fish. Small pieces, too. It was plain to her that the blonde was in severe discomfort, though the worst of her headache seemed to have gone. At least, Xena had not seen her rubbing at her temples since the night before. Nausea, however, remained her companion — Xena had not pressed her on the subject of eating after the first and only time, when Gabrielle had turned positively green at the sight of a dried fig. 

A shout echoed in the woods. Xena froze, and Argo followed suit; Gabrielle made a sound of discomfort at the sudden stop that had, apparently, made her sway forward, pressing the saddle-horn into her stomach.

“What is it?”

Xena crinkled her nose. She didn’t like the sudden silence of the forest; there were no birds in the trees, no rustling in the brush. Even the wind seemed to have died. Quickly, obeying instinct honed by years of practice, she led Argo down off the road and into a thicket some ways’ to the side. After a moment’s consideration, she handed Gabrielle Argo’s reins.

“If something happens, you ride away. Argo’s good enough to handle herself; just hold on and try not to fall off.”

Gabrielle was about to say something, probably to argue, but was cut off by another shout, followed by the unmistakable sound of a blade swishing through the air. Another shout, this one very obviously tipped with pain. Xena felt the sound strike lightning into her spine; her hand fell to the hilt of her sword, though she did not yet pull it from its sheath.

People came along the road, running. Farmers, by the looks of them; simple people, simple clothes. No weapons, fear plain on their faces.

Two men on horses, brandishing weapons. A handful more following on foot, calling out to one another. Laughing. Xena frowned; this was no battle. This was a hunt. She watched, still frozen in place, as a horseman cut down a man with one slash of his sword. Blood sprayed, the rider laughed.

Beside her, Gabrielle gasped. Xena glanced at her, and saw her hand was clamped over her mouth; the fingers were white from the pressure with which she was pressing on her lips. 

Another cry, this time a woman’s. Xena inhaled one sharp breath; her sword slid from its sheath, slow as to not make noise.

She ran out into the middle of the fray with a battle cry from her lips, not even sparing a look Gabrielle’s way as she went.

In the end, it was an uneventful fight. Unbalanced in the beginning, but the element of surprise had been on her side; she’d struck one rider out of the saddle before they’d even realized there was someone with an actual weapon in their hands, fighting on the side of the villagers. As she engaged two men on foot in battle, she finally recognized their leader, standing behind with a sneer on his face. She could not recall his name, but she knew he was a smaller warlord who had been working on the fringes of her empire. Evidently, he had been working his way inward from the borders, wreaking havoc where he went.

Typical of the bloodthirsty, thick-headed ones, Xena remarked as she slammed two heads together with a painful crunch and leaped over the crumpled, unconscious bodies to continue fighting. 

In truth, it felt good. Though her muscles screamed at every movement, the pain was welcome; practice and habit pushed her through the discomfort and hurt, and the pleasure of engaging in battle stood over it all. 

In some part of her mind, she even dared to take pleasure in the knowledge that she was fighting on the side of good.

It ended in the way it began, only with Xena on the hunt, and the warlord’s men as prey. The warlord himself had fallen to her sword in his back; she’d not spared him another thought. Some of the villagers, emboldened by the shift in the tide and her fighting, had joined with whatever weapons they had. Pitchforks, staves, axes, spades. One woman had joined carrying a frying-pan in her hands. Xena couldn’t help that she was impressed. 

The last soldier fell to a simultaneous strike of a frying-pan to the head and Xena’s dagger to the chest, thrown from across the field. There was a long silence; Xena stood, still as stone, eyeing the gathered people. They stared at her in turn, wonder mixing with fear on their faces. She was wary; she was all but certain that they knew who she was, even without her having introduced herself. Her suspicion was confirmed when a man, presumably the village elder, stepped forth and said:

“Thank you for your help, your Highness.”

His voice shook. It may have been fear, it may have been the adrenaline wearing off. 

Xena gave a solid attempt at a smile. “I am no Highness anymore. Please, call me Xena, if you must call me anything. And you’re welcome.”

“Won’t you stay with us tonight? We’d be glad to show our gratitude with food and a place to rest.”

Xena’s eyes flickered to the thicket on the other side of the road. A solid meal and a bed to sleep in might have been good for Gabrielle. Concern, however, shook her out of those thoughts; she had no guarantee that there weren’t more dangers wandering in these parts. 

“I cannot,” she sighed. “And it might be best if you avoid your village for the night,” she said firmly. “In case any of the warlord’s men come back. I’d guess they won’t; they won’t see much use, now that their leader’s dead.”

The village elder nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you. You’re sure we can’t get you anything? You saved our lives; you must allow us to pay you back somehow.”

Xena shrugged. “Have you an extra blanket, or a cloak?”

She returned a time later to Gabrielle and Argo. The village was, as it turned out, known for its weaving; when she’d shown a faint interest in clothing, the women had practically leaped at the chance to offer her something, anything as a thanks. In the end, she had accepted a bundle of clothes, though she had no intention of wearing them herself. 

Blue seemed like a color that suited Gabrielle, she thought as she pushed through the thicket. And a skirt was probably what she preferred to wear. Certainly not oversized men's clothes.

When she saw no sign of Argo, she gave a whistle. The horse trotted out from further in the forest, with Gabrielle in the saddle; she was clutching the saddle-horn, looking apprehensive.

“Your horse has a mind of its own,” she muttered. “When a soldier stumbled into the bushes, he—“

“She,” Xena corrected without thinking. 

Gabrielle frowned. “—she went off into the woods all on her own. I could’ve fallen off.”

Xena hid a smile by ducking behind Argo’s head. “That’s my girl,” she whispered, giving her horse a few well-earned scratches. She placed the clothes, wrapped up in the blanket, in Gabrielle’s lap.

“Hold this, will you?”

“What is it?”

“The villagers insisted on some form of thank-you,” Xena said, feeling suddenly bashful. She took Argo’s reins from Gabrielle’s hand and began to lead them away. “It’s just some clothes. You can have them.”

“Right.”

Xena glanced at her quickly before returning her attention to the path ahead. “Are you okay?”

She received a glare for an answer. 

“No talking. Fair enough.”

They went on in silence. An hour passed, then another; by the third, Xena was beginning to feel faint herself. After the adrenaline had worn off, she had felt her muscles turn to lead. Every step felt heavier than it should, and still she pushed on. She’d set her sights on a ridge in the distance, and guessed there might be a pool of water nearby. Though she’d hardly been touched in the fight, save for a few scrapes and bruises, she was very aware of the blood, now dried, that streaked her arms and her legs. She didn’t want Gabrielle fearing her any more than she already did; the sight of her, blood-soaked from battle, was unlikely to do her any favors in that department.

Finally they came to a slope that led downwards into a lush, shaded part of the valley. The ridge was ahead of them, and alongside there was a stream. Xena found a nice spot not far from the water, partly tucked into the hillside. There were plenty of dry branches and brush on the ground to fuel a fire, and the stream looked deep enough for a splash, if not a swim.

Gabrielle had dozed for the last hour of their journeying. Even when they came to a stop, she did not seem willing to wake; Xena went up to her and gave her a careful nudge on her leg, trying to get her attention. 

“Do you need help getting down?”

“Yeah.” 

Xena thought Gabrielle’s voice sounded thick, perhaps with sleep. She reached her hands up and caught the blonde’s waist as she leaned over, helping her down to the ground. When she let go, Gabrielle swayed — and stumbled back into Xena. This time, she caught her by the arm, and immediately noticed heat. Despite knowing she was overstepping, she tried the blonde’s forehead, and sighed.

“Gabrielle, you’re burning up.”

Gabrielle smacked at Xena’s hand to get her to let go. “No I’m not.” She took a few steps and swayed again; Xena grabbed her, again. 

“You’re going to fall.”

“No, I’m not,” Gabrielle muttered, pulling herself away. To prove her point, she half-sat, half-slumped down to the ground. “Don’t touch me.”

Xena crouched down in front of her and looked her square in the eye. It was the first time all day that she had done it; she immediately kicked herself mentally for not having done it sooner. The hazy look was plainly a fever, and no small one either. Had she looked, she would have noticed. They could have made camp at any point during the day, meaning that instead of sitting in the saddle, getting worse by the moment and no doubt feeling terrible, Gabrielle could have been resting under a blanket and drinking tea. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Xena asked, even as she stood up to retrieve the saddlebags and begin setting up somewhere for Gabrielle to lie down. 

“Don’t pretend like you care,” came a muttered response.

Xena set the bedroll down with a little bit too much force. She squeezed the soft material, willing her flaring anger into the gesture, into the air, not into her words. “I do care,” she retorted. “Whether you believe it or not, I do care. Not just because I feel guilty and am trying to be better; I genuinely do not enjoy seeing you in pain.”

“Just me? You wouldn’t care if I was some other person? A random villager from today?”

“Didn’t I save those villagers today? I cared then, didn’t I?” Xena snapped. She knew she was being stupid, but her concern for Gabrielle was taking on strange forms and twisting itself into anger.

Gabrielle was staring at her, lips pursed. Evidently, she had no response. Xena finished laying out the bedroll and gestured at it, saying: “Have at it. I’m going to go get some water and wash this blood off.”

She took out her sword and, in another rush of stupidity, struck it point-first into the ground next to the bedroll. She saw Gabrielle jump from surprise, but did not, in that moment, care. 

She stormed off before she had the chance to do any more stupid things.

The water of the stream had to come straight from a spring underground. That was the only reason why it was so cold that even a quick dive under was enough to have Xena’s skull halving in two. She scrubbed off the blood, rougher than necessary, leaving her skin raw and red; she did what she could to wash her hair, too, regretting that she’d left the soap in the saddlebags. 

For a while after, she knelt at the edge of the water with her hands in the cold. The gravel and stones pressed into her knees and hurt; the freezing water stilled her fingers, and hurt. The pain brought a balance to her mind and steadied her breathing. It was justified, it was earned — she’d been stupid, after all. She deserved this.

When she removed her hands, they were white, almost bloodless. As sensation returned to replace numbness, fiery pain burned in the nerves; she watched, unmoving, and flexed her fingers until the pain faded away.

She came back to the camp a long while after with a sense of dread looming over her head like a stormcloud. She had wandered the outskirts of their camp, scouting out any possible dangers, for what must have been at least an hour. Gabrielle was lying down, curled up under the blanket. She did not look to be asleep; Xena watched her for a moment, and quickly judged that she was only pretending to be.

She had no desire to fight Gabrielle. Especially not in her weakened state, the cause of which she did not know, but had a fair guess at. She’d caught glimpses of the cuts on her body, but after they’d left Corinth, Gabrielle had managed cleaning them herself. Even the best efforts could fail when traveling in the outdoors; an infection was most likely the cause of her delirium and fever.

Soon she had a good fire going, built close to but not too near where Gabrielle pretended to sleep. She set her cooking-pot over the fire and boiled some water for a tea, of willow-bark, yarrow, and valerian, all of which she kept on hand in her bags. One would lower the fever, the other ease pain, and the third was to help her sleep. She poured hot water over the herbs in a small brass cup and set it aside to steep.

After that, she set about the dreary task of preparing bandages. There was an extra shift in her bags that she’d never used; white, unused, clean save for a slight stain from when a wineskin had popped its cork and dribbled some of its contents into her bags the summer prior. She ripped it up into strips, boiled them, and hung the strips on a string that she’d tied between two trees. All the while, she was very aware that Gabrielle watched her, even as she pretended that she didn’t. She would feel eyes on her back, but when she turned around, she’d just catch the slightest flutter of eyelashes, and look upon the blonde to see her eyes shut. 

She set out dinner, courtesy of the thankful villagers; fresh bread, cheese, fruits, and a bit of blackberry pie. 

“You have to eat.”

Xena saw a slight flinch in the blonde’s shoulders.

“I know you’re awake, Gabrielle.”

An eye shot open, anger and annoyance burning bright within the green. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Do you want to die? Is that what this is?” Xena sighed, too tired to argue. “If you don’t eat, you’ll only get weaker. Your fever will take you, and you will die. Is that what you want?”

She saw Gabrielle’s jaw clench. Relief danced along the length of her spine when she saw Gabrielle sit up, slowly, and reach for the food. She did not dignify Xena with an answer to her question; she did not, in truth, have to. 

Xena understood all too well the need to appear invulnerable, no matter what the pain was within. 

Gabrielle ate it all. The bread, the cheese, the fruits — and all of the pie. Xena did not mind the loss of the treat; she was only glad to see that the blonde was eating. When she stood up and walked over to hand Gabrielle the tea she had steeped, now cold but very potent, she was gladder still to have her gesture accepted. Gabrielle took the cup, sniffed it, and drained it in one go, with a grimace to top it off.

“Bitter,” she muttered. “That better not have been swampwater.”

“Willowbark and some other things. To lower your fever and help you sleep,” Xena replied. “No swampwater, I swear.”

She waited a moment longer before addressing the matter that she’d been waiting all of dinner to touch. Waiting, and dreading; she knew she’d get rejected at the start, and knew she would have to push.

“You’re injured somewhere, aren’t you? A wound that’s gotten infected? And please don’t get angry, I’m not going to let this go.”

Gabrielle clenched the cup in her hands and eyed it as if she wished there was more tea to sip on so that she might avoid giving an answer. Begrudgingly, after an unnecessarily long silence, she nodded. “Yes.”

Xena nodded. At least she admitted it. “Will you let me take a look? Please?”

Gabrielle’s jaw was as taut as the warp-string of a loom. 

“Please, Gabrielle. If we do nothing, it will only get worse. I’m only trying to help.”

Brief pain flashed in Gabrielle’s eyes. Xena frowned, realizing she’d just bitten her tongue, hard. It was strange to see the gesture, so familiar to herself, reflected in the face of another.

Xena wondered if her eyes, too, revealed the moment that pain brought momentary solace to her mind when she bit her own tongue.

“Please,” she repeated. 

She had not used the word so many times, in such short succession, for years. If ever, Xena realized; she’d never been one to beg.

Slowly, Gabrielle nodded. She sighed and set the cup down, trying to hide the fact that her hands shook. 

Xena noticed anyway. 

“Fine,” the blonde muttered. Xena stood, and immediately Gabrielle tensed; she clutched the blanket she had around her legs, and looked as though she was about to take back her words.

“I’m just getting the bandages first,” Xena said calmly. “You could tell me where the wound is, to start?”

She was picking up the bandages off the string when she heard Gabrielle mutter, so quietly that she barely heard it.

“It’s on my inner thigh.”

At last the pieces clicked into place. Xena nodded to herself; of all places, that would be one where Gabrielle wouldn’t want to be touched. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing she had to push the blonde into exposing herself in a way that she really, very much did not want to be exposed in.

“You can keep the blanket however you like,” Xena said, still facing away. “But, um — it’s best if you take off your pants.”

She heard Gabrielle sigh. Following that, there was the rustling of fabric, a few other noises, and then, silence.

“You can turn around now.”

Gabrielle lay on the bedroll, on her back, propping herself up with her elbows. The blanket covered most of her, save her right leg; even from afar, Xena could see the wound, and grimaced at the sight. 

She washed her hands with some of the water from her waterskin and knelt beside Gabrielle, careful not to make any sudden movements. The blonde was impossibly tense; her knuckles, clutching the fabric of the blanket, were stark white against the blue.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

Gabrielle bit her lip and nodded. Though Xena felt her thigh with the lightest of touches, she still flinched. 

The skin near the wound was hot and swollen. The wound itself was nasty; as long as Xena’s palm, obviously deliberate, done with a knife, or a dagger. An unclean one, she guessed. The gash was an angry red, the scabbing on it crusted, and showing signs of yellow. 

She didn’t realize she’d stopped to stare until she heard Gabrielle’s voice, small and strained, saying:

“He did it so I wouldn’t close my legs again.”

Xena looked up, not even trying to disguise her horror. Gabrielle licked her lips and adjusted herself, grimacing — the position wasn’t as comfortable as laying down in full, but she seemed to want to see what Xena was doing.

“He said it’d leave a mark for me to—“ Gabrielle paused and shut her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Xena said quietly. “And I’ll…I’ll do my best. To make sure it does go away.”

At least it didn’t need stitches. The wound had closed up on its own, which did mean that there’d likely be a scar for a time. Xena spent a long time cleaning it with water, careful to not press any more than she had to. Even so, Gabrielle was in agony under her touch; even the faintest of swipes of a cloth along the wound were enough to have her crying out in pain. She took breaks and let the blonde rest, but time and again she had to return, and put her through more. The work did little to put her mind at ease; soon enough Xena was clenching her own jaw, her stomach in a twist, hoping she’d be done.

After cleaning and drying the wound she spread some antibacterial salve on and around it. There were some numbing agents in it, a concoction she made herself from pine-sap and other useful things. The salve, at least, seemed to put Gabrielle at ease. She barely made a sound when Xena wrapped her thigh up with some bandages, firm but not too tight.

“I’m done,” Xena told her at last, reaching for the edge of the blanket and pulling it over her completely. “You should sleep.”

At some point during the ordeal, Gabrielle had laid down and covered her face with her arm. Only when Xena stood up did she see that the blonde was crying; she was biting her lip to not let the sobs be heard. To give her grace and some peace, she pretended she hadn’t noticed, and slipped away under the guise of getting more water. That done, she tended to Argo for a while; she did everything she could think of to stay away from the camp until she was absolutely certain that Gabrielle was asleep.

Anything she could do to keep her mind off of her horror was a salvation. Xena had never been so glad to know that she had killed a person; the guards had deserved worse than what she’d done to them. 

He said it’d leave a mark for me to remember him by. 

She hadn’t finished the sentence, but Xena knew where it had been going. The thought of it made her skin crawl; she felt nauseous, thinking of it still. How many times had she stormed the dungeons and stopped similar scenes? How many times had she been on time, to prevent any harm?

How many times had she been too late?

How many times had gone unnoticed, that she hadn’t ever found out about?

The weight of her guilt was too much. She leaned against Argo’s flank and dug her nails into her arm, deep enough to break skin. Breath did not fill her lungs. Nothing felt sufficient; she felt too small.

Helpless.

Argo gave a whinny and stomped. Xena gasped for air, stilling the crying before it started, and focused on unwinding a tangle in Argo’s mane. She hugged her horse, trembling still, and let a few tears fall. Just a few, not the whole tide — enough that she could clear her throat, shake it off, and head back to camp.

She expected Gabrielle to be asleep when she returned, but was wrong to assume. Green eyes watched her carefully, gaze unbreaking, strangely intense; Xena walked up to the fire, built it up a little higher, and raised an eyebrow in question to the blonde. 

“Do you need something?”

Gabrielle was shivering, even under the two blankets. Xena thought about giving her a third blanket, her own, for the night.

“I’m cold.”

It felt like there was more to the sentence that Gabrielle had said, but Xena could not for the life of her figure out the rest. 

“Do you want a third blanket?” she asked, reaching for her own. Gabrielle shook her head.

“When I was a child, I went climbing in the mountains with my father,” she began, confusing Xena to no end with her sudden desire to tell a story, “And I fell in a frozen pond. It took a while to get me out and a while more to get me home, and by the time we got back I was so frozen I couldn’t feel a thing. My mother was furious, she yelled at my father for what felt like days—“ 

Xena’s forehead was beginning to hurt with the tension and depth of her frown. “You’re babbling, Gabrielle. What’s your point?”

“— and my mother,” Gabrielle continued, as if she hadn’t even heard Xena, “She cursed my father to high heavens and to Tartarus for being a fool and taking me in the first place. Mind you, I begged to go, because I wanted to see the mountain-goats in snow, but in her eyes, it was all my father's fault. In the end, she put me in bed and laid down next to me. She said that was the best way to warm up, with someone holding you.”

Xena waited for the story to continue. It did not. Gabrielle looked expectant; it seemed, to Xena’s eyes, as though the blonde was certain her words had been clear enough.

“You’re asking me to hold you?” Xena finally asked, deciphering the moral of the story.

“I’m fucking f-freezing,” Gabrielle stammered through her quivering lips. “What do you think? You said you’d help; well, I need help.”

“You haven’t asked me—“ Xena shook her head, realizing it was pointless to argue. “Fine. Give me a moment?”

She walked over to her bedroll and dragged it over to Gabrielle’s side. It did not take her long to shrug off her armor and her leathers, leaving her only in a shift. As an afterthought, Xena grabbed the shirt she’d gotten from the village and pulled it on. It didn’t feel appropriate to lay down and hold Gabrielle wearing what constituted little more than a bit of thin, flimsy fabric. She might as well have been naked, and for some reason, she felt uncomfortable with the thought.

She hesitated for a moment, standing at the edge of her bedroll. Gabrielle lay on her side, unmoving. Xena was perfectly willing to do whatever would make her comfortable in that moment; until now, she had reasoned that any action that lessened Gabrielle’s discomfort, would ease her own discomfort in seeing the blonde in pain. But there, stood at the edge of the bedroll, she froze in the realization that beyond wanting to help Gabrielle, she wanted to lay down beside her. She felt that want as a tugging pull in her chest and a warmth in her breaths, and for the life of her, Xena could not comprehend how she’d come to this. 

She wanted to hold Gabrielle. Not fuck, not devour, though those thoughts were, Xena knew, not far hidden in the confines of her mind. Those thoughts she would have understood; those thoughts she did understand. There was no use denying that Gabrielle was attractive. Were the circumstances different, Xena would have gladly spent the night with her, perhaps even multiple — but the notion that she wanted to simply hold her and ease her discomfort went beyond anything she’d known of herself. 

The warmth fluttering in her chest felt like an echo of the bliss she’d tasted. Xena sighed and knelt on the bedroll, settling down; she should have run, disappeared into the night, but though her sense commanded it, her body would not listen. She laid down, an arm’s length still between her and Gabrielle, and waited.

For some reason, she was very apprehensive, almost expecting the blonde to change her mind and tell her to go away.

Gabrielle glanced at her over her shoulder. Xena saw little of her expression in the darkness; she knew her own face was all-too well lit by the fire. 

If this is vulnerability, then I was right to despise it.

“Well? Are you going to stay over there all night?”

Xena was too far gone in her own thoughts to realize that Gabrielle’s harshness was a front, a wall, a barrier: a mask. She should have seen beyond it and noticed the quiver in her voice, the hesitation — the faint fear of rejection.

“No, I—“ Xena closed her mouth and let the sentence die out. She didn’t know what she was going to say; there was no need to say anything. It wasn’t so complicated, after all. She was going to lay down and sleep; she was going to hold someone to help them keep warm. 

She shuffled closer, placing a tentative hand to Gabrielle’s waist.

“Gods, it’s like you’ve never held a woman in your life.”

The mouth on this one.

Frustration flared up in Xena’s mind. She gave up on tentative touch and wrapped her arm around Gabrielle’s waist, pulling her flush against her with one hard yank. Gabrielle yelped, and then flinched, whispering out a quiet ‘ow’ before relaxing into the embrace. Xena’s arm had pressed on bruises that were still healing, if only lightly. Somehow, she'd known precisely how to pull without causing her any agony.

“This good enough for you?” Xena asked, mirroring Gabrielle’s harsh tone. She shifted her arm to not press so hard on Gabrielle’s stomach, but did not ease her grip. She wasn’t going to be taunted so; she knew how to hold a woman, damn it.

Gabrielle mumbled something affirmative and gave a nod. Xena threw her own blanket over the two of them before pulling Gabrielle still a little closer, settling her where she wanted her, so that she could rest her head, her face just inches from the nape of Gabrielle’s neck. Hair tickled her nose and mouth, and with a huff she reached up and moved it out of the way. It did not escape her notice that Gabrielle tensed at her movements and adjustments, but as she said nothing, Xena paid no heed to it.

She tucked her other arm under her head and closed her eyes, determined to fall asleep as fast as she could. The less she thought about her situation, the better; the less time she spent aware of Gabrielle’s body against her own, the better.

Warmth began to build between them under the shelter of the blanket. Xena felt it when Gabrielle fell asleep, and felt her shivering ease away as she sank into oblivion. A wave of drowsiness struck her not long after she felt Gabrielle relax in her arms, and her wish to fall asleep was granted, in the end, far sooner than she truly wanted it to be.

Gabrielle slept fitfully. At times, she was still cold, and would wake up shivering; other times she woke up too hot, sweating, deeply uncomfortable under the stifling blankets. Xena’s arm around her waist was tight, though never too much. The feel of her body enveloping her own was warm, firm; a touch of safety that Gabrielle could hardly avoid relaxing into. It was a constant pressure, a concerningly reassuring presence, and it eased Gabrielle’s anxiety far better than holding Xena’s sword to sleep had done. Of course, she didn’t like the fact that anything of Xena's eased her anxiety. It didn’t matter if it was her sword, or the woman herself.

Dawn came. Gabrielle was half-awake, and felt as though she hadn’t slept a wink. Xena’s arm was under her head. She wasn’t entirely sure when, or how it had gotten there; all she was suddenly aware of was the fact that her face was pressing into the warrior’s bicep, the rolled up sleeve of her shirt bunching uncomfortably under her chin.

She tried to move and found it impossible. Xena’s hold of her was tight and the woman was heavy. Xena did not seem to wake as she struggled in her grasp — not until Gabrielle moved her leg, unwittingly putting pressure on her wound, and breathed out a sharp, pained gasp. The arm around her waist tightened, and then slackened as Xena came to.  

“What happened?”

“I moved wrong,” Gabrielle replied. “Hurt my leg.”

“Badly?” Xena asked, withdrawing her arm from around Gabrielle’s waist. 

“It’s fine.”

She sat up, now that Xena’s arm was gone, and in doing so freed up the warrior’s other arm from under her head. Xena was sitting up, too; soon enough she was on her feet, changing back to her day-clothes, complete with the armor that Gabrielle wasn’t so sure was particularly functional. It did have an interesting pattern, however; she found herself ruminating on the swirls in the bronze, sitting with her knees against her chest, a blanket around her shoulders. She must have fallen asleep, because the next moment she was being handed a brass cup, hot, filled with the same tea as before. She hadn’t noticed Xena building up the fire, or Xena getting water, or Xena preparing the tea.

How much time has passed? Is it already noon?

“You should try and sleep today,” Xena was telling her — was her hair wet? Had she gone for a swim? There was a fish roasting over the fire, but Gabrielle saw no fishing-pole, nor yet any evidence of a trap. 

She didn’t catch that with her hands, did she?

“Gabrielle?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question.”

Gabrielle sipped at the tea, which had somehow cooled down to barely being lukewarm in the span of what she was sure was only a minute, and frowned. “Ask me again.”

“Can I check and redress your wound?”

Gabrielle flinched at the thought. Xena nodded, and was about to say something, probably to persuade her when Gabrielle sighed, and nodded.

“If that’s what it takes.” 

Chapter Text

They spent a week in that glade in the forest, overlooking the stream in the sheltered nook along the ridge. Gabrielle slept through most of it, day and night; the few times she was awake were sporadic and irregular, giving her only a hazy idea of the passage of days. Xena seemed to occupy herself in a myriad of ways, from fishing to scouting the area to brushing and re-brushing and brushing Argo. Every time Gabrielle woke up, she was doing something. Usually, she would wake up to another cup of tea set not far from where she lay. Most times, it was cold, and Xena was off somewhere, though never so far that Gabrielle couldn’t see, or hear her. Sometimes, it was hot, as though Xena had just put it there, but never did Gabrielle catch her in the actual act of giving. It was almost as though she were deliberately avoiding it.

She was beginning to grow a real distaste for the flavor of yarrow and willow-bark, even if they did help her feel better.

Though Xena kept her distance during the days, she did not stay far at night. It was at Gabrielle’s insistence that she held her to sleep, and at first it really was just because she needed the warmth. It had been an act of desperation, eased by her lower inhibitions from lack of sleep, weariness, and whatever Xena put in that damned tea — she had been the one to ask. She had been the one to need the holding. 

Even after her fever eased, Gabrielle did not object to Xena’s company. For the first time since Corinth, since before Corinth, since she’d been taken from her home, she was able to reach some semblance of restful sleep. It was unfortunate that it seemed to only come with Xena’s arms around her, but her need for rest overruled any need for boundaries. Any sense that she might have had, was beginning to slip away.

She still hated the woman, obviously. She just didn’t hate the way she felt pressed up against her in the dark hours of the night. 

Being sick gave her plenty of time for ruminations that went beyond swirls in bronze. The warrior had, in the time she had known her, been nothing like what she had heard. She had been careful, respectful, kind; she had not overstepped boundaries once, not since that time she’d put her wrist in a splint. It was obvious that much of her behavior was alien to her, and that she was practicing. Learning as she went along. She had yet to say ‘please’ to Gabrielle in a way that did not sound like she was forcing it out of her mouth. But she did say it, often enough to be believable. 

The few times that she had gotten angry had blown over with more ease than Gabrielle had thought. She had even hoped that Xena would get angry, furious, and do something to prove her right — to prove to her that she was the monster that she was supposed to be. She hadn’t. The few times Gabrielle had pushed her too far, she’d disappeared, only to reappear hours later, panting, wincing in pain, sometimes bruised, obviously strained from what Gabrielle guessed were vigorous sword or staff exercises, pushed beyond a sensible limit. Xena thought Gabrielle didn’t notice the wincing and the strain, the bruises, and the pain. But she knew. She saw.

She saw more than she liked to admit. She saw the line of Xena's jaw and the firmness that defined the boundaries of her being; she saw the sharpness of her gaze, the keen blue shade of her eyes, and thought them beautiful. She truly was beautiful, in a way that Gabrielle had never yet in her life beheld. She had seen womanhood in its many forms, but never in this shape; never with this figure, this form, this way of moving, this way of being. She caught the eye with the ease of a sunbeam dancing on water; she drew the gaze with the allure of a silvery moon in the sky. She was so present in the world, and drew attention in such a magnetic, easy manner that sometimes, it was almost painful to look away.

Gabrielle sighed and shifted her chin where it rested against her arm. The flames of the fire danced amidst the sticks, a hypnotic dance that drew her in and cast her deeper into thought. Xena had defended the villagers without prodding, without asking. This was a woman honed to fight, and yet she carried herself with grace. Outside fighting, there was tenderness in her, pushing through a layer of ice; there was a gentleness that slipped in, sometimes, into her features and her speech, that suggested to Gabrielle that there was further depth to her, waiting to be explored. Yet to see her fight had been an education in itself. Gabrielle had watched her carefully, and had seen the ease with which she had decided to enter the fight, the lack of fear, the delight she took in moving her body, in using her strength, in striking with force -- and yes, in killing, too. Though the violence frightened her and made her gut twist, she could not deny that the sight of Xena in the heat of battle was one which stilled the breath, and brought fire to the heart.

When Xena had come back from the fight, she had looked almost ashamed. Gabrielle had caught her looking at the blood on her arms and legs and grimacing. There had been no gloating, no boasting; none of what Gabrielle assumed was becoming of a warrior’s behavior. She had even seen the care with which she had laid out the bodies of the dead, foe and friend alike. Compared to the disregard with which she had slain the guards that had assaulted her, this Xena was very different. 

This Xena was human. The fact that Gabrielle had begun to see her as such worried her; the fact that Gabrielle had felt her curiosity awaken, concerning Xena, frightened her. Despite what sense told her, she was beginning to feel a very strong pull towards her, body, and soul.

The day that the bandages came off and the wound on Gabrielle's started to look more like a fading memory than a death sentence felt like the end of something. Xena was tense from dawn onwards, jumpy whenever spoken to, unable to settle. Gabrielle kept to her thoughts, feeling like she was on the verge of a decision; with her health improving, there was less of a reason each day for her to remain with Xena.

She had already confronted the fact that her will to part ways with the woman was decreasing. She had reasoned that the feeling rose from a need to feel safe; Xena was an able warrior, and had, as far as it had gone, shown herself able and willing to protect Gabrielle. She wasn’t entirely helpless herself, but Gabrielle had to admit that there was a difference between knowing a little of how to swing a staff, and having years of experience with anything that might even vaguely be considered a weapon.

At noon, when Xena was setting a fish to roast on the fire, Gabrielle finally spoke up.

“Why are you helping me?”

Xena’s shoulders tensed, and she made a deliberate effort to not look Gabrielle’s way. “I want to change. Be better. Seeing you safe is a part of it.”

“But it’s more than seeing me safe, isn’t it?” Gabrielle insisted. “If I left now, would you let me?”

“Of course I would. You’ve never been my prisoner.”

“But would you let me go without trying to get me to stay?”

Xena shrugged and leaned back against a log. Her feigned nonchalance was beginning to irk Gabrielle; she wanted the truth, not shrugs and vague roundabout answers.

“I guess, if that’s what you wanted,” answered the warrior. Gabrielle felt a sudden urge to flick her on the nose, as one would do to misbehaving puppy.

“Where are you going, anyway? What’s your plan?”

“What are you, my mother?” 

Now Gabrielle really wanted to flick her on the nose. “Do you have an answer?”

Xena stared at her. There was something about her glare that made Gabrielle squirm; it was a little too intense, a little too all-seeing. Looking into her eyes, Gabrielle suddenly feared that all her innermost thoughts would spill out.

She looked away. Xena cleared her throat, and Gabrielle figured that was the end of the conversation.

“I don’t know where I’m going. Or what my plan is. I just wanted to get away from Corinth for a start; I figure I’ll cross the mountains and put some distance and a physical barrier between the infighting, which I’d guess has to be in full swing by now.”

Gabrielle glanced at Xena. She was toying with a dagger, twirling its tip against a finger. 

“What are you doing with me?”

“With you, meaning what exactly?”

Is she toying with me? 

Gabrielle scoffed. “Seeing me safe is a nice and noble thing to do, yes, but I highly doubt that it would have been enough to warrant the mighty Conqueror’s attention. How did you know I was in the dungeons? Why did you care that I was there, me, specifically? Why did you care that something was being done to me?”

She paused, willing the risen nausea to go back down.

“Why did you step into that dungeon and ask me if my name was Gabrielle? How did you know it before you met me? Nobody had asked me my name, not in the dungeon, not while I was being dragged to your damn city; nobody had cared enough to think of me as a person! Nobody knew! And yet, somehow, you knew, Xena — you knew my name, and where I came from, and I’d like for you to tell me why. Because it has been bothering me ever since I met you. I’m not important enough to have warranted anybody’s attention, not in any manner whatsoever. I’m just some farm girl, from a village of little importance. Nobody would have bothered to go out of their way to learn my name, least of all you.”

Though she had begun with a huff and a flare of anger, Gabrielle found her voice had fallen and shrunk by the time she finished. She shivered, and pulled her knees to her chest; even with a blanket over her shoulders, she suddenly felt cold. 

Xena had set down the dagger and was staring at the ground as if hoping it would open up and swallow her whole.

As it was, nothing happened. The wind stirred in the trees; silence presided over them, heavy and suffocating.

Gabrielle waited.

“I knew your name because I was told it,” Xena finally said. “I knew to come get you because I was told where you were. A…god came to me that night. She gave me a choice; stay, and wait for an eventual and inevitable fate that involved, as far as I could gather, a varying potential of torture, pain, and death. The death was the inevitable part, in any case. She said that the path I was on would only lead me down to Tartarus.”

Gabrielle was staring at her now, unblinking, deathly silent. She dared not break whatever spell it was upon the warrior that finally, finally had gotten her to talk. 

“She said that I could choose differently. She…she made me admit that I wanted a change, and then told me that if I wanted change, if I wanted a chance at…” and here Xena paused, wincing and digging her heel into the ground, “…at happiness, I would leave. Leave my position, my power; my life. Become good, I guess. Stop being a terrible monster.”

“How do I figure into all of that?”

There was pain within the blue of Xena’s eyes when she met Gabrielle’s gaze. “She told me that I had to take you with me. That you were the key to my soul, my lost soul. That if I wanted happiness, I would have to get you to trust me, to forgive me.”

She sighed and snapped a twig in her hands.

“To not fear me,” she added, quietly.

Gabrielle felt fear enclose upon her, ice creeping over the surface of a lake. “What does that mean, key to your soul? And what god?”

Xena shrugged. If there ever had been inhibitions preventing her from speaking, there were none now. “She wouldn’t give me her name. I guess that rules out most of them; I’m sure if it were a few of my least favorites, they would have been first to tell me their name, and taunt me incessantly whilst doing so. And about the key, I’m sure she meant it figuratively. I’ve thought about it, and it makes the most sense. I’m sure you don’t actually have my soul — but getting your trust and forgiveness could, I guess, mean that I’ve learned to be good. To be less of a monster. That I was on the path towards being better.”

“What if I don’t want to give you my trust? Or forgiveness?”

Xena flinched. Gabrielle felt a pang of regret for having spoken so harshly, even if the questions were the truth.

“It’s up to you. I can’t force you, no more than I could force you to stay.”

Gabrielle stared at her feet. Some part of her wanted to stay. A larger part than she wanted to admit, truthfully. But a greater part of her wanted to leave; a great enough part of her felt no desire to be a part of Xena’s redemption. She did not want to be a tool, a stepping-stone, or a lesson for the warrior to learn. She did not want to be used so.

Being placed in Xena’s path had been, in no part, her own choice.

Leaving, on the other hand, would be her choice, entirely.

Only hers.

Whatever betterment Xena achieved, Gabrielle decided with a heavy sigh, she wanted it to be on her own terms, in ways that did not involve her. She didn’t want the responsibility. Nor did she, truly, want to give her any forgiveness, or her trust. 

A pack landed at her feet with a soft thud. “You want to leave, don’t you?”

Xena was standing over her. Gabrielle could not decipher the expression on her face; it was blank, save for the tension in her jaw. She had expected her to be cold, or disappointed, perhaps even angry. Maybe hateful. What she hadn’t expected was nothing at all. 

“I—“ she swallowed, staring up at the woman who was no longer the Conqueror. The woman who, in all but name, had given her the choice; stay, and be her traveling companion, or leave.

Gabrielle just wanted to go home.

“I want to leave,” she answered, her voice weaker than she wanted it. “I’m sorry.”

You have nothing to be sorry for.

Gabrielle trudged along down a sloping path, paying little heed to where she placed her feet. The straps of the pack were digging into her shoulders, worsening her already irritating headache; her feet hurt from walking all day. The man in the last town had said it was half a day’s walk to the next village. Gabrielle was beginning to think his concept of time was far more flexible than her own.

Xena had given her enough money to keep her from having to sleep out on the road. In truth, Gabrielle had never seen such an amount of dinars; knowing that she carried at least half a year’s wages in her pack made her a little nervous, alone on the road. 

It had been three days since she’d left Xena, and still the woman was painstakingly present on her mind. It didn’t help that everything Gabrielle had was Xena’s; the pack, the dagger at her hip, the staff she used for walking and that, according to Xena, would serve as a good enough weapon for her in a pinch. She had Xena’s cooking-pot and her pouch of medicines — hell, even the shirt she wore smelled of Xena, though Gabrielle wasn’t entirely sure how, or when she’d found the time to wear it. She had changed into the clothes that Xena had gotten as a thank-you from the villagers she’d saved almost as soon as she’d left the warrior behind. She had been under the impression that the clothes were new, unworn — and yet, when she’d pulled the blue shirt over her head, she’d been struck by Xena’s scent. 

She hated that in some corner of her mind, she’d enjoyed it.

The path turned at the bottom of the hill and carried on into a thicker part of a forest. Somewhere ahead, Gabrielle knew there would be open fields. Beyond them, if she’d understood the explanation right, there would be a town, nestled in the bend of a river. 

The fields came and went. Gabrielle was beginning to grow desperate, seeing the daylight failing on her endless road, when, as if out of nowhere, she caught sight of the river, glinting in the evening sun. Before long she came to the town, and found herself in the tavern, warm, comfortable, with a meal in front of her, and a tankard of mead to wash it down with. No one spoke to her, though there were plenty of people at her table; soon she was comfortably full, slightly buzzed, and fell into a slight doze, listening to the people around her. Gossip was always pleasant to listen to; it was so mundane, so everyday. 

For a moment, she missed home. 

“Word is that the Conqueror’s dead.”

Gabrielle perked up. Dread crept up onto her shoulders; she sipped at her mead and leaned forward, suddenly very invested in the conversation.

“She ain’t dead, she’s just given up,” said someone else, and Gabrielle relaxed.

“No, they said Ares himself came down and cut off her head. For being a coward, they said.”

“Nonsense,” piped in a third voice. “She just had the sense to see that the great Empire was an experiment, not reality. The lords and ladies are all at each other’s throats now, their armies destroying one another — and where’s she? Somewhere in hiding, laughing her ass off, I bet.”

“They even say Caesar’s working on an invasion.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” huffed someone from the end of the table.

“Better him than the Conqueror.”

“You don’t mean that,” Gabrielle cut in, unwittingly drawing every eye to herself. She flushed, and thought quickly to amend her words. “I mean, she isn’t nearly as bad as what people say. So I’ve heard.”

“Her army sacked my village and sent me packing. I’d beg to differ.”

“Your village has been overrun by every warlord in existence, Thilius,” remarked someone else, an old, half-blind man. “The girl’s got a point. I’ve lived long enough to see warlords come and go. There’s been worse monsters on this earth than the Conqueror. Have I ever told you the tale of…”

Everyone around the table groaned. Apparently, the old man was prone to droning on endlessly without much sense to his words.

“She ain’t the Conqueror anymore, in any case,” said a new voice. This was a burly man, with wide enough shoulders that when he sat down, he nearly knocked his seat-mate off the bench and onto the floor. “Warrior Princess, aye, that’s what she goes by now. If she goes by anything. She’s turned her coat for good, haven’t you heard?”

Everyone stared at the newcomer, waiting for more. He was no stranger to the gossip-and-tale of taverns; he took a long swing from his drink, leaned back, and sighed deeply into his beard before continuing. 

“We all heard about the rescue of the villagers in Irias, of course, a few weeks ago. That might have been a one-off, or someone claiming to be her — though I don’t know any fool who’d take up that name without being entitled to it — but now there’s more. Two days ago, she fought off twenty bandits, all on her own, and saved a traveling group of merchants. And yesterday, I heard, she killed a rabid chimera that had been terrorizing a nearby village. Rescued a newborn babe from its cave, if you’d believe it. It was not far from here, actually; I came through today and heard the tale.”

“Since when is the Warrior Princess some kind of hero?” questioned someone, wonder evident in their voice.

“Since when, indeed,” Gabrielle muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. 

When later she went to bed, she found herself unsettled. The bed was comfortable enough, and she’d paid extra to have her own room, with a door she could lock. She had the peace of mind; she had the quiet. 

Yet as she laid in the bed, she found no respite. She found no peace, she found her mind would not quiet; she felt an emptiness around her waist where Xena’s arm had begun to feel natural, and a coldness in the space behind her where, some nights before, Xena would have been laying.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

That was how she’d responded to her apology. That was all she’d said when Gabrielle had told her she wanted to leave. She hadn’t pleaded, she hadn’t begged; she hadn’t expressed anything except a touch of gentleness, meant to dissuade her from feeling sorry.

Her eyes were so blue. Her features, so statuesque. She moved with such ease, such grace; every step she took was calculated. She was so easy on the eyes it made Gabrielle ache. Why did she have to look so good? Why did she have to feel so good, her strong hands, her firm arm around her waist when they’d slept? 

Why couldn’t she just stop thinking about her and move on to something, someone more sensible?

Gabrielle sighed and rolled over to her stomach, shoving her face into the pillow. Regret danced its infuriating dance atop her mind, drawing tense knots into her shoulders and back. Dawn found her still there, sleepless and weary. The night had given her little freedom from the thoughts that were beginning to press heavy on her heart.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

Xena repeated her own words in her head for the umpteenth time and found them no better than the last time she’d thought of them. She should have said something more. She should have done something more. She should have done something, anything to prevent Gabrielle from leaving — or, better yet, she should have done something more so that Gabrielle would have never wanted to leave in the first place.

Xena threw a punch, softening the blow only a little before her fist made contact with the trunk of a tree. Impact jolted through the bones of her forearm and struck her elbow; pain followed soon thereafter. The skin of her knuckles had broken against the bark, and the bones and flesh of her fist bloomed with pain. Sweet, delicious pain.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

She punched the tree again. It was the truth; Gabrielle did not have anything to be sorry for. She was free to go, she was free to stay. It was Xena who was helpless and stuck, aimless and lost. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. Gabrielle had been something of a direction, and she had been growing into something of a comfort. Xena could not deny that she liked the girl, despite the fact that they had yet to have a proper, non-scathing, non-angry conversation. There was something about her that drew her in, that made her want to know more. There was something in her that made Xena understand perfectly the threat of her falling to her knees. 

She punched, once, twice. Pain flared; a knuckle flashed with sharper pain. A fracture, probably.

She thought of Gabrielle’s smile in the soft light of the morning before she woke up. She thought of Gabrielle, wrapped up in a blanket, sitting up and drinking tea. She thought of her eyes, following her as she went about mundane tasks, brushing Argo, making dinner, gutting a fish. 

The soft warmth of bliss danced at the edges of those memories, just out of reach.

Xena punched one last time with her right hand, following through and allowing her skin to get scraped. It would take some time to heal the scrapes; it would take longer to heal the fractures and bruises on her bones. 

“Whatever did that tree do to you?”

Xena leaned both palms on the bark and exhaled. “Go away.”

She had only met the goddess Aphrodite once, but the one time had been plenty and more.

“And whatever did I do to you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Pity. I was going to offer you some sound advice before you went ahead and ruined it all for yourself.”

Xena pushed herself off the tree and stalked off, deliberately looking past the goddess. She knew that the sight of her would draw up her innermost desires, and had no wish to find out just how deep her ache for Gabrielle went. 

The goddess followed her, and Xena, realizing there was no running from this confrontation, stopped so rapidly that Aphrodite almost ran into her, full force.

“What advice?”

The goddess looked her up and down with an infuriatingly knowing smile. “How does it feel, being within my grasp?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Xena grumbled. “What advice?”

She flexed her fists and relished in the pain that the movement wrought. 

Aphrodite tutted. “Don’t be so hung up on Dike’s words. She can be so stickly with her…instructions.”

“Dike?” Xena frowned.

“The goddess of Justice? Surely you’ve heard of her. She’s the one who set you on this ridiculous quest.”

“She didn’t tell me her name when we, ah, met.”

“How awfully dramatic. See, if she’d just talked to me before she came to you, she’d have perhaps thought twice about putting you in sweet Gabrielle’s path. Though, I do suppose that your falling for the pretty blonde helps with the whole…redemption arc that you’ve been set on. Or are you still determined to better yourself, in the hopes that one day she’ll see you in your absolved glory and fall into your arms, batting her eyelashes?”

Xena glared at Aphrodite. She wondered what the goddess would do if she gave her a sharp jab to the nose, ruining her pretty face. Something horrendous, she figured. She weighed her odds anyway.

Aphrodite gave a gentle laugh and swept a strand of hair from Xena’s face. “Oh, I see murder in your eyes. But it’s softer now. Not so…Conqueror-like. Your love has such pretty eyes, doesn’t she?”

Xena shook her head and looked away. “Why is the goddess of Justice interested in me?”

And why are you?

The goddess of Love shrugged and walked over to a nearby bush to pluck a rose from where it had bloomed, seemingly out of nowhere, on a branch. “Why is any god ever interested in anything? It’s some bet with her and Ares. Something about his Warrior Princess being, what was it, fallible to moral consequences and a desire for goodness? He said you couldn’t be tempted, and that you certainly wouldn’t stick to it. She begged to differ.”

Xena scowled. “I’m a plaything of the gods now, am I?”

“You’re all playthings of the gods, dear, don’t get so hung up on it,” Aphrodite replied, her tone light and yet still betraying a depth of cruelty within. Love she may have been, but love came in many forms; love could just as easily ease pain, as it could cause it. 

“Hard not to when I feel like a puppet being pulled by many strings.”

“The solution to that is simple, Xena. Ignore the other strings and listen to the one pulling at your heart.”

Xena stared at Aphrodite. She wanted to refute her; she wanted to argue, and tell her that she was wrong.

But she felt a tugging in her heart. She’d felt it for longer than Gabrielle had been gone; she'd felt it from the moment she'd seen her. A faint string, always pulling, always drawing her closer to Gabrielle. 

“What is this?” she seethed, taking a step towards the goddess. “Another trick?”

“No trick, my sweet,” Aphrodite smiled. “Ever heard of soulmates?”

“That’s just a myth that they tell children to make them think love and marriage is something to look forward to when they grow up.”

“Who died and made you such a cynic?”

Xena shot another glare at the goddess. “Fuck you. And your mom.”

“Don’t bring my lack of a mother into this,” Aphrodite snapped back. “Ugh, you’re infuriating. I can see why Dike had a headache for days after her talk with you.”

“What do you want, Aphrodite?”

The goddess of Love looked her directly in the eyes. In her face, Xena saw the face of another; she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would have made Gabrielle’s face go away from her mind.

“I want you to go after Gabrielle. Is that too much to ask?”

“I’m already—“

“I know, I know, you’re following her from afar like some sappy lapdog. No, I want you to go to her.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, neither she nor I are, in fact, in love.”

“Only for a lack of trying. Believe me, the potential is there,” Aphrodite reminded her. Xena was getting tired of this conversation. “She can’t sleep without you. You know that?”

Xena felt as though someone had grabbed her heart and crushed it with their fist. It took all she had to not react — only a flicker of a grimace showed on her face, but that was more than enough for the goddess.

“See? You have to go to her.”

“I will….think about it,” Xena glowered.

Aphrodite’s face fell into shadow as she dropped her smile and mirrored Xena’s scowl, only with the fury within shown tenfold. “I could make you, you know.”

“But would that be what you want to see?” Xena snapped back, panic flickering in her mind. She had no desire to be manipulated so; even less did she want Gabrielle in her arms because of the will of a goddess instead of her own. 

The goddess pursed her lips. “Perhaps not.” She tapped the rose against her lips as if deep in thought. “Well, here,” Aphrodite finally said, placing the rose in Xena’s hand. “A token of my affection. Give this to her, and she’ll love you forever.”

Xena stared at the red rose in her hand. Her brief look of wonder turned quickly over into another scowl, and she held the rose out to the goddess, shaking her head.

“I don’t want it.”

It was a risky business, refusing a gift from a god. It was riskier yet to deny anything at all from Aphrodite — and yet, when the goddess took the rose back, there was a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Don’t want it, or don’t need it?”

Xena opened her mouth to argue, but in a glint of light the goddess was gone. Laughter echoed in the dark forest for a time before it fell into silence. A pair of birds met on a branch overhead; doves, white-feathered, with a touch of grey on their wings. She watched as the two birds nuzzled up to one another, preening and crooning as a perfect image of the just-gone goddess’s realm as could be.

She flexed her fingers and swallowed the pain. There was time yet until dawn, and she meant to make it to the outskirts of town, so that she might see Gabrielle leaving in the morning and know where she was headed next. She wasn't inclined to follow the goddess's advice blindly. If anything, she felt inclined to go in the opposite direction, just to annoy her. But she could not ignore the feeling pulling at her, nor the worry that had lain upon her for days. She would follow, and hope for a moment to reconcile, even if that hope was slim, and almost nonexistent. 

Chapter Text

By the early afternoon, Gabrielle was aware that she was being followed. At first, she’d felt it only as a prickling sense in the back of her neck and a strange tugging in her chest, and had hoped, against all sense and reason, that it was Xena. When some time later she began to hear creaks and cracks, twigs snapping, hushed voices, and grunts, she knew it wasn’t her. She knew Xena wouldn’t have made a sound if she was in pursuit; she also knew that Xena was unlikely to be with company. Someone else was following her, someone that, as far as she could guess, didn’t have good intentions on their mind. 

She had thought a lot about what she’d do if she got attacked. Or, rather, when she got attacked. The anxiety that had burrowed itself deep into her belly had not relented, and had brought to her mind image after image of bandits, soldiers, and, on occasion, the very-much dead guards from the dungeon. For the few days she’d been on her own, she’d been in constant conflict with her own mind, fighting to remain in the present, and trying in vain to avoid giving in to fear.

For all that she’d imagined, playing with fear for her lonesome journey, the moment that she was actually attacked, Gabrielle was surprised to find that the emotion that rose to the top of her mind was not fear, paralyzing, but instead anger, energizing her to the very core. She saw three men, dressed in dark clothes and each holding a dagger in their hands, and gripped her staff tight in her hands. She stopped, but not because she was afraid; she stopped because she was angry.

She realized, in the moment that she looked at each of their sneering faces in turn, that she wanted to hurt them. 

“Give us your things, pretty, and no one will get hurt,” coaxed one of the men, stepping closer. “We saw you paying with the empire’s gold at the tavern. Big coins for such a small lass — where’d you get them from?”

Gabrielle poised her staff and set her jaw. “Don’t you dare come near me.”

The man laughed and took another step. “What are you going to do, poke me with your stick?”

Gabrielle saw red. She cried out and jabbed with the end of the staff, and in his surprise, the bandit hadn’t the sense to dodge. Or perhaps he didn’t see it coming. Whatever the cause, the end was one that set the two other bandits on their guard; Gabrielle’s staff made contact with the man’s jaw, snapping his neck back, and striking him cold and unconscious where he stood. He fell backward into the dirt with a loud thump, kicking up a cloud of dust. The two men must have been fools or slow, because they did not move before Gabrielle was on them. At least the second one that she swung at had some semblance of reflex, and lifted up his hand to parry her blow. The staff, however, was heavy; it cracked loudly against bone, and the man cried out, falling back with his arm cradled against his chest.

The last man stared at Gabrielle, panic wild in his eyes. Gabrielle glared at him, chest heaving; she would have killed the man, if he came near.

He turned heel and ran. His friend, too, ran off, crying after him to wait. The other man, unconscious, presumably still alive, was left where he lay. His friends didn’t even bother to look back at him as they disappeared down the road, into the distance.

The prickling feeling was back. Gabrielle felt something behind her, like a pull almost, and swung around with her staff in her hands. Wood collided with soft flesh, and a loud grunt echoed in the clearing. Instead of an attacker, however, Gabrielle saw Xena, stumbling backwards from her, clutching her stomach. 

“Fucking Tartarus,” coughed the warrior. “Ow.”

“Xena?” Gabrielle exclaimed in horror, almost dropping the staff from her hands. “What— what are you doing here?” 

Xena sank to her knees, grimacing in pain. Gabrielle stared at her, only partly cognizant of the fact that she’d struck her with full force; it was only when she saw Xena fall to the ground that it occurred to her that she might’ve done some actual damage. 

“Xena!” Gabrielle repeated, rushing to kneel beside her. “Xena, what are you— are you hurt?”

Xena threw her head back and forced a laugh. “You’re the one that hit me, what do you think?”

“That bad?”

The woman grunted and shook her head. “It’ll bruise, but I’ll be fine.” Blue eyes fell upon her, struck watery clear with the waves of pain. “You pack a punch in that body of yours. Where do you hide it?”

Gabrielle huffed. Her surprise had shifted too quickly from concern to fear, and now she was quickly approaching anger again. Anger, and annoyance. “What are you doing here, Xena?”

Xena opened her mouth and paused. Gabrielle could practically see the thoughts rush through her head; she was figuring out if it was worth it to lie.

“You were following me, weren’t you?” Gabrielle demanded, before Xena could come up with some lame excuse.

Xena made a face. “I didn’t— well, yes, maybe. A little.”

“Why?”

“I was worried you’d get attacked,” Xena stumbled through the words, watching carefully for Gabrielle’s reaction. “Which, to be fair, you did—”

“And I handled it myself, thank you very much,” Gabrielle snapped, cutting her off. Xena stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words. Gabrielle was suddenly very aware of the fact that her hand rested on Xena’s thigh, where it had been since she’d rushed to her side. She withdrew it quickly, but not before a strange look passed over Xena’s face, only to disappear behind another grimace of pain. 

“Really, remind me not to piss you off,” she gasped, pressing at her ribs, checking if any were broken. “That staff of yours is heavy.”

Gabrielle glanced over at the unconscious man sprawled out on the road. “You think he’s dead?”

Xena followed her gaze and looked for a while. “Nah, doubt it. Though you did get him good.”

“You think we should help him?”

“He would’ve sliced you open if he had half the chance-,” Xena began. Then, studying Gabrielle’s face, she asked: “Is that what you’d do? Help him?”

“Maybe he’ll wake up a reformed man and never do thievery again. And I’d rather not have someone’s death on my hands, if I can help it.”

The red glow of the fight had dissipated, and she realized that she truly did not want to be a killer. She shuddered, knowing full well that in the heat of it all, she had briefly been capable — that she had briefly wanted, desperately, to strike that last man dead.

Xena’s laugh, which turned into a pained cough, brought Gabrielle back to reality. “Well, if you believe he can be reformed, then let’s make him comfortable while he naps his way into his new life.”

Gabrielle watched, bewildered by this changed attitude, as Xena stood up and walked over to the man. She stood up too, and followed, wondering if she should fuss at Xena to stop exerting herself, considering she’d just taken a full-force blow of a staff to her abdomen — but Xena, either ignoring the pain, or thriving with it, would not stop. She dragged the man off the road and settled him in the shade of a tree, lying on his side, with his cloak tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow.

“I think…I think that’s all we can do, right?”

Xena shrugged at Gabrielle. “You tell me. I’m new to this whole ‘do good’ thing.”

Gabrielle granted her a chuckle. The ease was short-lived; with nothing more to say, a  tense, uncomfortable silence fell between them. Xena seemed fidgety and unwilling to talk. Gabrielle wanted only that the warrior would say anything except goodbye.

But Xena said nothing. She just stood there, tension flowing from her in waves. Finally, Gabrielle had enough, and sighed, asking:

“Where’s Argo?”

Xena gestured into the woods. “She’ll come when I call.”

“You’re not calling her now?”

“I’m—“ Xena fell silent again. She took a breath, and then said: “I’m not sure if I need to.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you’re going to tell me to go away, I might as well go to her and ride off in the opposite direction.”

“If?”

Xena’s breaths seemed strained. She was nervous, Gabrielle realized; the Destroyer of Nations was nervous in her presence.

“Yes, if,” Xena sighed. “Look, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t think you know where you’re headed, either. Can’t I come with you?”

Gabrielle chewed her lip and fiddled with her staff. She’d have been lying to herself if she said that she hadn’t been imagining this exact scenario, or something like it, for days. To be fair, she had imagined it with a little more snark, a little less bruising on Xena by her hand, and a significantly lesser amount of awkwardness. But it was what she’d thought of, all the same.

What she’d hoped for, secretly, in the part of her brain that she was now openly waging war against. 

“Fine,” she heard herself saying. Something flashed in Xena’s eyes. Happiness? Joy? 

“You’re sure?”

Gabrielle sighed as if in resignation. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

As Xena walked off to call for Argo, Gabrielle stared after her. Though she did not then realize it, a strange sense of relaxation entered her when she looked upon the warrior; she did not know it then, but whatever fear she’d held onto, of Xena, the Conqueror, the monster of legend, dissipated in that moment as she watched her greet her horse with a smile, the sunlight glinting off the bronze of her armor, and shining off her dark, black hair.

Gods, what am I getting myself into?

Night fell upon them sooner than either had hoped. After the initial beginning, they’d spoken little — though this was more for a lack of ability to initiate, rather than for a lack of will. 

They made camp in the woods. The nearest town was still a good way away, and there were no villages in this stretch of the country; the night was warm, and nestled between the mountains, Xena felt relatively safe. Perhaps not from all harm, but at least from passing armies and warlords.

Gabrielle made the fire. Xena fetched water. They ate, though not in complete silence; Gabrielle asked some questions about the chimera, and Xena told her the tale of that, and then, unprompted, about the merchants she’d saved, too.

“You’re really trying for this ‘do good’ thing, are you?” 

Xena nodded. She didn’t know what to do with her hands; they’d been fidgety all day. “Trying being the operative word, I think.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Sparks danced up into the starry sky. The moon loomed over in the west, almost full; silvery light filled the world, bending the darkness into a soft, unreal landscape. Ethereal, dream-like. 

“Did you stop in any towns on your way?”

Xena frowned and shook her head no. “Why?”

“I thought you’d like to hear about the state of the realm.”

A long pause weighed heavy upon the air. “I won’t enjoy it, but yes, I…I’m curious. Did you hear something?”

And so, Gabrielle told Xena everything she’d heard. Or most of it. She told her about the infighting and the lords and ladies at each other’s throats. She told her about raids and where they’d taken place; to her, they’d just been tales of horror, but to Xena, they began to paint a map.

“It may be better if we get out of Peloponnese for awhile,” Xena finally said, her voice quiet. She seemed lost to thought. “Head up towards Macedonia. There should be less active warring there, unless the Macedonians themselves have decided to get up to any trouble.”

“So we’re heading out of trouble? Somewhere peaceful?”

“That’s what I’d prefer, ideally,” Xena confessed. “Somewhere to rest.”

The thought of rest reminded her of her weariness, and she turned around to hide a yawn. “We’d best sleep.”

She laid out her bedroll on one side of the fire. Gabrielle, after the slightest hesitation, laid hers on the other side, directly across. It was a silent agreement that they'd not sleep side by side. An agreement, or rather a refusal on both sides to be the one to bring it up.

Gabrielle was the first to lie down; Xena was the first to fall asleep.

Gabrielle looked worse for wear in the light of day. Xena couldn’t help that she stared, and wondered if she’d slept at all. Aphrodite’s words nagged at her. She can’t sleep without you, you know. Seeing Gabrielle, she felt guilty for having slept so soundly through the night. 

It was a little awkward, walking with Argo in tow. At times, the path ahead was too narrow for them and the horse, and so it tended to be Gabrielle first, and Xena following with Argo. More often than Xena liked, Argo wound up being a physical barrier between the two of them. It seemed almost deliberate on Gabrielle’s part. Xena didn’t know what to make of it all. She didn’t know what Gabrielle thought of her; her behavior toward her had softened some, but not enough to suggest she considered her a friend. She didn’t know how to approach the blonde. She didn’t even really know what she would have wanted to talk about.

“I want to go back home.”

Electricity struck through Xena’s skull and into her shoulders. She stopped in her tracks, and Argo with her; Gabrielle walked a good few paces before she noticed. 

“To see it,” she clarified, frowning at Xena. “To see if there’s anything left.”

“Right.”

There wasn’t anything more that Xena could think of to say. She had plenty of thoughts; she knew none of them were welcome to Gabrielle’s ears. 

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

There was a tint of anger in Gabrielle’s voice, again. 

“I don’t think it’s my place to comment,” Xena answered, truthfully. She started walking again, slowly; Gabrielle fell in to walk beside her.

“But you have thoughts. Don’t you?”

“I do.”

Xena felt a light smack on her arm. “And you won’t share?” Gabrielle was demanding, glaring at her as much as she could whilst keeping an eye on where she walked. 

“Fine! Fine,” Xena exclaimed. “Damn.”

“What are you thinking about, really? Your jaw’s doing that stupid clenching thing that you do when you don’t want to talk.”

“I was just wondering,” Xena began, making a face as a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension twisted into a knot in her belly, “If you’d tell me what happened. In Potidaea.”

She could practically feel the ice creep upon the air between them.

“You don’t know?” was Gabrielle’s first question, quickly followed by: “I guess that makes sense. Small village, mighty Conqueror; must have been one of many.”

It was meant to hurt, and Xena felt the sting. It was also very much the truth.

“You’re right, and I am sorry — I am sorry for all of it, even if you don’t want an apology, and it won’t fix anything anyway,” she admitted. “But I…I’d like to know what happened to you. Your family.”

“Why?”

Xena clenched her jaw, this time very aware of why she was doing so. “So that I know exactly how much I have to apologize for.”

“Make up for, you mean?”

“Whatever you’ll take and accept.”

She was staring at the road ahead, painstakingly aware of Gabrielle’s eyes burning into the side of her head. They came across a stream and crossed it at the shallows; time passed, perhaps a quarter of an hour, and still, Gabrielle hadn’t said a thing. She just kept looking at Xena, intermittently, always with an annoyed, angry expression on her face.

“Fine,” she finally huffed, striking her staff into the ground with a little more force than usual. “I’ll tell you.”

Xena wondered if they ought to stop, but Gabrielle showed no signs of slowing down; if anything, her steps seemed to pick up, and Xena had to focus on keeping up as the blonde began to tell her horrid tale. 

“They came at night. An army, passing by. Some other villages had fled from underfoot, but we thought — we thought we were too far from anything to be worth any notice. There’d been bandits before, and rogues making trouble, so the men had built up some store of weapons. But farmers don’t become fighters overnight.”

Xena placed the tip of her tongue between her canines and bit down, hard. A raid into a quiet village, no threat to anyone, was bad enough; a night-time raid, unwarranted, and unwarned about, was worse. An act of cowardice. 

They wouldn’t have had a chance to fight, let alone to run. 

“Some of the villagers tried to fight, but it was pointless. What use is a wooden spade against a sword? Or a battle-axe? Or a spear? And the way they…they didn’t just fight us. They didn’t just round us up and take us away, like slavers would. Even warlords usually avoid killing unless necessary. But these men, they hunted us, in the dark. They hunted those who had picked up weapons, and they laughed as they chased them down. It was like they weren’t people at all, like they weren’t human.”

Xena’s grip on Argo’s reins was far too tight. Pain stung in the aching bones of her fist; sweet, delicious pain that steadied her and quelled the rising disgust in her throat. 

“I saw my friends die. Friends I’d known since childhood. My betrothed, too, Perdicus — he was trying to protect his mother, and for that, he got stuck with a spear so hard it pinned him to the ground. I watched him die.”

Gabrielle’s breaths were becoming more strained. Xena was not entirely surprised when she saw tears glistening on her cheeks; tears that were quickly swept away when the blonde noticed her looking. 

“I froze. I didn’t fight. I…I couldn’t. They rounded the rest of us up, finally, and then lit the whole place on fire. There was no purpose to it except to cause pain, I know it now; they wanted to break us. And then they tied us into a chain and took us away to be sold as slaves. I don’t know where my mother or father were; they weren’t with us when we went. My sister, too…” 

A sniffle. Xena wanted to reach out and do something; lay a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder, give her reassurance, something to help — but she didn’t dare interrupt.

“She was right by me. She was with me when they took us away. But I, I—“

There was a new shade among the many colors painting Gabrielle’s voice. Guilt, Xena realized; there was guilt, mixing among the sorrow and the hurt. 

“I found a sharp stone. I cut the ropes the next night. I told her to run. I told everyone to run. But they caught us so soon, and in the confusion of it all, I…I lost her. I don’t know what happened to her,” Gabrielle’s voice broke. She took in a few deep breaths and was silent for a long while. “Lila died because of me. If I’d just…if I hadn’t done anything, she would’ve been with me still. In Corinth. She would’ve…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Xena tried. Almost immediately, she regretted saying anything at all. Gabrielle stepped in front of her, stopping them both; her hand rose up as if she meant to hit her, or grab her — in the end, she only pointed at her with her finger, her whole hand, her whole body trembling. Her eyes were edged with red, brimming with tears.

“You don’t get to say—“ she stifled a sob. “Just don’t. Don’t say anything.”

She stormed off down the path. Xena waited a few paces, giving her space; she could see, even if she couldn’t hear, that Gabrielle had finally succumbed to the tears that had been forcing her voice the whole length of the tale. Her shoulders shook; her whole posture was an image of sorrow.

She followed Gabrielle for the rest of the day, some hundred paces behind, never letting the blonde out of her sight but never going too near, either. Camp was made by mutual agreement and in mutual silence. 

“Can I say something?”

Gabrielle looked tired. There was no fire left in her to flare; her eyes, bloodshot, looked to stare through Xena, not at her. She waved a hand as she moved to sit closer by the fire, pulling up her knees. “Go ahead.”

Xena swallowed, feeling as though she’d eaten sand. Mirroring Gabrielle’s position, she pulled up her knees and put her hands atop them. “It was never my intention. It was never my will that innocents get hurt,” she said. “I…I’ve done bad things. I admit that. I have tortured, I have murdered; I have enjoyed both. But I would have never ordered Potidaea’s destruction. Or any village’s destruction. Not after…” She paused, pushing away the memories of the one time she had truly given into evil. “What use is an empire if all it is, is ash and bones? And what did the people do to anyone, anyway? If they swear allegiance, all will be well with minimal bloodshed. Armies, enemies, other warlords can be cut down. I still stand by that. But it’s…”

She sighed, struggling to find the words. Gabrielle was watching her, so quiet, so weary; so guarded it felt as though a solid wall sat in the air between them.

“Believe it or not, I do have values. I did have values, rules to live by. Rules by which I tried to lead others. Pain must be earned. Never raise your hand against the weak. No heedless violence. No rape — there's never any excuse, any reason, any way to justify that. I'll never be able to apologize to you enough that they, that it even— "

She faltered. She had never asked Gabrielle in full; she'd never dared to. She had seen the dungeon and what was happening, she had heard some, but not the full tale. This was as close to asking her what had happened that she dared to get — could get, truly.

Gabrielle's voice cut through her tortured thoughts, interrupting her words and her breath.

"It never got that far. They touched, they...grabbed, their hands were..." she paused, and Xena dared take a breath. "You've wanted to know that, haven't you?"

It disturbed Xena that Gabrielle seemed to have wrung out her own thoughts and laid them bare in the air between them, answering questions that did, in some part, soothe worries that had wound their tight fingers around her throat. 

Darkness shrouded her mind again, and she shrank, fell into its terrible embrace.

"But that doesn't matter, does it?" she asked, her voice breaking. "You were hurt, regardless. You were violated, like so many other people were violated by people whose leader I was. I tried to keep order, but with so many, it’s impossible. It was impossible. I couldn’t keep it together, I tried, but time and time again I failed, and I—“

Tears stung at her eyes. Xena buried her face in her hands, tensing every muscle in her body in search of some semblance of control. 

This is torture. I’m not headed for Tartarus; I’m already there. 

“I was weak,” she spat. She could not bear to look at Gabrielle; she was only half certain that she was still sitting across from her, watching her come undone. “I am weak. I couldn’t keep order, no matter what I did. It was always a knife’s edge, toeing the line of being a ruthless leader that everyone would fear, and would respect, and still keeping it from becoming too much — too horrible, too violent, too inhuman. Time and time over, always the damn, fucking , knife’s edge. Always getting cut. Always bleeding in some direction or another. Gods, the dungeons? Do you know how many times I tried to fix them? How many times I prevented the very thing that would’ve happened to you? How many more times I was too late? How many times I walked in to find the guards, my guards, standing over a broken body, grinning as if they expected me to relish in their actions? Time and time over I would put men to death for disobeying the rules, my rules, and time and time again I would have to do it, all over again. And it was my fault; my fault for being weak, for not being able to have a tighter grip, for not having control—“

She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Her willpower was weathered to a single thread; it snapped, and she broke. Sobs shattered through her chest and bent her over, hunching in pain; her hands trembled, and she pressed her palms to her head, seeking in vain a position, a way to be that didn’t feel like she was wounded, raw and open, for all the world to see.

For Gabrielle to see.

“All I wanted was to never be hurt again. To never be helpless; to never be weak,” she whimpered, curling up into herself, an animal in pain. Her hands were on her forearms, fingers seeking somewhere under her braces to dig nails in, to hurt, to stop the crying, “I became what I was because it was easier to inflict pain than to feel it. And then it was easier to stay as I was, only it got worse, and bigger, and I got lost — I killed whatever soul I had.”

Nothing felt real anymore. She barely felt anything at all; it was as if her whole body had gone numb, save for her heart, which writhed in aching, choking pain. Tears fell freely, tears of a lifetime; she cried, and cared not that she did it in front of Gabrielle. Somewhere beyond the edges of her pain, she was aware of the fire, of darkness in the forest, and of a heavy, persistent silence. Words withdrawn, held, unreleased. Gabrielle did not speak.

Soft footsteps approached her. A warmth draped her shoulders; a blanket, Xena realized even as she took hold of it and pulled it around herself. She buried her face in the bend of her elbow, tears wetting her skin. There seemed to be no end to her sobs, nor yet to the pain that sat, heavy and impossible, on her heart.

“Xena, I—“

Gabrielle’s voice came from somewhere near. Xena thought she felt something touch her shoulder; a hand, just brushing lightly before it withdrew.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said quietly. Xena felt the weight of her pity in her voice, and choked on a sob. “I’ll let you have some space.”

Gabrielle’s footsteps receded and disappeared into the forest. Xena cried, aware that she was alone, the knowledge twisting the knife of pain deeper into her wounded, bleeding heart.

Gabrielle did not go far. She had left Xena alone mostly for her own sake; the sight of her, weeping without end, in pain so visible it was almost tangible, had been enough to strike stabs of pain into her own soul, her own heart. She was already tired from ripping open the wounds of her trauma, of missing home, of missing her family; all she wanted, truly, was to sleep, and to forget.

She hadn’t expected Xena to fall apart as she had. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d said she wanted to talk. Whatever guess she might have made then, would have fallen far off the mark. She had known that the warrior carried pain within her, but she just hadn’t ever imagined the sheer amount of it. 

Gabrielle wandered around in the dark forest, just beyond the reaches of the firelight. She never let the camp out of her sight, but kept far enough that Xena wouldn’t hear her footfalls. Even so, she was not beyond earshot. She could hear her crying, her sobs, and could no longer ignore the fact that whatever pain Xena felt, sent ripples of pain through her, as well.

“Can you believe her?”

Gabrielle jumped in alarm, biting her cheek by accident. She whirled around to find a man, dark-haired, dark-eyed, standing before her. There was a sneer plastered on his face, a look of wildness that immediately set her ill at ease. She saw he carried a sword, and in realizing he stood before as a real, tangible threat, fear climbed up from her belly to wrap itself around her throat.

“I gave her everything, you know. Armies, enemies, victories. She had it all! Right at her fingertips,” the man continued, speaking to Gabrielle as though she should’ve understood what he spoke of, of what he meant — who he was, even. “And she gave it up for what, some hopeless dream of you?”

Gabrielle took a step back, clutching her staff and placing it between her and the man. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you know me?” asked he. “Don’t you know that fear that chokes you? You’d never be my champion, you know. You’re too soft. Too…kind. But you should know me, if not by the fear that I incite in you. Or has it been too long since battle raged and ravaged your home? Didn’t you hear my name cried out then, by the very men that burned your home?”

Gabrielle scowled. “Ares.”

“That’s right, blondie.”

“What do you want?” Gabrielle asked, even as her fear threatened to overtake her entirely. This was a god; she couldn’t fight a god. Why was there even a god speaking to her to begin with?

I gave her everything.

“Is this about Xena?”

She gave it all up for some hopeless dream of you.

She wasn’t that far away from the camp. She should’ve heard Xena; she should’ve seen the fire through the trees. But she heard nothing, she saw nothing — the forest was endless, and she was alone in it, lost in the darkness with the god of War.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Less now, of course, with her…pitiful phase. Why should she ever shake off that anger when it makes her so beautiful? So strong? Why should she ever exchange the glory of battle for anything at all? She was built for war.”

Gabrielle felt like the god wasn’t really hearing her, or even perceiving her as a person. She was a receptacle for some frustration of his; his monologue, cocky as it was on the surface, seemed to reveal depths of annoyance, and anger that Gabrielle did not understand. 

“And now she’s whatever that…thing is,” Ares sneered, gesturing vaguely in the direction that the camp should’ve been. “I just don’t get it. Do you?”

Gabrielle stared at the god as though he had two heads. 

“Well, blondie? I asked you a question.”

“Why are you here?” Gabrielle replied, ignoring the god’s question. It might not have been the smartest move, but it was the one she made nonetheless.

“I guess I’m here to see if I can get her back,” Ares shrugged. “This stupid bet with Dike is starting to get on my nerves. Fallible to morality and general goodness my ass. She’s getting weak and soft, and I don’t like the look of it.”

Gabrielle’s frown deepened. “What does the goddess of Justice have to do with this? With me? With Xena?”

“Oh, look, someone actually knows who she is. Most just make lewd jokes, which, while funny, are a little old when you’ve heard them for all of immortality,” Ares remarked. He was pacing, keeping Gabrielle on edge; at every turn of his heel, she expected him to whip out the sword and come lunging at her. 

He eyed her whilst toying with the hilt of his sword.

“I could just kill you, you know. That would probably send her right back to my arms.”

Chills ran down Gabrielle’s spine. She knew that the god was not lying. He could have cut her down with as much ease as another would cut a slice of bread for their meal.

She racked her brain for something to say, something to do. The staff was no use to her here; she’d have to use her wits, if anything, to save herself. 

Ares had mentioned Dike, and a bet. Gabrielle thought back, back to when Xena had told her of the nameless god that had given her a choice. She’d spoken of goodness; she’d been sent, essentially, on a quest to regain her soul, to regain her humanity. Morality, Gabrielle realized. It was Dike who had come to Xena, and who had given her the choice that had set off the subsequent course of events. Dike had made a bet with Ares about Xena.

“You can’t kill me.”

Ares narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The bet, I mean. You’re so sure you’ll win, yeah?”

“Obviously. This pursuit of her soul is a ridiculous effort. She doesn’t need a soul when she’s got me.”

“So, killing me would be like admitting that you don’t think you’ll win. Wouldn’t that be like forfeiting the bet?”

“How dare you speak to me like this?” The god stepped forward, and Gabrielle almost folded. 

Almost.

She thought of Xena, curled up, crying. Xena, spilling out every hurt, every pain that sat upon her soul — her soul, that Gabrielle was so sure wasn’t dead, that lived within her still, pushed so far deep within the confines of herself, so far below that mountain of pain, that she couldn’t even feel it. 

Xena was human. She was no monster, nor yet a prize for Ares to win, to manipulate, to push into a box, a role that, as far as Gabrielle could tell, did not suit her at all. A role that had torn her to shreds; a role that she had freely chosen to run from, when given the chance.

“I’m just saying,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I don’t think the goddess of Justice would like it much if you cheated on a bet with her. She may be a minor god, but that doesn’t mean she’s powerless, is she? I wouldn’t go messing about with her. Especially if I knew that I was going to win, regardless.”

She poked and pulled at the ego that was so plainly overflowing from the god before her. Where she found the strength or courage, she did not know; she just talked, and tried to find a way out of the situation she’d somehow stumbled into. 

“I mean, really, is she even worth your energy? Dike, or Xena? You’re the god of War, aren’t you? Xena’s one woman. There’s plenty to choose from, plenty that wouldn’t get on your nerves like she does. And isn’t there plenty of warring going on back in Corinth? I hear even Caesar’s planning on landing in Greece. That ought to be worth your time, right?”

“She is annoying,” agreed Ares — though whether he spoke of Dike or Xena, Gabrielle did not know. “Honestly, a pain in my ass sometimes.”

“Surely this is beneath your notice. Since you’re so great, and all.”

Ares was starting to buy it. Gabrielle knew it, could see it; she gripped her staff, willing her strength to stay with her a moment longer, and thought for something to end the conversation.

“It would be a great show of your godly wisdom, too, you know.”

Ares frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Obviously, you were tricked into this bet by Dike. She wanted to push your buttons and irritate you — and look, she succeeded! If you simply ignored this and walked away, it would make you the winner — morally speaking. Xena’s not worth your notice, surely. That would really grind Dike’s gears, wouldn’t it?”

Ares flexed his hand and nodded thoughtfully. “You know, sometimes you mortals make good points.”

He looked at Gabrielle, and the fear choked her again, one last time. It felt like a lifetime before he winked and said:

“I’ll see you around, blondie.”

He disappeared. Gabrielle flinched, then hunched over, shaking throughout; she fell to her knees and gasped for air, all her anxiety flooding her at once. She laid down on the ground among the dry leaves and twigs, and rolled over to stare at the sky through the trees. She could breathe, but only just. 

“I just talked down a god,” she whispered to herself. She paused, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest; she half expected Ares to appear out of nowhere to strike her down after all.

There was nothing. Only the wind in the trees above, an owl hooting far away. Crickets.

Gabrielle stared at the trees and frowned, noticing shadows playing among them. She sat up and looked over towards the camp; it was back where it should have been. The whole time, she’d been not fifty paces from Xena — some trick of Ares had hidden her from view. 

She stood up with shaky legs and walked back towards the camp. She was unsure of how long she’d been gone; the fire had almost died down, and Xena lay on a bedroll, the blanket pulled up to her waist, fast asleep. Gabrielle noticed that the blanket she had was the one she’d draped about Xena’s shoulders — her blanket, not Xena’s. 

Xena’s face looked peaceful. There was some puffiness around her eyes, but there was no pain in her features. Gabrielle sighed and pushed away the suddenly risen urge to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Xena’s ear, only for another, more pressing urge to take its place. She needed to sleep, and wanted nothing more than to be laying in front of Xena, with Xena’s arm around her waist, and Xena’s breath calm and steady on the back of her neck.

She took out her bedroll and laid it out beside Xena’s, careful not to wake her. A moment’s nervousness passed her, a lone wave in an otherwise still ocean. She knelt on the edge of the bedroll and laid down with a soft sigh, shuffling into place, still trying her best to keep Xena from waking.

An arm slid around her waist. Gabrielle froze, realizing Xena was awake. She thought she’d be told off, told to go; she fully expected Xena to push her away. So when Xena’s arm pulled her closer, slow but firm, she allowed herself to sink into her embrace and sighed in relief. She lifted her head and pulled Xena’s other arm out so that she could use it for a pillow; she moved until she was completely flush against Xena, her back against Xena’s front, and then pulled her blanket over them both.

Xena said nothing, but the soft sigh, breathed into Gabrielle’s shoulder, said plenty enough. It spoke of relief, and of comfort — and of something else, perhaps gratitude.

Chapter Text

“Gabrielle?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve asked you a question twice now. Are you okay?”

Gabrielle blinked and nodded, trying to come back from her thoughts. She’d been ruminating on her conversation with Ares, for obvious reasons; one doesn’t meet a god and get over it that easily. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. What?”

Xena stepped out from Argo’s side and came to walk beside her. “It’s just that you haven’t really said anything to me all day.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

A pause. “About what?”

Gabrielle could sense the nervousness tugging at the edges of Xena’s words. “About stuff. Home.”

Xena nodded. “Right.”

“About where to go. I’m not sure how to get…home.”

“Ah. Well, we can stop by the next town and find a map. Or ask directions,” Xena suggested, helpful as ever. 

They walked on a little while longer until Xena’s patience finally snapped. She grabbed Gabrielle’s arm, making her stop, and gave her a pleading look. “You haven’t said a thing about what I said last night. It’s— I don’t know what to think. Do you hate me? Do you want to leave again? I don’t like not knowing, Gabrielle. I’m not good with uncertainty.”

Gabrielle gave her a gentle smile. “I don’t know what else to say except what I said already: thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For telling me. It…it’s given me a new perspective on who you are.”

She started walking again, and Xena caught up to her, walking apace beside her. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means, Xena,” Gabrielle said, turning her head to smile at her again, “That I think we can be friends.”

To say the warrior was struck dumb would have been an understatement. She stopped so abruptly that Argo walked right into her, giving her an annoyed nudge; she was torn between patting Argo’s head and calming her, and staring at Gabrielle, her eyes so wide that Gabrielle worried they might burst out of her head.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she huffed. 

“Well, I just didn’t expect—“ Xena shook her head. “That.”

“You thought I’d admonish you for opening up and then leave?” Gabrielle asked. Her words struck a little too close to home, and she saw Xena bite her tongue again. “You know, one of these days you’re going chew that thing off,” she remarked, turning to face the road. 

“What?”

“Your tongue. You keep biting it.”

Had Gabrielle been looking Xena’s way, she would have seen a genuine look of fear pass over her face.

It was near impossible for Xena to not stare at Gabrielle. Her words had opened up avenues in her thoughts that tasted an awful lot like hope; hope for redemption, hope for things she did not wish to name. If Gabrielle thought they could be friends, did that mean she trusted her? Or that she could, eventually, trust her? Had she forgiven her? 

Did she fear her, still?

She spent the rest of the afternoon ruminating on those questions. They chatted here and there, about mundane things — Argo’s mane, the weather, fishing — and were quickly finding a strangely comfortable rhythm for themselves. Xena could tell that there was something on Gabrielle’s mind, but did not pry. The last time she’d pried, she’d wound up crying herself for hours. She figured she needed at least another day before she subjected herself to that torment again.

Gabrielle’s way of disarming her should have been more alarming than it was. The fact was that the blonde could, without trying, get Xena to drop her guard. It was why she’d gotten that one blow in with her damn staff — the reminders which had turned Xena’s stomach a lovely combination of purple, with a growing tinge of yellow and green. It was also why she’d wound up spilling out her guts the night before.

In both cases, Gabrielle had already brought her to her knees. Xena shuddered at the thought of any other means by which said feat could be achieved.

By the time they came to a town in the early evening, Xena was sure of one thing. Gabrielle no longer feared her. There were elements of trust, slowly growing between them; of forgiveness, Xena had no clue. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Xena lied. “You look tired.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“I just meant, it’s the end of the day. We should probably just have a bite and go to bed.”

There was a faint nudge there, an unspoken question regarding the number of beds they’d need. Gabrielle either did not notice, or was unwilling to pick up the subject.

On entering the town, they found it buzzing with excitement. As far as they could tell, everyone was dressed in their finest clothes, many wearing garlands of flowers on their heads or around their necks. Dread began sneaking up on Xena as they made their way to the tavern; dread which, once Gabrielle had asked a few questions from the owner, was realized in full.

“It’s the feast of Aphrodisia,” Gabrielle told her, having settled their accommodation for them. “Apparently, they’re real big into Aphrodite in these parts.”

Xena watched a pair of lovers, entwined in hand with garlands in their hair, pass them by. “You don’t say.”

Some part of her felt an overwhelming urge to run. To grab Gabrielle, and to get the hell out of this gods-forsaken, Aphrodite-blessed town. 

“How do they celebrate it here?” she asked, following Gabrielle to a table. “In Athens, it’s an…interesting event. With a little more blood and dead doves, less of the…flowers.”

Gabrielle eyed the young man who was presently approaching them with two plates of food in his hands. “I’m not sure. The owner said it’s just an excuse to mingle and have something to drink. Oh, and the town baths are open for free; they’ve apparently already started by giving the statues of the temple a ritual bath.”

With food in front of them, they briefly forgot the festivities happening around them. It did seem a simple event; music, song, dancing. Laughter. Yet there was an air of anticipation in the air, as though everyone was waiting for something. By the time Xena and Gabrielle had finished eating, it became evident that everyone was expected in the town agora, at the shrine of Aphrodite, at sundown. 

“Let’s go.”

Xena made a face. “No. You’re not serious.”

“I want to go,” Gabrielle shrugged. “I’m curious.”

“Then go.”

“I don’t want to go alone.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Friends do things together, don’t they?”

Xena narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to bring that up? Some would call that manipulation, you know.”

“But you’re going to do it, aren’t you? For me?” Gabrielle retorted.

Xena sighed and grabbed Gabrielle’s tankard, downing the rest of her mead. “Fine. Though I don’t know why you want me along; the goddess of Love and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“How come?”

Xena busied herself with adjusting her belt despite the fact that it needed no adjusting. “No reason,” she muttered. Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, but chose not to pry.

“At least come to the baths with me.” 

Xena looked up. Try as she might, the promise of a proper bath was too good to pass up. “Fine. At least the baths.”

Yet when they were leaving the baths, clean and refreshed and smelling of roses, they found the streets full of people. Without wanting to, they were ushered down along with the crowd, all headed to the festival. By the time they were at the agora, there was no chance to slip away, or back down — it was all they could do just to keep somewhat near one another in the pressing crowds.

“Did everyone in Greece come here for this damn festival?” Xena found herself grumbling, her eyes fixed on Gabrielle’s head some ways’ ahead of her. She pushed a few people out of the way and reached for her elbow, pulling her to the side and away from the main flow of people. “Listen, I’m all for seeing what this is about, but can’t we stay here? A bit further away?”

Gabrielle made a face at her. “You’re a head taller than me. You can see from here; I can’t.”

“You go on then,” Xena suggested. “I’ll stay here.”

For a while, the blonde looked like she was about to say something. Xena waited, watching the crowd gather, until Gabrielle let out a huff, threw up her hands, and slipped into the crowd. 

Whatever the point of the town’s festival was, it amounted to a bunch of priestesses, a lot of talking, and a whole deal of boredom for Xena. The only highlight of the procession had been the flower-spiced wine, which had been handed out through the crowd by priestesses, each ladling it out into the mouths of the onlookers. Xena had accepted her mouthful, glad to have something to perhaps make the evening enjoyable. It tasted of lavender, honey, and roses, and went straight to parts of her that she’d rather have, in that moment, forgotten about.

A bard hopped up on the steps of the shrine and began a lengthy telling of Aphrodite’s birth. Xena zoned out almost immediately, finding any mention of Ouranos’s cock-and-balls unappetizing and uninteresting, and focused her gaze instead on Gabrielle. She stood not far away, evidently captured by the performance, judging by her posture and the stillness in how she stood.

Xena wished Gabrielle would turn and look at her, even for a moment. She felt the wish as a burning want, almost a need; though she could see her, she found herself missing having her close, close enough to touch, close enough to– 

“Fancy seeing you here, Xena.”

Xena groaned, recognizing the voice even before she turned to find the golden-haired, fair-faced goddess standing beside her. “Not you again.”

If the people standing near her noticed the presence of the very goddess they were celebrating, they gave no sign. Aphrodite took a few steps and leaned on Xena’s shoulder, giving her an infuriatingly charming smile.

“You didn’t think that I’d miss my own party, did you?”

It was just as Xena had feared. Worse, even. 

“I’m glad you took my advice,” continued the goddess, taking a sip from the goblet in her hands. “Though, to be frank, I’m surprised you’ve held out this long. You sleep together, but you don’t sleep together?”

“What Gabrielle and I do, or don’t do, is our business,” Xena hissed, gripping the goddess’s arm tightly. “Don’t meddle.”

Then, pushed by some habit of kindness that she’d not known she had developed, she added: “Please.”

Aphrodite fixed on the word immediately. “Please? Since when does the Destroyer of Nations use such a word as ‘please’?”

“I’m not that person anymore,” Xena glowered. “Leave it be.”

“Ah, but it’s so charming to watch! Even if it is frustrating.”

Xena inhaled a very long, very deliberate breath. “What do you want?”

“To see love bloom wherever it may, of course,” Aphrodite answered. “Why, does that surprise you? There’s plenty of love here to pick and poke at. Look at those two, over there. Wouldn’t they look nice together?”

Aphrodite moved her gaze, and pointed in Gabrielle’s direction. “Or her. Now, who would she like? Do you think she’d like that charming brunette, over there by the pillar?”

“Don’t you dare,” Xena said, a little too quickly. 

“What’s the matter, Xena? You’re not on her arm. Someone should be.”

“Don’t you dare ,” Xena repeated. “I don’t care that you’re a goddess. I will find a way to harm you if you stick your fingers in this.”

“What, like you’d like to stick your fingers in her?”

“I don’t—“

“You do, and don’t you lie about it,” Aphrodite said, her tone snapping Xena into silence at once. “Though, I suppose you’d phrase it more sweetly. You’d fulfill her every wish? Give her the pleasure she deserves?”

The goddess leaned in, close enough to whisper in Xena’s ear. “You’d make her yours, hmm?”

The taste of sweetness that tinted the goddess’s words pink was impossible to resist. Xena found herself looking for words to say, and finding none; the notion of being reduced to a blushing, tongue-tied thing of a woman infuriated her to no end.

Aphrodite released the spell she’d wound about her and laughed. “Really, it’s just too easy! And too fun.”

“What do you want, Aphrodite?”

The goddess’s expression seemed to sober, though a playful, knowing glint remained in her eye. “I just want — no, need — you to know that whatever happens, it isn’t because I willed it to happen.”

“What does that mean?”

“What I mean is, my darling Xena, that the ceremonial drink you accepted wasn’t just wine and the essence of flowers. You really should have asked around before you jumped in on the fun.”

“What?”

“It’s a potion, dear. Nothing too potent; not a love potion, mind you. Far be it from me to approve of using an artificial love. No, the use of love potions is a barbaric notion anyway, one I abhor.”

“Then what was it, if not a love potion?” Xena demanded, grabbing Aphrodite by the wrist. “What are you implying?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

Xena paused and let Aphrodite slip from her grasp. She felt warm, comfortable; aroused, but then again a bit of wine always had her feeling a little warm between the legs, and a little more open with who she associated with. Her thoughts seemed to orbit a certain unnamed blonde, but that was nothing unusual; it had been that way for days.

“Whatever feelings there are to begin with,” Aphrodite was saying, “For tonight, they will be enhanced. If you are drawn to someone, well, you may find them irresistible. That’s the purpose of this festival — to draw people together and to release them from the stupid little inhibitions that prevent them from making, ah, connections .”

Xena’s mind jumped, perhaps a little too quickly, to Gabrielle, standing in the middle of a crowd; Gabrielle, who, just like she, had drunk the potion as well. Gabrielle, surrounded by people, any number of whom could be interesting, attractive to her eye. 

“What did you do ?”

“I did nothing! It’s tradition. It isn’t my fault you took part without knowing what you were signing up for,” Aphrodite smiled, evidently very pleased with herself. “Now, you can spend the night ignoring whatever urges you feel, and you’ll be fine by morning. Next evening by the latest. Or you can give in. Just have fun, Xena. And know that whatever happens, it is because you, and she , chose it. You won’t be able to blame me or anyone, if you find yourself with regrets in the morning.”

She stepped into the crowd and vanished. Xena was left standing, slack-jawed, her mind reeling — and with a very noticeable ache growing between her legs, inspired by thoughts of a certain blonde.

Gabrielle was tired of being touched. There were too many people and they were all too much, all up around her, brushing against her, pushing past her; she was uncomfortable, and she wanted to leave. The ritual itself had been interesting, and the performances after had been fascinating — but there were only so many sweaty bodies she could handle being around at one time, and when her limit was reached, that number fell to zero.

There was a fervor in the air that felt electric. She felt it in her heart, she felt it in her body — a relaxing, calming feeling that settled in her mind as a constant thrum of sensual, quieting pleasure. 

Pleasure was certainly very present on her mind. She felt good and would have gladly laid down somewhere quiet and indulged herself further, but something kept tugging at her mind. At her heart, to be true; she could not shake thoughts of Xena from her mind.

She was annoyed that Xena hadn’t stuck by her side. She was a little annoyed with herself for leaving Xena at the edges of the crowd. She was definitely annoyed that she was not, at present, alone with Xena, somewhere quiet, where there were no other people being sweaty and drunk all over her. 

Xena could be sweaty and drunk all over her all she liked. In that moment, Gabrielle found herself thinking she’d quite like to see her in such a state. Or any state.

A woman had given her a garland of daisies to wear in her hair. She’d had brown curls and brown eyes, and freckles across her nose. A pretty girl, perhaps her age, perhaps a year or two older, her lips painted red with liptint. She had kissed Gabrielle on the cheek, and had then disappeared into the crowd; Gabrielle had stood there for a good minute or two, holding her hand to her cheek, feeling as though her skin tingled. In some vague sense, she was growing aware of the fact that there was more going on than simple relaxation and enjoyment — she felt the touch of Aphrodite in the air, if that even was a thing, and felt very inclined to give in and go with the flow of it all. 

She wanted to find Xena. She needed to find Xena. There were things she wanted, things she needed, and she wanted them only from Xena. Not from the pretty girl that had given her the garland, nor from the charming female bard who had winked at her at the end of her performance. She wanted Xena, and her lack of fulfillment was quickly growing into an ever-present, ever-annoying source of frustration.

At last she found her way back to where she’d left the warrior princess, only to find her engaged in a conversation with some woman. Gabrielle didn’t see much, but she saw that she was blonde, tall, and beautiful, and her arm was around Xena’s waist; she saw Xena grab her wrist, say some words to her, and saw the woman touch her cheek, briefly.

She couldn’t even deny that she was jealous at the sight. Her joy at seeing the woman disappear into the crowd was too tangible; her relief at seeing Xena stay put, not following, was even more so. 

“Xena?”

The warrior turned around quickly, a brief look of something — what, shame, guilt — passing her face before turning into a smile. “Gabrielle. You’re back already?”

Gabrielle walked up to her and did all she could to resist the urge to reach out a hand and touch Xena’s arm. “Yeah, I got tired of all the people.”

“Nice crown,” Xena remarked. Her eyes fell lower, and a frown flickered past her eyes. “Nice liptint-mark, too. You’re sure you’re done having fun?”

Gabrielle took the crown off and wiped at her cheek. “Be quiet,” she muttered. Then, looking back at Xena, she asked: “Who says I’m done having fun?”

“Well, you came to me.”

“Who says you can’t be fun?”

Xena blinked. Was she surprised at her boldness, or confused? Gabrielle couldn’t tell.

“Are you alright?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “I feel good.”

“How exactly do you feel?”

The question felt a little too pointed to go unnoticed. Gabrielle couldn’t give an honest answer, either — her present feelings leaned heavily on the ‘no talking, more touching’ side of how she felt about Xena.

“You’re acting weird,” she said, avoiding the question. “What’s going on?”

Xena leaned back against a wall and crossed her arms. There was a slight flush on her cheeks; she seemed to have more trouble than usual keeping her focus on Gabrielle as she talked. 

“There was a potion in the ceremonial drink.”

Gabrielle processed the information for a few beats. “There was a what in the ceremonial drink?”

“A potion.”

“What potion?”

“An emotion-enhancing potion.”

“You’re joking, right? You’re drunk and joking,” Gabrielle decided. “I mean, come on. How do you even know that?”

“I just talked to Aphrodite.”

Gabrielle stared at Xena, not comprehending. “No you didn’t.”

“Why would I lie?”

It was true that she didn’t look like she was lying. Gabrielle had thus far thought herself pretty good at reading Xena; now, however, she was unsure.

“You just talked to the goddess of Love, and you’re telling me there was a potion in the drink that I took. Did you take it?”

Xena nodded.

“Emotion-enhancing? What does that even mean?”

Apparently, the notion of Xena conversing with gods was easier to get past than the potion-part of her words.

Granted, it was much easier to believe that Xena had met Aphrodite, considering Gabrielle had chatted with her infamous lover only the night before.

“She said it would take existing feelings and make them stronger. Harder to resist,” Xena explained. She was staring very intently at Gabrielle, enough to make her squirm. Her arms were crossed across her chest; her forearms, free from the braces she usually wore, looked a little too good for comfort. “Which is why I want to know, how are you feeling?”

Gabrielle narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to Xena. “I’d much rather know how you’re feeling, Xena.”

There was only a small distance between them. Xena leaned on the wall, seemingly relaxed; Gabrielle stood before her, staring up into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to put her hands somewhere on Xena. Her waist, her shoulders, her thighs— 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.”

Xena was smirking at her. Gabrielle suddenly felt very conscious of the fact that her cheeks felt hot, and she glared at the warrior, irked at her teasing.

“Can’t you just answer my question?”

“Considering I asked first, and you haven’t answered me, I’ll have to say no.”

Her lips were so enticing. Gabrielle wondered how Xena’s bottom lip would feel between her teeth.

The ache was unbearable, made worse only by Xena’s presence. She knew that if she went away, she would feel less tempted. She knew that if she went to the room, shut the door, fucked herself, and slept, she would be just fine. The night would pass and the temptation would lessen to bearable by the morning. 

Problem was, getting any further away from Xena was about the last thing she wanted at that moment.

“Gabrielle…?”

A decision made, resolute. Gabrielle met Xena’s eyes; a challenge. “I feel like fucking, Xena. I’m aroused, I’m horny; I’m aching to be fucked. If it’s some potion, then damn it, so be it. I don’t care. I just need, need to fuck.”

If she’d suspected before that Xena’s calm and relaxation in that moment was an act, she knew it now. The warrior’s fingers twitched where they rested on her forearm; the hollow at the base of her neck deepened as she drew in a long, deliberate breath. 

Her pupils were blown.

Gabrielle wondered how they’d look in the afterglow.

“That’s an interesting feeling,” Xena managed to say. “That you describe.”

“How do you feel, Xena?”

Gabrielle was well aware that she was only inches away from her. One step, and she could lean against her. Touch her. Hold her.

Xena leaned her head back, eyes fluttering shut as if she'd resigned to her fate. “I’m so unbearably horny it’s becoming impossible for me to think,” she sighed. As if to emphasize her point, she shifted her hips a little. Gabrielle couldn’t help that her eyes ran down her figure. “I want to fuck you , Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle answered quickly, before she had time to think and regret. Before Xena had time to clench her jaw and go quiet again.

“Then fuck me, Xena. Just for tonight. We can blame the potion and not think of it tomorrow, but please – just fuck me.”

There was a faint danger here, in the air between them. Tension building; need, ever-increasing. 

Xena stood up from leaning against the wall. She was tall, but in that moment Gabrielle felt like the woman towered over her; she felt as though Xena was deliberately doing so. Her face was in shadow, so that she could not see what she was thinking — she felt excitement and arousal flutter in her belly, and knew then that she was in the most delicious kind of trouble that she could have ever found for herself.

A hand enclosed around her wrist and swung her around, so swiftly that she hadn’t even time to be surprised before she found herself with her back to the wall, wrist pinned over her head, with Xena blocking her almost entirely between the wall and herself. Her other hand was on Gabrielle’s waist, pushing her back; if it hadn’t been there, Gabrielle was fairly certain she would have pushed her hips to meet Xena’s. The warrior leaned over, smirking, and Gabrielle knew in that moment that she was wet — that she would have let Xena do anything to her if she just kept looking at her like that, with such demand, such desire— 

“Do you fear me, Gabrielle?”

Gabrielle blinked. Xena was looking at her, studying her; searching her expression for any evidence to answer her question. She swallowed, and did not even hesitate in giving the answer. She’d known it for a while.

“No,” she whispered. “No, Xena, I don’t.”

The hand on her wrist tightened, and she whimpered — though not from pain. Excitement coiled with the butterflies in her stomach and bloomed more desire. She was dripping — she hadn’t ever known she could want a person like this. 

“You’re sure?” 

She was demanding, but not cruel. There was a vulnerability there, thinly veiled. Gabrielle swallowed again. “I haven’t feared you for some time, Xena. I see you; I see a human, trying to do better. Your past is a part of you but it no longer defines you in my eyes. Is that what you need to hear?”

Xena was so close, and yet so far. She was tempted, Gabrielle could see it in her eyes, but there was a boundary that she had yet to cross. 

“So when I ask you,” Xena began, slowly, staring at her intensely, “When I say I want to fuck you, you’re not just saying yes because you fear what I’d do if you said no?”

Gabrielle’s reaction was natural; she let out a laugh, and spoke louder than she should have. “Of course not, Xena. Gods, I want you to fuck me! I need you to f—“

Xena’s hand clamped over her mouth. “Are you out of your mind ? Lower your voice.”

The fact that the gesture excited Gabrielle was lost on neither one of them. Xena withdrew her hand, leaning even closer; their noses almost touched.

“So, it’s a yes.”

“It’s a please ,” Gabrielle whispered, daring Xena to do more.

Attentive eyes captured her own. Dark, consumed by desire; Gabrielle felt her knees go weak at the sight. Slowly, as though wanting to torment her, Xena leaned in and kissed her cheek, precisely where the lipstain-mark was, her tongue wiping away any remnant of what might have been there. Gabrielle shivered in her grasp as soft, warm lips trailed a taunting path to her jaw, and then along to the spot on her neck below her ear. She bent her neck for better access, offering herself up to Xena’s touch; her hand found a grip on Xena’s shoulder, seeking something firm. Her other hand remained tightly pinned to the wall above her head.

Xena’s lips brushed her ear, and a small moan escaped Gabrielle’s lips. 

“Are you a virgin, Gabrielle?”

Teeth nipped at her earlobe.

“Not in the slightest,” Gabrielle breathed, her fingers tightening their grip on Xena's shoulder. 

Xena’s pleased hum sent waves of pleasure down her spine and would have made her stumble were Xena’s arm not around her waist, holding her up. Gabrielle wasn’t so sure when Xena’s body had come to be flush against her own; it felt so natural that it could have been for a few moments, if not longer.

“Good,” whispered the warrior, her breath hot in Gabrielle’s ear. “I won’t have to teach you anything, then.”

Gabrielle was aching to kiss Xena. It was not a new ache, but for the first time, it was unbearable.

“Let’s go back to the tavern,” she pleaded. Xena pulled back, still gripping her, and sought to capture her gaze.

“Two rules.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Rules?”

“Please,” Xena insisted. 

“Fine, what are they?”

“One, no kissing on the mouth.”

Gabrielle frowned, and wanted to ask why, but Xena kept going, apparently not noticing her despair.

“Two, no names. Don’t call me Xena; I won’t call you Gabrielle.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to call you?”

Xena’s smile was wicked. “What makes you think you’ll have any need or capacity for words, princess?”

Oh, it’s already started. 

Oh, gods, I like this.

“Princess?” she managed to ask, immediately taking a dislike to the word even as it made her knees go weak.

“I like it for you,” Xena shrugged. “So, you agree?”

Gabrielle nodded. “Yes.”

Xena stepped away from the wall, still holding Gabrielle’s wrist; when she began to lead her away and into the crowd, Gabrielle was more than happy to follow.

Xena closed the door to their room softly and flicked the lock shut. She paused for a breath, more than aware that Gabrielle stood in the room, practically exuding need and desperation; feelings that, Xena knew, mirrored her own to near perfection. She was already regretting the rules she’d set — at least the first one. The desire to kiss Gabrielle and sweep her off her feet, to consume her moans and to devour her whimpers, to taste the need on her tongue, was overwhelming.

Xena shook her head and took a deep breath. It was for the best. If she kissed Gabrielle, she risked far more; if she kept that boundary, she still had a chance of keeping things between her and the blonde at least somewhat separate.

“Something interesting about that door?”

Xena turned around so quickly that the words died out in Gabrielle’s throat. For a brief second, Xena thought she saw fear — but then, looking closer, she saw it was not fear, but excitement.

“Come here, princess.”

She’d picked the name at random, but had immediately been pleased with what she’d come up with. The title mixed arousal and annoyance in Gabrielle’s expression; she did not entirely like it, but hearing it turned her on, pushing her to accept it, if begrudgingly. 

She approached Xena slowly, a question toying on her lips. Xena could feel the control between them, encircling her, settling in her hands; she took it gladly. She would be in charge. That was safer for the two of them, she thought — safer for her.

The flush of pink on Gabrielle’s cheeks was so beautiful. She reached out and stroked the soft skin of her cheek, running her fingers along the jaw, down to her neck. She would have kissed her then, had it been allowed; but there were the rules. 

Her rules.

Xena reached up and undid the clasps of her armor. “Take off your clothes,” she told Gabrielle, even as she continued undressing herself. She shrugged off the leather dress and slipped off her shift; it did not take her long to be left fully nude, stood up against the door. Gabrielle’s clothes lay in a small pile beside their feet.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Xena couldn’t help that she said it. The sight of Gabrielle lit her own body afire with desire; she could not have looked away, had she tried. With a hand at the back of Gabrielle’s neck, she pulled the blonde closer, pulled her in; skin on skin, warm and soft. Gabrielle’s breasts pressing into her own were a sensation beyond comparison. Gabrielle’s hand resting on her hip drew Xena’s mind lower, to where she knew an eager wetness awaited. She’d been aching for too long; pleasure coursed through her veins, coiling with anticipation, and she could take no more.

“Get on your knees for me, princess.”

Xena watched carefully for Gabrielle’s reaction, holding her gaze. Her eyes widened; the pupils darkened. Her mouth fell a little open, lips parting — so perfect, since she’d soon be needing to use that mouth — and her breaths, shallow a moment ago, were now slow, practiced. Deliberate, as though she were struggling to maintain composure.

Her guess had not been wrong. She saw the pleasure it brought for Gabrielle to give in, to do as she was told; she watched with her own growing pleasure as the blonde slowly sank to her knees before her, eyes never leaving her own. One of her hands remained on Xena’s hip, thumb pressing faintly into her flesh. The other reached up and found a place, a perfect place, on Xena’s thigh. 

If this is vulnerability, then maybe it isn’t so bad.

Xena spread her legs a little more and gave Gabrielle a smirk. “Would you please me with that pretty mouth of yours, princess?”

A wave of pleasure ran through Gabrielle. Xena thought she’d come just from the sight of seeing her so willing, so eager to please; so completely hers, if only for the duration of that night.

It did occur to her that she had never put herself in such a vulnerable position, not taking, but offering herself up to receive pleasure. She nudged the thought away, unwilling to confront it.

Xena watched, breathless, as Gabrielle adjusted herself more comfortably and moved closer to her center. She lost all thought when her lips touched her inner thigh; she lost all sense when delicate fingers came up to touch the wetness dripping into the dark curls gathered between her legs.

“Just your mouth for now,” Xena breathed. In truth, she wouldn’t have minded Gabrielle’s fingers, she even wanted them, but she hadn’t asked for them. She wanted to keep the control in her own hands. 

The thought of Gabrielle having it made her shudder, but the feeling was far from bad. It was dangerously, frighteningly good.

A moan escaped her throat when Gabrielle’s tongue met the wetness of her sex. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she wasn’t a virgin in the slightest; from the very first few strokes of her tongue, Xena knew she was in trouble. The woman knew she was doing, and it was all Xena could do to not fold immediately. Flicks, swirling movements, and then, the tip of her tongue circling her clit. Licking at it, teasing, toying, making Xena’s hips move of their own accord. The urge she had to grip Gabrielle’s hair and to grind herself to orgasm against Gabrielle’s mouth was immense; the need to let the blonde do what she wished, what she did so well, was greater. Gabrielle’s hand on her thigh was moving, stroking gently; her hand on Xena’s hip was some attempt at keeping her still, though it was mostly futile. 

Xena was glad she hadn’t done this in the middle of the room. Had she been without anything to lean against, she feared she would have fallen over. Gabrielle’s mouth was such sweet pleasure, and the completion of a need long-denied made it all the sweeter. The sight of her, on her knees, mouth buried between Xena’s legs was something else entirely. It made her mind shiver and her spine run awash with a warm, relaxing sensation that she hardly knew the name of. Xena gave in to the sensation of pleasure in ways she had not done in years, if ever — she forgot all about composure, and moaned, whimpered even, riding the waves of pleasure that Gabrielle’s skilled mouth drew out of her, time and time again.

“Good girl,” she found herself whispering, “That’s right. That’s just— yes, there—“

Gabrielle needed no instruction, but Xena spoke anyway. She had to; she couldn’t help herself. Her hand rested atop Gabrielle’s head, not gripping, not at first — but as the intensity of her pleasure crested and she approached climax, she couldn’t help that she wound her fingers through Gabrielle’s hair and gripped with all her might, enough to draw a slight whimper from the blonde. Though lost to pleasure, Xena was still not so lost that she did not hear it; she eased her grip, leaving some part of her consciousness to ensure she did not hurt Gabrielle, and let everything else go.

“ Fuck , yes,” she breathed — and came, tipping over into the heat of pleasure, and its complete satisfaction. She rode out the waves against Gabrielle’s mouth, eyes shut, head resting against the door. 

There was wetness glistening on Gabrielle’s mouth and chin when she sat back on her heels and looked up at Xena. The look in her eyes was of deep satisfaction; Xena thought she even saw a ghost of her own smirk from earlier, mirrored back at her from those wet, glistening lips.

Xena tugged at the hair she still gripped. Gabrielle rose to her feet, breaths heavy, speechless. Xena couldn’t help but feel satisfied; her claim that Gabrielle wouldn’t have any need for words had been far more accurate than she’d hoped.

On a whim, she reached out with her finger and wiped some of the wetness from Gabrielle’s lips, bringing the finger to her own. Almost a kiss, but not quite.

Xena let her hand slide down along Gabrielle’s body, from her neck, down to her breasts, round and perfect, with beautiful nipples that she wanted to suck; down to her stomach, smooth and toned. Down lower, slower now. She stopped shy of touching Gabrielle’s wetness, droplets glistening on blonde curls. Gabrielle was practically holding her breath.

“Don’t forget to breathe, princess,” Xena murmured, leaning in to kiss her jaw as she slipped her hand between Gabrielle’s legs and felt, for the first time, the ocean she held within. She moaned when she felt it and sank her sounds of pleasure into languid, breathy kisses along Gabrielle’s jaw. 

“Please, more,” Gabrielle whispered. “Inside, please—“

“You’re so wet for me,” Xena whispered back, nipping gently at Gabrielle’s throat as she slipped two fingers into the eager, devouring wetness of Gabrielle’s sex. “So needy. Did you like watching me come? Did you like being on your knees for me, princess? Is that what got you so wet that it’s spread all over your thighs?”

Gabrielle whimpered something that might have been a yes. She melted to Xena’s touch, whimpering, then moaning; she lifted one leg up to Xena’s waist, so eager, and Xena took it gladly, holding it up with one hand whilst the other teased and explored the parts of Gabrielle that made her shiver in her arms. 

“What do you need, princess?” she asked, her voice a breath in Gabrielle’s ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Gabrielle squirmed in her grasp. “I need more,” she breathed, “I need you. I need— gods, I just want your mouth, your fingers, I want to come—“

Xena hummed in pleasure and kissed Gabrielle’s neck. The urge to suck was fierce; the need to bite, even more so. She wanted to leave a mark to see the next day.

Her mind flickered, unwittingly, to the scar on Gabrielle’s thigh. That, too, had been intended as a mark. Xena grimaced against her will and pushed the thought away, but not before accepting, and deciding, that she’d not spoil Gabrielle’s beautiful figure. 

“ Please ,” Gabrielle whispered, her lips brushing against Xena’s ear. Xena felt control slip away from her, just slightly; the urge to fulfill Gabrielle’s every wish struck her so thoroughly that for a moment, she was left reeling, seeking her own mind, her own thoughts.

Xena withdrew her hand from Gabrielle, earning a whimpered complaint, and lifted her up to straddle her waist before Gabrielle’s complaints could go further. There were two beds in the room, one on each side; she went to the nearest one, laid Gabrielle down, and stood still for a moment, beholding the mess of a woman she was about to devour. Never once did Gabrielle’s eyes leave hers; she did not speak, but the look she gave Xena was pleading enough.

Why would anyone fear a woman who could bring the mighty Conqueror to her knees?

Xena knelt and pulled Gabrielle’s hips nearer to the edge of the bed. Her eyes passed over the scar on her thigh, pink and fading; her hands rested on Gabrielle’s knees.

“Look at me,” she asked, gently. Gabrielle propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her. There was a smile on her lips, and desperation in her eyes; need was present in every cell of her being.

She might have liked to have control, but in that moment, Xena felt it more important that Gabrielle felt safe. That she felt like she had the choice; that she chose whatever came next. 

“What do you want, princess? Tell me.”

Gabrielle’s mind seemed to seek words for a long while before she spoke. “Make me come.”

There was no hesitation, nor yet a quiver of fear in her voice; it was a plea, though, to Xena’s mind, it tasted like a demand.

Almost a command, even.

She moved her hips, her legs were spread; Xena needed no more instruction. She swept upon Gabrielle with an intensity the blonde couldn’t have prepared for — Gabrielle cried out, and grabbed Xena’s hair, but instead of pushing her away, she pushed her further in. Xena hummed and savored Gabrielle’s taste, taking her time after that first rush of pleasure, deliberately avoiding her swollen clit, not wanting to end it too soon. Gabrielle’s hands were in her hair; after a while, Xena reached up and unwound them, took up them to hold with her own, and laid their entwined hands on either side of Gabrielle, on the soft cover of the bed. She didn’t want to be rushed, not now that she’d found her taste of Elysium.

The sounds that Gabrielle made drove Xena insane. Whimpers, moans, hitched breaths — begging, pleading, coming so close to saying her name, but always remembering what they’d agreed on, even if her breath still spelled out the name she did not speak. Her sex under Xena's tongue was perfection, wet, slick, a silken elixir of desire, tasting of her, so perfectly of her that Xena could feel her whole soul shivering with a need to devour more, devour all that Gabrielle had to give. She took pleasure so well, surrendered to it so beautifully; her hips moved along with Xena’s mouth and tongue, while the muscles of her body rippled from tense to relaxed, relaxed to tense. She would look at Xena for a time, eyes pleading — and then she would throw her head back, arching, breasts heaving, her lungs seeking to draw air that the pleasure was draining from her being. Xena released one of Gabrielle’s hands and moved her hand up so that she could cup one of her breasts. Her fingers toyed with the nipple, pinching, rolling, drawing pretty sounds from Gabrielle’s throat.

As Gabrielle approached her orgasm, Xena found herself wishing she’d look down, meet her eyes, and let her watch her as she came. As if reading her mind, Gabrielle shifted, and locked eyes with her; Xena did not change a thing she was doing, she gave Gabrielle her all, and then, seeing her on the edge, she smirked — just a little.

Or perhaps it was a squint of her eyes, narrowing, because she certainly dared not alter anything that her mouth, her lips, and her tongue were doing.

Gabrielle gasped and arched into a climax. Xena did not stop until Gabrielle’s hand in her hair made her stop, pulling her away. Xena felt tension settle on her shoulders when she thought that it was over. 

“Get up here, lover .”

Xena was halfway to obeying the request when she realized what Gabrielle had called her. She couldn’t help that her face twisted into something of a disgusted frown; the term sounded far too syrupy for her tastes.

“What’s the problem?” Gabrielle asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “Don’t like the name I picked for you, lover?”

The way she said it, the way the ‘r’ rolled off her tongue, made Xena’s spine crawl. Yet there was an implication in the word itself that made her feel warm; the conflict was torturous. 

“Could’ve had your pick, and you landed on that one,” she grumbled, moving up so that she could lay on top of Gabrielle. She held herself up with her arms and looked down at the blonde, blooming in the aftermath of her climax; red lips, pink flush on her cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on her pretty, kissable skin. 

Xena found a place for her lips in the crook of Gabrielle’s neck. Her hand was kneading her breast, massaging, softly, gently; she was memorizing every touch, every feeling, lest the blonde truly had meant that she could only have her for that one, single night. 

“Lover?”

Pin-pricks down her spine. Xena hated the name. She just couldn’t hate the voice that spoke it, nor the face that looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to answer.

“What, princess?”

Two can play at this game, Gabrielle.

Gabrielle didn’t look so playful. She looked almost shy. 

“I, uh—“

Xena rested her chin on her hand and looked down at Gabrielle. “Forget your words?”

“No, I— shut up,” Gabrielle was blushing. “Fuck me.”

“Is that a figure of speech, or—“

“No,” Gabrielle cut in, moving her hips. “ Fuck me . Lover.”

“Not if you keep calling me that.”

“You’re the one that banned using your name.”

“There’s plenty of other names to choose from. You didn’t have to choose the one that makes me sound like a character from a romantic play.”

“Names like what?”

“My hero,” Xena suggested. “My sweet. My—“

“Quite an array of possessive terms, don’t you think?”

Xena had just been playing around, and yet somehow, had talked herself into a corner. She glared down at Gabrielle — Gabrielle, whose lips were so pretty, tugging with the beginnings of laughter. She might have been in trouble had it not occurred to her that Gabrielle herself had just handed her the perfect distraction.

“You want me to fuck you, do you, princess?”

Gabrielle’s body moved against her own. Playfulness slipped into need; Xena shifted, so that her thigh rested between Gabrielle’s legs, and laid down slowly. The moan that left Gabrielle’s lips was delicious. 

“Or do you need me to fuck you again?”

Gabrielle’s arms were around her, hands splayed against her back. “Please. With your fingers this time,” she whispered into the crook of Xena’s neck. “Lover.”

As if to accentuate her point, she pressed a kiss to Xena’s skin. Xena shivered, and let out a moan. “ Fuck .”

“That’s the idea,” came Gabrielle’s murmured response in her ear. “Or did you forget your words?”

The mouth on this one.

Xena slipped her hand between them and found Gabrielle’s wetness. “Shut up and let me fuck you, Princess,” she grumbled, biting gently at the skin of Gabrielle’s shoulder. 

“You could make me shut—“ 

Gabrielle didn’t get to finish. Xena had slipped her two fingers in, curling them just right; whatever words she’d had on the tip of her tongue fell into space, unsaid, immediately forgotten. Xena wrapped her other arm around Gabrielle’s waist and pulled her up with her, moving so that she sat with her back against the wall, Gabrielle straddling her hips, her fingers never leaving Gabrielle’s sex. 

“Ride me, princess,” she murmured against Gabrielle’s neck, moving lower with the tip of her tongue. “You take it so well, I want to see you do it.”

She circled a hard nipple with her tongue and brought it into her mouth to suck. Gabrielle threw her head back and moaned, hips rolling in pace with Xena’s fingers, curling, moving, pleasing — her thumb pressed up against Gabrielle’s swollen clit, the movement of her hips moving, helping, pleasing…slow at first, but soon, all was lost to need. What had begun as languid was soon anything but; Gabrielle demanded much, and Xena had plenty to give.

Xena moved her lips to the spot in the crook of Gabrielle’s neck when the pace grew relentless. With the arm around her waist, she held Gabrielle in place, holding her close to herself, while she fucked her with the other. Gabrielle was soon reduced to a whimpering mess, clinging to her shoulders, her breaths hot against her neck. 

“Fuck, please, just a little more—“ she pleaded, and Xena did as told. The feeling of Gabrielle in her lap was bliss — the feeling of her coming undone, safe and sound in her arms, was beyond perfection.

She bit Xena when she came the second time. Xena had not expected it, and so when a flash of pain ran through her veins from her shoulder, she moaned out loud, far louder than she’d meant to; Gabrielle’s moan was muffled in her skin, her teeth in her flesh, a desperate gesture to silence a moan that may have, in truth, come out more as a scream if she’d let it fall freely. 

They separated afterwards. Xena left under the guise of going to check on Argo, giving Gabrielle the space to be alone. She washed herself off in the bathroom after, both to get rid of the smell of horse and to not be so sweaty — and to wash the smell of Gabrielle off of herself.

Not that she succeeded. 

She came back to the room to find Gabrielle asleep in the bed. Every part of her ached to join her, to find some space between Gabrielle and the wall and to melt into it. To relish in holding her, after she’d finished ravishing her.

Yet though she ached, she walked over to the other bed. She had to keep control. She did not want to encourage any deeper feelings for Gabrielle, not now, not yet; not while she was still undeserving.

She slipped into the bed and pulled up the covers so that she couldn’t see Gabrielle. She wanted clarity — no, she needed clarity, and the sight of Gabrielle, sleeping, or worse yet, looking at her, would not help her obtain that.

Chapter Text

Gabrielle stared at the ceiling, watching the light shift from a soft grey to the gentle gold of dawn. She’d slept a few hours, despite her present lack of Xena. It was the gift of being fucked to the very brink of exhaustion, she suspected. Satisfaction persisted in every part of her being, from her body to her mind. She felt incredibly good. Only one issue nagged at her, and had done so ever since she woke up.

Xena hadn’t joined her in bed. She had woken up and realized that Xena had never joined her — and, looking over to the other side of the room, she’d seen the warrior sleeping soundly in the other bed. The rejection struck her cold; the realization that something had changed made her feel sick.

When Xena finally woke up, she looked over at Gabrielle with a look that betrayed feelings of shame. 

“We don’t need to talk about last night, do we?”

Gabrielle smiled, and shook her head. “We had fun. Does it need to be more?”

She’d done it before with her friends back home. Sex could be just sex, after all. It didn’t need to be more if there weren’t feelings to back it up. 

The warrior princess had seemed satisfied with her answer. Gabrielle knew not if she hoped that Xena would speak of it, or that she hoped she wouldn’t; all she knew was tension, and awkwardness, and an impossible nagging at the edges of her mind, telling her to talk. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Xena seemed perfectly comfortable settling into this new normal, where they knew what the other looked at the brink of climax, and pretended they didn’t. They were friends that knew depths of more, and apparently, that was perfectly fine.

Another question sat on Gabrielle’s mind, and as the day progressed, it finally worked its way to the surface.

“You’re really going to come with me to Potidaea?”

Xena shrugged and pulled herself up over a fallen tree. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t. I’ve already told you that I’d like to keep traveling with you. If that’s where you want to go, then…”

Gabrielle drew her eyes away from Xena’s thigh, where the line of muscle, lit by the sun overhead, had momentarily paused her thoughts. “The fastest way there is by ship.”

“Then we go to the shore and find a ship. Right?”

Xena seemed oblivious to Gabrielle’s apprehension, at least for a few moments longer. When Gabrielle continued to chew her lip and not talk, the warrior sighed, and asked:

“What is it? Are you…are you having second thoughts about going?”

Gabrielle shook her head immediately. “No, I just…the trip here wasn’t so pleasant. I don’t think I’m good at sea.”

“Sick?”

“Very.”

“We can find mint and other herbs to ease your stomach, if that’s the issue,” Xena offered. Her smile was genuine, kind; it made Gabrielle firmer in the belief that they could be friends. That they were friends, in truth.

Strange friends, yes, ones who had tasted the desire of the other, but friends nonetheless. Perhaps that was all it needed to be, all it was fated to be. It had not escaped Gabrielle’s consideration that perhaps the potion had faded away, and with it, any desire Xena had for her had fallen to such a minimum that she felt it needed no notice. For her own part, she felt a gentle flame in her chest, burning only for Xena — burning, aching, and making her mind skip to places that she really, really should not have visited.

There was a bruised circle of teeth-marks on Xena’s neck. Gabrielle couldn’t help that her eyes drifted there whenever she looked at Xena. The sight of it brought up a whole load of feelings for her; arousal, excitement, satisfaction, even. She liked seeing her mark on Xena, of that she could not lie to herself. But there was also shame in the mix, and confusion. Never before had she been so caught up in passion that she’d felt driven to bite someone. She’d never even thought of it, having always been gentle with those she'd bedded. 

She tried, in vain, to ignore the fact that she’d wanted to leave the mark. That she’d wanted to leave something to see the next day, to know it was real.

That she’d wanted, for at least a time, to be able to pretend that Xena was hers. 

Gabrielle sighed and focused her mind on other things that made her ache, in different ways. Home, family. Yet even as she tried to make herself hurt over such things, she found her mind wandering back to Xena. She thought of her village, burnt, and found herself wondering where she’d go after she saw it. Would she keep traveling with Xena? She thought of her family, finding out what had happened to them. Hope, frail and almost dead, fluttered in her chest at the thought that maybe, one of them had survived. She’d never seen the bodies of her parents; she wasn’t sure she’d seen Lila dead, either. What if they lived? Where would Xena fit in, in that potential future?

“You’re sighing an awful lot.”

“I’m just breathing,” Gabrielle snapped, harsher than she intended. Then, amending her words, she glanced at Xena and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of home.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Thunderclouds began to gather in at the end of the afternoon, threatening to break open later in the evening. Gabrielle, not wishing to camp out in the wet and cold, arranged it so that they could sleep in the barn of a nearby farm. Xena, wanting to do her part, offered to help the farmers with any chores they needed help with. She didn’t mind chopping up firewood, or carrying water from the well; the physical labor was perfect for getting her mind off of things she really did not want to think about. The only part she minded, and even that only a little, was the fact that Gabrielle seemed to watch her wherever she went. She wasn’t sure if she was appraising how she looked, or if she was scrutinizing her for some other reason, but it was distracting nonetheless. 

In any case, the knowledge that she was being seen by Gabrielle made her feel all sorts of things, and made it much harder to focus on anything at all.

As day rolled over into night, the rain began to fall hard upon the countryside. Xena had just finished up bringing in some firewood and was about to head to the barn, where Gabrielle was waiting, when the younger son of the family ran in, obviously distraught.

“I can’t find Lyceus anywhere.”

Lightning might as well have struck Xena in the veins. She froze in place, eyes wide; for a long while, her lungs would not draw breath.

The mother of the family went to her son, fussing; the father looked around and out the door, dismayed at the sight. 

“Where’s that boy got to?”

“Who is he?” Xena found herself asking, even as she felt herself tremble. 

“My youngest son,” grumbled the father. His name was Cletus. His wife, as far as Xena recalled, was Iris by name. “He’s only three. He likes to wander around and run off. Atticus here was supposed to watch him—“

“I tried! But he got mad at me and ran off and I—“

Atticus’s mother hushed him even as he broke into tears. Xena appraised the situation and came to a conclusion faster than what was probably wise.

“I’ll go find him,” she offered. “Is there anywhere that he likes to hide?”

“The woods,” said Cletus — Xena was sure it was Cletus. “I’ll come with you.”

He grabbed a shepherd’s staff from by the door and stalked off into the rain, Xena following. Thunder rumbled in the distance, fast approaching; this was no weather for anyone to be out in, let alone a toddler. 

The father knew his lands well enough, but he was no skilled tracker. Nor did he move very fast; Xena was soon itching to leave him behind and go off on her own. It did not help that he had a torch, and she did not; the brightness of the fire kept her from seeing properly in the dark. She had figured, both from Cletus’s words and the boy’s outburst, that the child — Lyceus — had not disappeared far from his home, and not long ago. Even in the best case, a toddler couldn’t have gone far. And, she figured, a child with some sense and a healthy amount of fear would most likely shut down and hide in some hole to wait for it all to go away.

“I’ll make a wider sweep of the forest,” she finally said to Cletus. “You go through the places he’d usually hide.”

The father nodded, evidently glad that she was taking charge. Xena nodded to him and ran off, seeking the edge of the forest and following the swell in the earth where the trees climbed up a small hill. Even in the shade of the storm, she thought she could see scatterings of stones, crumbling; sandy earth, she knew, could hide many small hollows, and good places to hide.

Rain began to fall so heavily that she was forced to wipe water from her eyes every few steps. In the shelter of the forest, it was somewhat less — but as she slowed down from her running, she became very aware that she was, in truth, very cold. 

She focused her thoughts on the child, Lyceus, and did all she could to not draw upon memories that she’d only barely buried in the confines of her mind. Even so, as she ran about, calling his name, she felt stabs of pain in her heart — each call was a call to memory, and each time, she could not help that she grimaced when the call went unanswered.

Her eyes sought the forest for signs of anything at all. Broken twigs, bent branches, footfalls in the mud. Nothing came up as significant; she scoured the woods without much aim, calling the child’s name, chills seeking to draw directly into her bones. 

A howl stopped her dead in her tracks. Wolves. She’d been so sure that a night like this would keep any beasts in their holes, but of course she had to be wrong. The howl was answered by another, this one closer; Xena felt electricity prickle along the back of her neck when she realized that the creatures were hunting.

A lone child, no older than three, was the perfect prey for a pack of wolves.

She ran in the direction of the howling and did not stop.

She found the wolves first, and then, the child. He was weeping, muddy all over, backed up against a wall of stone; a dozen wolves circled him, eyes gleaming with the joy of the hunt. In his hands the boy held a stick, and evidently this was what had stopped the wolves from descending on him at once – though to her eye it was no weapon at all, Xena guessed that the beasts had some guess of humans and pointy things, and knew to be wary. She stopped just shy of blundering in and weighed her options carefully. She could distract the wolves and get the child, perhaps — but she had no hope of protecting the child, and herself, whilst fighting off wolves. If she struck from behind, there was a chance the child could slip away — but she had no faith that the toddler would have the sense to do so.

In the end, she found only one option that was viable. She slipped up to the top of the wall of stone, glad for the rain that dampened her scent upon the air, and jumped down the fifteen or so feet, landing precisely in front of the child. Her legs hurt on the impact, the jolt striking through to the bones right to her core, but she swallowed the pain and sent it to the back of mind.

Steel glinted in the flash of a lightningstrike. Most predators would have run at the sight, and at the very least would have backed down when the odds were shifted; Xena had never yet known an animal that sought out a fight for the sheer pleasure of a kill. Evidently, the sight of her was not threatening enough — at once, two wolves came snarling at her, teeth gnashing air, eyes gleaming in the night.

She backed the weeping child against the wall and told him to stay put. Whether he heard, she did not know, for in the next instance she had to fight with all her might. It was different fighting animals such as these; wild things, with the instincts of a hunter, not a fighter. Their defensive posturing made it impossible for her to strike at any, and with three, then four upon her at once, she knew not where to look, or where to strike.

A wolf came at her and she struck it down with her blade, blood spraying in the air. At that precise moment, she felt a striking pain in her shoulder — teeth sinking into the flesh, drawing blood. She cried out and jabbed with the dagger she held in her other hand, blade crushing through the skull and killing the beast in an instant. She struck another, quickly, feeling the thrill of a challenging battle climbing up into her bones. 

As soon as the thrill had settled upon her, the wolves fled. They saw the blood and knew her threat; they had no desire to waste any more of their number to the fall of her blade.

Perhaps, Xena thought in the back of her mind, they fled from her the moment the beastly, feral thing that lived inside her had come out to play.

She watched them go, unwavering in her stance. She knew she was bleeding but cared little for it — the bite had been sharp, but had hardly torn into her flesh. Once she was sure that the wolves were not going to return, she sheathed her sword and turned to the child, still weeping, caught in the midst of his fear.

“Hey, kid,” she said, trying to be as gentle as she could. “Lyceus, isn’t it?”

The child blinked through tears and nodded. Xena extended her hand, crouching down to not intimidate him further.

“Your parents sent me to look for you. Will you come with me?”

Lyceus’s lip quivered. He seemed unwilling to move, and unwilling to release the stick in his hand.

“You’ve been very brave tonight, Lyceus,” Xena tried. “But I think it’s time we got you home. Come on, let me help you.”

The child took a wavering, careful step towards her. Bright green eyes stared up at her from amidst a mud-streaked face; the stick fell to the ground.

“I want my mommy.”

He put his hands out. Xena frowned, not immediately recognizing the gesture. When she did, she swept the child up in her arms, satisfied that she could finally get going. It wouldn’t be easy to defend herself if there were any more dangers in the woods, but in any case, she felt a strange warmth swell within her when she held the child in her arms, propped up against her hip, his little head nestled in her neck.

Lyceus, it was Lyceus, but it was not her Lyceus. Another’s Lyceus; a Lyceus that she’d been able to save.

“Let’s go find your mommy.”

Gabrielle paced in front of the fire, eyeing the door of the farmhouse every so often. The mother of the family, Iris, sat fidgeting on a bench; the son, Atticus, was sleeping off his tears in the loft above. It had been an hour since Iris had come into the barn and told her that Xena and the father had gone off into the night to find their missing child. 

“They’ve been gone for a long time. Should we go after them?”

Iris looked at Gabrielle, obviously afraid. “I can’t leave Atticus.”

Gabrielle sighed. If she was to go after Xena, she’d have to go alone. Some part of her itched to go, some crazy, insensible part that thought she’d be able to find the damnable woman in the rain, in the woods, in the dark. 

The rest of her, the sensible part, knew there was no use. Xena would be fine; all would be well. 

Something thudded on the door. Gabrielle was first to her feet and to the door, swinging it open to find Xena, rain-soaked, muddy, and, as it appeared, bleeding. In her arms she held a child — a child whom, at the sight of Gabrielle, she shoved in Gabrielle’s arms at once.

“I’ve to go find his father. We split up; he doesn’t know the kid’s safe yet.”

She swept around and disappeared into the night, leaving Gabrielle with the child before she could even get a word in. Little Lyceus was asleep, so deeply he’d not even stirred when moved from arms to another.

Gabrielle gave the child to his mother and settled by the fire, but only for a moment. There was blood on the child’s arm that was not his own; it was Xena’s, Gabrielle guessed. She was hurt, somewhere, somehow. 

“Have you any bandages, Iris?”

Xena returned a short while later with the child’s father in tow. The moment she stepped inside, Gabrielle’s eyes zeroed in on the blood coating her shoulder; she rose to her feet, shaking her head, and approached the warrior with a cloth in her hand.

“I have half the mind to smack you with this, you know,” she muttered, grabbing Xena by the wrist and leading her to a stool by the fire. There was warm water there, clean cloths, bandages; all courtesy of Iris and set up by Gabrielle. “Running off into the night, getting injured—“

“Gabrielle, I’m fine—“

“Sit.”

Xena obeyed far more easily than Gabrielle had thought she would. She was suddenly painstakingly aware of the fact that they were not alone; that the child’s parents, embracing one another by the loft stairs, were watching them carefully.

Gabrielle let out a huff and moved Xena’s head to the side. “What happened?”

Xena winced as Gabrielle pressed the cloth to her shoulder and began to wipe away the blood and dirt. “Wolves,” she muttered. “They found the kid; I found them. There was a bit of an…altercation.”

Gabrielle sucked her teeth. Having wiped away the blood and the dirt and the mud, she did see what appeared to be a near-perfect circle of wounds in Xena’s shoulder — a wolf’s bite.

“And here I thought you were this great warrior who could stand up to anything,” she grumbled, wiping away the blood that seeped through from the wound. “And come out unscathed.”

“You need to press on it,” Xena instructed her, ignoring the comment. “Until the bleeding stops.”

“Won’t that hurt?” 

“A little, but it isn’t so bad.”

“Is that your standard response to pain? ‘It isn’t so bad’? I’ve heard you say that twice now. Thrice, if you count this,” Gabrielle asked, even as she did as told and pressed down on the wound. “What pain would you count as bad enough?”

Xena gave her a strange look. Gabrielle’s other hand rested on Xena’s other shoulder, for no other reason than that she wanted it there. 

“That time I cried comes to mind.”

Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. It was obvious she didn’t want the others in the room to hear. Gabrielle felt her face flush, and her annoyance drained away in an instant.

“Oh.”

She was only half aware that her thumb began to gently stroke at the skin of Xena’s shoulder, as a gesture of comfort. Even less aware was she of the fact that Xena leaned into her touch, craning her neck back so that it rested against Gabrielle’s stomach. The contact felt so natural that it needed no thought. 

“Physical pain doesn’t bother you, then?” Gabrielle asked, moving forward from the brief brush against vulnerability. “Nothing at all?”

Xena shrugged. “There was a time I was nailed to a cross and had my legs broken. That was pretty rough.”

She spoke lightly, but barely veiled the pain that lay under the words. Gabrielle felt the urge to reach for Xena’s hand, to see if there were any scars left from the ordeal; she felt her hand twitch, but managed to stop herself from doing anything she’d regret.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, not knowing what else to say. 

“Why?”

“I just am,” Gabrielle replied, a little annoyed. “Can’t I feel empathy for you?”

“You do, do you?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

This time, when Xena looked over her shoulder at Gabrielle, her expression was clear as day. 

Relief. She’s relieved we’re friends; that we’re nothing more.

“We are,” Xena replied. Her smile was genuine, and Gabrielle gave one in turn, even as her stomach chilled over witch ice. 

With Xena’s instructions, Gabrielle bound the wound in her shoulder as best she could. Cletus and Iris offered to let them stay in the house, but both Gabrielle and Xena were perfectly happy in the barn. Xena refused most of the couple’s offerings of gratitude, citing only that she was glad she’d been able to help.

Gabrielle could not help that the sight of Xena being a hero made her feel all sorts of things. Soft things that she chose not to name. She also could not help the fact that when they went to lay out their bedrolls in the piles of hay, she set hers next to Xena’s. 

“You’re cold,” was all she said when the warrior raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“Definitely,” was Xena’s answer. She laid down and left room for Gabrielle.

When she pulled her close, it was closer than usual. Gabrielle tensed, and listened for a while to Xena’s breathing. She felt a twitch of her hand, and immense tension in her whole body; turning around, she saw Xena jump, and wipe away a tear.

“What’s wrong?”

Xena drew in a breath. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re crying.”

“No—“

“Xena. Please.”

Her eyes were shaded black in the darkness of the barn. She was so close, so impossibly close — and still, so impossibly far away.

“His name hit a little close to home, that’s all,” Xena said quietly. “My brother’s name was Lyceus. He died when a warlord raided Amphipolis.”

She tensed, and then shook her head.

“No, he didn’t die then,” she corrected herself, gritting her teeth. “He died when I decided to take a group and go confront Cortese. He died because of me. His death was my fault.”

Gabrielle felt as though Xena’s words were more meant for herself than for her sake. She noticed Xena’s hands going to her forearms, fingers digging in — a gesture she’d seen her do before. She’d noticed the small crescent marks that dotted her skin before, along her arms, and on her thighs.

She reached for Xena’s hands and took them in her own, if for nothing more than to stop her from hurting herself. Xena was so tense that Gabrielle was almost certain she’d rip her hands from her grasp and push away, make space for herself, shut her out. She expected it, prepared for it; in the end, it did not happen.

Xena breathed heaving breaths and did not move. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her hands in Gabrielle’s tight, trembling. 

“You didn’t kill him, Xena.”

“I might as well have,” she managed through gritted teeth. “My mother thinks so, anyway.”

Gabrielle ran her thumb over Xena’s knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But you have to know it isn’t true. Someone else killed him, didn’t they?”

“Without me, he’d still live.”

The phrase was a little too close to one that Gabrielle had repeated to herself whenever she thought of Lila. Even so, she felt determined to give Xena something of comfort; something to ease the pain that stilled the air in the barn and threatened to suffocate them both. 

“If you intend on becoming a better version of yourself, you have to forgive yourself for the hurts of your past,” she told her. “You saved that little boy today. You’re doing good; it feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but—“

“The past hurts when we remember it. But it isn’t as real as what’s here, now. You can’t change the past; you can learn from it, accept it, and move on.”

“I can’t just forget him.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Gabrielle replied, patient as ever. “I’m saying you should forgive yourself. You did not mean for it to happen; you don’t deserve any more pain because of it.”

You don’t deserve punishment because of it, either.

Xena’s hands in her own felt cold. She felt the urge to kiss them and nudged the feeling away. Now was not the time.

Slowly, with gradual breaths and plenty of stillness, Xena came back from the brink of despair. Her hands relaxed, but did not slip from Gabrielle’s grasp; her teeth sank into her bottom lip, not for pain, but for thought.

When she rolled over to face away from Gabrielle, it hurt. But only briefly. 

“My shoulder hurts less, laying on this side,” Xena said. She reached behind and took Gabrielle’s wrist, pulling her towards her. “Can we sleep like this?”

“If you wanted me to hold you, you could’ve just said,” Gabrielle quipped, the words falling before she thought. She heard a faint laugh from Xena’s direction, and was happy to find her comment well-received. It soothed her more than she allowed herself to know, realizing that she’d made Xena feel even a brief brush of happiness.

Gabrielle slid her arm around Xena’s waist, relishing the sensation that to her, was entirely new. She was mindful of the fact that there were still bruises on her skin from the staff, and did not hold her particularly firm; she shuffled closer, pressed her forehead lightly against Xena’s back, and shut her eyes.

She was drifting off to sleep when she felt Xena’s hand fall upon her own atop her stomach, warm and gentle as fingers sought to circle her wrist. It wasn’t until the very edge of sleep that Gabrielle realized that Xena was feeling her pulse, to see that her heart was still beating.

For some reason, the realization made her own heart ache.

Chapter Text

“That should do it.”

Gabrielle tucked the end of the bandage under itself and smoothed the edges so that it lay as flat and neat as she was able to make it. Her fingers lingered on Xena’s shoulder, unwilling to let go though there was no longer any excuse for it. 

“Something on your mind?”

The wind rustled in the trees. Sunlight danced on the water, some ways’ down the hill; the sun was setting in the west, falling into the sea. 

Gabrielle chewed her lip. “Can we talk?”

“Now?”

Gabrielle shrugged and let her hand slip away from Xena’s shoulder. “Why not?”

“I’d rather be fully dressed so I can face you,” Xena said, reaching down to readjust the towel she had around herself. She’d only just come from a swim when she’d asked Gabrielle to redress the wound on her shoulder. Her hair was still wet, clinging to her shoulders in strands that glistened in the sun. “If we are to talk about something important.”

“What makes you think it’s important?”

“Your tone?” Xena suggested as she turned around to look at Gabrielle. She was sat down on a log; Gabrielle leaned back against a pine tree, the bark rough even through the fabric of her shirt. 

“Well?”

Xena was adjusting the towel around her cleavage in a way that drained every thought out of Gabrielle’s head and pooled them between her legs. It had been two days of agony with Xena. Two days of the warrior unknowingly poking and prodding at all the things that drew arousal from her body. It didn’t even seem like Xena needed to try much at all; just her smile was enough to have Gabrielle thinking of kissing her. But it was the other feelings, sensual, hornier feelings that were worse. The past days had been hot, and they had been following the coast on their way to a port with a ship that could take them north. There had been more than enough breaks for swimming. Xena seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her habit of drying herself in the sun, completely nude, was driving Gabrielle to new heights of need and frustration that she hadn’t known she had. Gabrielle had spent most of the previous night thinking of the sight of a droplet of water trailing its way down along Xena’s breast to pool in the hollow of her throat. She had slept very little. And then there was the touching. Friendly, casual touching – helping her by giving her a hand, catching her by the waist when she stumbled – but touching nonetheless. Closeness, friendly and casual, but closeness enough to bring up memories of their shared night and drive Gabrielle’s thoughts into the gutter, time and time again.

At night, Xena had kept a hand somewhere on Gabrielle despite the fact that the heat allowed for little opportunity or desire for proximity. Gabrielle had yet to determine if the contact was intentional or not; Xena was seldom touching her when they fell asleep, but whenever she woke in the night, she’d find Xena’s hand on her arm, her waist, her stomach, and, once, on her ass.

That one must have been a mistake, at least. 

Two days, and no release. She couldn’t very well slip away from Xena and do the job herself; she was fairly certain that the warrior would be suspicious if her absence was prolonged, not to mention she feared Xena would guess what she’d done. She had an uncanny ability to guess Gabrielle’s thoughts even as she thought them.

“Gabrielle?” Xena was on her feet, standing in front of her. Gabrielle blinked, and felt a cool hand on her forehead, the other on her arm. “You look weird. All flushed. Did you get too much sun?”

Gabrielle swallowed. “Maybe.”

Somehow, she’d deluded herself into thinking that she was the only one of them who could detect the other’s lies.

“You’re lying.”

Xena’s hand on her arm was firm. Too firm.

“It’s nothing. Just forget it, Xena,” Gabrielle sighed, shrugging Xena’s hand off. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Still lying,” Xena said, narrowing her eyes. “Could’ve almost sworn I’ve seen that look before.”

She walked off, and Gabrielle relaxed — too soon. Xena bent down to pick up the waterskin, giving her a brief sight of what was under the towel, and, while facing away from her, she called out to her, her voice light and teasing:

“Or am I wrong, princess ?”

Gabrielle bit her tongue. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were friends; they were good at being friends. Was a moment’s pleasure really worth risking the comfortable connection that was developing between her and Xena? 

“Shut up,” she sighed, leaning her head against the tree. She shut her eyes, as if focusing on undoing her thoughts would be any better without the sight of Xena before her.

“I will if you tell me you’re absolutely sure that there’s nothing I can help you with.”

Xena’s voice was closer. Gabrielle could practically feel her eyes on her, and knew she was coming nearer. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know how she looked, what expression lay within her eyes; if it were one of desire, she knew she would fold, no matter what common sense demanded.

She bit her lip and opened her eyes.

Damn.

Xena was looking at her as though she were on her knees again, her chin wet with Xena’s arousal, the afterglow of Xena’s orgasm dancing on every aspect of her being. Hungry, demanding; satisfied, with a slight touch of what Gabrielle suspected was pride.

“We’re friends, right?”

Xena blinked, obviously confused.

“I mean, we can be, right? And still have some fun sometimes. Right?” Gabrielle amended. “I’ve done it before, sex without getting involved. It isn’t such a big deal. It’s just very frustrating, and you’re so close, and it was nice before, and—“

“And what?”

The tone of Xena’s voice had fallen lower, huskier. She was standing perfectly still, eyeing Gabrielle with a faint smirk on her lips. Even from across a distance, she was well able to have Gabrielle weak at the knees; she was demanding, and Gabrielle was far too eager to give in.

“And I’m frustrated. Horny.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, really, it’s all your fault, looking like that and being naked all the time,” Gabrielle reasoned. “It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“ Oh ?”

Gabrielle leaned her head back against the tree and shut her eyes. A thought played in her mind, one which made its way to her lips with ease. Too much ease, perhaps; it felt so natural that in that moment, she wasn’t even so sure why she’d resisted to begin. 

What harm is there in this, really? 

“Come here and help me, lover .”

She heard the annoyed huff at the name. She heard the footsteps approaching, stopping not far from where she stood. She did not open her eyes.

“Not going to look at me, are you?”

“The sun’s in my eyes.”

“It won’t be if I push you to your knees, princess.”

Gabrielle’s eyes shot open. Xena was leaning over her, one of her hands on the tree by her head, a wicked smile on her lips. She looked far too pleased with herself. If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have smacked her, or teased her, or said something to wipe the smile from her lips — but as it was, Gabrielle just wanted Xena to do to her what she pleased.

“I need you to fuck me,” she sighed, reaching for Xena’s waist and pulling her close. 

Xena’s thigh fell between her legs, her knee pushing them further apart. Gabrielle let out a soft sigh when she leaned in with her full weight and put pressure where she was already aching; a soft sigh, and then, with a slight shift of her hips, a moan. 

Something fell to the ground at their feet. The towel, Gabrielle realized when her hands found bare skin; Xena had slipped the towel off and was fully naked in front of her. 

A hand laced through her hair and made a fist, pulling her head to the side and preventing her from taking a full, appraising look of the sight before her. Gabrielle moaned again as Xena’s thigh moved against her, drawing another shiver of pleasure from her center. Xena’s lips were on her neck, kissing, tracing a line to her ear; her breath was hot, and made her shiver even before she spoke.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

“Take me, fuck me,” Gabrielle pleaded. Her need was now an urgency. “Just fucking—“

“Filthy words for such a pretty thing,” Xena hummed. Her fingers were undoing the laces of Gabrielle’s skirt; just a little more, and the whole thing would fall off. “Say please.”

Something awoke within her. Something she hadn’t even known lay within; something devious, teasing. Gabrielle gave Xena a wild look, drawing on a taunting air she hadn’t even known she held. “What if I don’t?”

Xena’s hands withdrew, and she stepped away.

“Then I won’t fuck you,” she said, shrugging. “It’s that simple.”

Gabrielle wasn’t sure where this will to resist Xena came from. She was so needy she was sure she’d perish, combust on the spot; she should have been willing to do just about anything just to have Xena take her. She had spent two days drooling over the woman and yet there was something beyond tempting about the look in her eye, the glint of joy — she liked that Gabrielle was teasing her, toying with her. 

Putting up a challenge.

“Fine,” Gabrielle sighed, feigning nonchalance. “I guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

Xena did not move, but something flashed in her eyes. Gabrielle smirked and slipped off her shirt, still not believing her courage. Next went her skirt, and her undergarments, and everything. She didn’t have to look to know Xena’s eyes were fixed to her, unable to move away; she was perfectly aware that she was drowning in desire.

There was control, just a sprinkling of it, that she grasped with the tips of her fingers. The very same ones that slid down along her body, teasing her breasts, more for show than for pleasure; she leaned her head back, craning her neck, and focused on feeling good. The tree curved a little, giving her a slight ledge, and she leaned into it as she slipped one of her hands down along her stomach, inching down to where she needed it. 

Fingers found wetness, found pleasure, drew it out, and she slipped further into herself. Further into her own pleasure. She had always been good at pleasing herself; she knew precisely what to do, how to touch, and how to come. Unconcerned by the fact that she was being observed, Gabrielle began to fuck herself, using two of her fingers circling her clit, whilst the other hand massaged her breast, toying, pinching the nipple, the slight pains amidst the pleasurable sensations making it all the more pleasing to her.

She was vaguely aware of Xena watching her. The knowledge was an added layer of pleasure, a new spice in the mix; she relished it and gave in, making more noise than she usually did, letting herself be free. She thought of the things that Xena would not let her have — of her lips on her own, of her name spilling from Xena’s mouth — and released a throaty moan that she breathed into the air.

Xena approached her, but she did not stop. 

She felt her stop close to her, almost close enough to touch. Something touched the tree on both sides of her; Xena’s hands, Gabrielle realized, opening her eyes to find the warrior just inches away from her, staring at her with a hungry expression, lips slightly parted. She was leaning against the tree, not pinning her, but trapping her in place. 

“Say please, and I’ll take over.” 

Gabrielle didn’t want Xena to win. Not this one. But she also really, really wanted to give in. She knew that she’d pushed the warrior to a depth that would give her immense returns; she knew that once Xena was done with her, she’d think of nothing else, and walk funny for a week.

Gods, I want that.

The thought of what Xena might do was what pushed her over. The heat had been building up, gradually, but Gabrielle picked up the pace and pushed herself over — pushed herself, gave in to pleasure and climaxed, and all the while, she watched Xena, hungry, desperate, so close to her, so tight within the grasp of wanting, but unable to do anything more than watch.

She threw her head back against the tree and moaned, smiling. Relaxation washed over her, and she rested her hand, the forearm a little winded, against her hip. She was fairly certain Xena had dug her nails into the bark of the tree, and hoped she’d not hurt herself.

Slowly, taking her time, she returned her eyes to meet Xena’s. There was disappointment in there, and despair — frustration, more than Gabrielle thought Xena could handle.

She smirked at Xena, and said the word. 

“ Please .”

Xena blinked; there was a moment’s silence as the pieces clicked into place. Whatever Gabrielle had thought would happen, she wasn’t prepared for Xena’s mouth to crash into her own. Xena’s hands were rough as they grabbed her face and pushed her back against the tree, her mouth following, relentless, all-consuming; her lips on her own were soft but their passion was not, her tongue sought hers to devour, to feel, to taste—

“You’re playing with fire, princess,” Xena growled against her lips, kissing her again before she had time to think of a response. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Everything about her touch was devouring, claiming, and so full of control Gabrielle had no choice but to yield. No choice, and no desire except to do just that; she yielded to Xena’s need with eagerness, knowing this was exactly what she'd hoped for, no, better — it was beyond anything she could have hoped for. She tasted the purest passion and need for her on the tip of Xena’s tongue, and it drove her wild just as it drained her every thought and reduced her to a vessel for passion, one part of a whole whose sole purpose was to devour, to consume, and to fuck. 

Xena flipped her around and wrapped an arm around Gabrielle’s torso, her hand reaching for her breast,rough when it took hold, drawing an elated cry from Gabrielle’s lips. The next moment she found herself bent over the slight ledge, pushed into the curve of the tree, with Xena’s body flush against her back; Xena’s arm across her chest shielded her from most of the hurt from pressing into the tree, even as her hand sought out her nipple and began to toy with it in a manner that mimicked her own — teasing, giving occasional pain before soothing with gentler touch. Xena’s other hand was on her stomach, sliding downward; Xena’s foot kicked her legs further apart, her thigh pressing into her from behind even as her fingers found her clit from the front, drawing a lengthy, whimpering moan from her lips. 

And throughout, Xena’s voice was in her ear, weaving its way into the depths of her mind and consuming all that was left of Gabrielle’s sanity. 

“Cruel, unbelievable woman,” she rasped, drawing a faint line with the nails of her fingers along Gabrielle’s abdomen, “You beautiful, impossible, diabolical creature,” she growled, slipping her hand between Gabrielle’s legs and feeling the wetness, “You deny me, you make me watch, and then you dare say please —“

Gabrielle melted into Xena’s harsh embrace when she felt two of her fingers inside, curling, striking the spot that made her mind go blank. “ Fuck , please,” she gasped, hands seeking somewhere to grab, to hold, seeking support.

“Both hands on the tree, princess,” Xena murmured, nipping at the corner of her jaw with her teeth. “And don’t you dare hold back.”

Gabrielle hummed an affirmative and sank into the pleasure of being absolutely, completely ravished by Xena. Xena’s lips were on her shoulders and back, kissing and biting and alternating; Xena’s breaths were music in her ear; Xena’s fingers inside of her were perfection with each thrust — Xena, holding her and fucking her, rendering her completely her own, was everything that Gabrielle needed. In that moment of thoughtless fucking, she was complete.

She came once, nearly collapsing against the tree. Pleas and whimpers spilled from her lips; pleas for more, even as she squirmed with pleasure and strained to remain on her feet. She begged Xena to keep going, to not stop, even as the pleasure ran along the edge of excess. Xena slowed, paced her, but did not stop.

“ Fucking Olympus , you are beautiful,” she gasped, lips ghosting Gabrielle’s back, kissing her on the shoulder. “Are you going to come for me again, princess?”

Gabrielle whimpered something that might have been a yes. Xena thrust her fingers into her, and she moaned, nails digging into the tree’s bark.

“Turn your head for me,” Xena demanded. “Turn your head so that I can kiss you, damn it.”

Gabrielle was all too eager to obey, turning herself a little in Xena’s grasp so that she could meet her lips with her own. One of her hands slipped from the tree and came to rest on Xena’s forearm, gripping tightly, a tether to keep her steady as the pleasure rising through her crested. She surrendered, to pleasure and to Xena, and in surrender she found release; her pleasure tipped into a climax that echoed in the woods, the sound taking on a frighteningly similar shape to Xena’s name as it left her mouth, her breath spilling from her lips into their shared kiss.

Xena coaxed her through the aftershock, still holding her — in truth, she had been holding her up entirely, carrying her when her legs gave way. She kissed Gabrielle’s shoulder and neck, gentler now, softer, coming down from the feral need she’d had. Coming down, but not letting go.

“How do you feel?” she asked, panting against Gabrielle’s shoulder.

Gabrielle tried to answer. She really did. “I—“

She focused on her breathing and leaned her head against the tree. More moments passed where she did not speak; eventually, Xena turned her around in her arms and cupped her face with one hand, looking at her with her eyes full of concern.

“Gabrielle. Talk to me.”

All she felt was bliss. “I’m fine, Xena,” Gabrielle managed, smiling softly. She was happy where she was, with her arms around Xena’s neck, with Xena’s body against her own. With the taste of Xena’s mouth still dancing on her tongue.

The thought of it made her want more. It did not occur to her that Xena might pull away when she leaned in for a kiss; so lost to the haze of afterglow, she did not notice Xena tense briefly before giving in, kissing her tenderly, control slipping away from her almost the very moment she parted her lips and allowed Gabrielle’s tongue to touch her own.

“Fuck, Gabrielle,” Xena groaned, and went to pull away — but Gabrielle’s hand was in her hair, gripping tightly, and she gave in to her demand. 

Why does my name sound so incredible when it's coming off her lips?

“Don’t go,” Gabrielle whispered.

They were only two words, but the way they struck true to Xena’s core was evident in the way her whole body relaxed. When she moved them to the bedrolls, it was in a tender fashion; her hands on Gabrielle’s hips, guiding her slowly, soft kisses passing between them speaking of further need, and want.

Xena tried to lay Gabrielle down on her back, but an idea, slow to come to fruition, had her shake her head. 

“You first,” she said, gently. “I want to lay on you.”

Xena obeyed, if slowly. There was hesitation in her whole posture, and tension jumped where Gabrielle touched.

“Why are you nervous?” she asked, her head resting on Xena’s shoulder. Her hand was on her stomach, fingertips drawing lines along the valleys of her abs. 

“I’m not nervous, I’m worried.”

“Why?”

Xena’s hand was in her hair, stroking gently. Gabrielle could hear the pace of her heartbeat, racing in her chest; she could feel the rise and fall of her chest, slow, and deliberate.

“I broke the rules. I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Before Gabrielle could say anything, she added:

“I lost control.”

Gabrielle took a deep breath. She would have liked nothing more than to remain in Xena’s arms and lay there, staring at the tree-branches overhead, soft sunlight dancing on their bare skin. But Xena needed talking to, and for that, she needed to see her.

She sat up and leaned on one arm so that she could look down at Xena. Her hair fell over her shoulder, and she brushed it away, giving Xena a faint smile.

“Explain that to me.”

“Explain what?”

“What you just said, about losing control. Because it did not feel like you lost control; it felt like you gave in to what you wanted, fully.”

“I kissed you when I said I wouldn’t. And I—“ Xena made a face. “I’m guessing you didn’t hear me moaning your name, did you?”

Gabrielle stared at her, mouth slightly open. “Wh- no? No, I did not. What?”

Though she looked tortured, Xena managed something of a smirk. “Damn, so I could’ve kept my mouth shut about it and it would’ve been fine.”

Frustration rippled through Gabrielle’s thoughts. “Why, Xena? Why the rules? Why are you holding yourself back when clearly you don’t even want to stick to the rules and whatever it is you think they’re preventing?”

Deep breaths could not conceal the fact that Xena’s discomfort was only increasing. “Because I’m undeserving,” she said quietly. “And because I’m afraid.”

“Undeserving of what? Afraid of what?”

Xena shut her eyes and leaned her head back, reaching up to rub at her temple with her palm.

“You, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle couldn’t decide which of the two admissions mattered to her more. 

“Undeserving how, Xena?”

“I’m not done with my…quest. I’m not…I don’t have my soul, I haven’t—“ Xena drew in a sharp breath and met Gabrielle’s eyes. “I’m drawn to you, Gabrielle. Impossibly, unavoidably drawn to you. All I want is you. But I know this cannot be, not yet, maybe not ever. You haven’t seen your home yet; you don’t know how much you hate me, yet.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“If we find Potidaea in ruins and your whole family dead, can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t find yourself hating me?”

Gabrielle sighed. Xena was right; she couldn’t promise anything, not now when so many things were left unsettled. 

Xena nodded, seeing her resignation. “That’s why I wanted boundaries. And that is why I messed up, because I broke them myself, when they were there to protect me, and protect you. I’m sorry.”

Gabrielle chewed her lip. She did not like the direction of the conversation, and was furiously trying to find a way to pull Xena out of this resigned, doom-tinted mental space that she’d fallen into.

“Are you afraid of me, Xena?”

Xena stared at her for a long while. Too long for Gabrielle’s anxiety, which peaked in the moment before she saw Xena’s head shake for ‘no’.

“I was,” she confessed. “I don’t think I am anymore. I should be.”

“Why, Xena?”

“Because you bring out parts of me that I thought I didn’t have. Parts that I’m used to hating, fearing, pushing away; vulnerability, need, desire, want. I’m not used to exposing myself like this. It’s a lack of control and it scares me, Gabrielle — tell me you can understand that.”

“You said it doesn’t scare you anymore,” Gabrielle pointed out. “That you’re not afraid anymore.”

Xena tried a faint smile. “You’re right. I should be afraid. I should be shaking right now, talking like this. I should be wanting to…” she paused, and let the sentence die away. Gabrielle’s eyes fell to the crescent indents on Xena’s thighs, marks from her own nails. Bruises on her knuckles. Gods only knew what else there was to find, memories of pain, self-inflicted, on her flesh. 

“You make me feel calm, Gabrielle. Even that should frighten me but damn it, it doesn’t.”

Gabrielle smiled. She reached out and laid her hand on Xena’s stomach, causing her to tense up; as she slowly moved over, so that she laid on top of Xena, she was very aware that every movement, every touch of her body against Xena’s, drew waves of tension into her body as though she was unsure what would come next, pleasure, or pain.

“So,” she began, leaning her chin on her hand, elbow pressing into the ground by Xena’s head. “You’re not afraid of me anymore. You feel good when you’re with me. You want to kiss me, you want to call my name when you’re fucking me. You want me. Not just to fuck, but for more; to be your own.”

Xena was following along, the furrow of her brow deep enough to crease her forehead.

“You’re right that there are certain…questions that need answers before anything can be promised,” Gabrielle said, reaching to stroke a strand of hair out of Xena’s face. She let the hand remain there, cupping her cheek. “You’re right that it’s more complicated than it should be. But I feel drawn to you too, Xena. I need you; I want you. I want to see where this will go.”

Xena’s hand was tentative on her hip; she had not dared to touch her elsewhere, in any capacity. Gabrielle knew by the tense stillness of her hand that she was aching to hold her, to touch her, to pull her even closer, but was too afraid to move. 

“There’s something that goes beyond reason here, isn’t it?” Gabrielle asked her, almost pleading. Her voice was softer now; she was barely keeping herself from kissing Xena’s beautiful lips, just slightly parted as if she wanted to say something. “I feel it, and I know you do, too. More than some quest from a god and something about your soul. Something that feels impossible to resist.”

“Yeah, I…I think so,” Xena said, her voice thick and strained. She swallowed. “Gabrielle, what are you saying?”

To have this woman in her grasp was a gentler bliss than anything Gabrielle had known. It was what the songs promised; it was what the poets wrote about. She could hardly believe that this was where the path had led – from fear and hate, to something that promised soft bliss, mornings in golden sunshine, and love. Yet she was not one to fear such promises; she had yearned for love all her life, and when stood at the edge of it, she was not afraid.

“Will you trust me, Xena?” she asked. “Trust me, and let things fall as they may? No control, no rules. There’s a path here and I want to explore it with you. There’s no need for promises, not yet, and as I said, some can’t even be given yet — but I don’t want to draw back, either. Just…trust me?“

“Yes,” Xena gasped, the answer quick and freely given. “Please, yes—”

When she kissed Xena, Gabrielle knew there was desperation in the sweetness of her mouth. She knew, and felt inclined to wipe it all away; she wanted to drive all sense out of Xena, all worry, all tension — she wanted to make her feel good. 

Gabrielle was consumed in the soft delight of kissing Xena wherever she could. Her lips were the sweetest bliss, but there was something beautiful about exploring her cheeks, her jaw, her neck with featherlight kisses, drawing out delicate breaths and faint moans from this woman who was all hers for the taking. All hers, melting to her touch, leaning into her hands where they touched, seeking more, never pushing, pliant and desiring, needing her — all hers to have.

There were few thoughts in Gabrielle’s head as she slipped further into her enjoyment of Xena. She didn’t need to think beyond the fact that she wanted to hear more of Xena’s soft sighs and whispered pleas. It was an act of delicate devotion that needed no words. She trailed along Xena’s body, kissing and touching, pleasuring with tenderness. Xena surrendered to her, gave in to the pleasure, and Gabrielle found it incredible; she was needy, she was aching, but under Gabrielle’s gentleness, she was soft, she was pliant, and she made no demands. Whispered pleas soon turned into whispers of Gabrielle’s name, over and over. When Gabrielle’s fingers trailed their way down along Xena’s stomach, down to her sex, to the wetness that had been long gathering and wanting, all she could do was beg for more. Xena, who had always done everything rough, was rendered desperate with fingers light as feathers and kisses soft as whispers. 

Gabrielle watched Xena come undone, and thought her beautiful. The feeling of her was beautiful; her wetness, so eager, so consuming, holding such heat and desperation within. She discovered just the right ways to move her fingers inside that made Xena’s back arch, hips moving to sink more into her touch. She kissed Xena’s neck and moved her thumb to her clit, curling her fingers again; she could feel the rasping breaths Xena drew under the touch of her lips, her throat quivering with the effort of the simplest acts of breathing, and whimpering. 

Slowly, working now with the pace of Xena’s hips, moving in the slightest of waves, she led her towards the cresting pleasure of a climax. It was gradual, it was tender; it was, Gabrielle guessed, like nothing Xena had ever experienced before. She knew it by the look in her eyes when she caught her gaze, by the mixture of awe and disbelief, and an emotion she knew but would not yet name — she knew, and savored the feeling in its totality. 

She was so close, just on the edge of bliss. Her eyes were shut, eyelashes beautiful in the falling light of day; the breaths that left her lips were irregular, ragged, gasping.

“Go on, Xena,” Gabrielle murmured against Xena’s lips, kissing her even as she couldn’t focus on kissing her back. “Be mine.”

And with a soft gasp and a wave-like arch of her back, Xena was — she came. Gabrielle felt her muscles clenching around her fingers, so strong, of course she was strong everywhere; she felt her hips buck, and then grind circles against her hand, drawing out the last waves of pleasure before she relaxed, and went entirely still.

Xena’s arms had been resting on the bedroll on both sides of her head the entire time. They had not moved; she had not touched Gabrielle once. She had surrendered so totally to Gabrielle’s touch that it had been almost as though her wrists had been pinned down. Now she moved them, slowly, with languid ease, to Gabrielle’s waist and neck, pulling her closer so that she could kiss her on the mouth properly.

In her eyes, Gabrielle found awe and wonder overflowing. She raised herself up on one arm and brought up her other hand to run a finger, still soaked, along Xena’s lips before bringing it to her own mouth, sucking, savoring the taste. It was a gesture that mirrored what Xena had done on their first night together.

Xena’s eyes just about rolled back in her head at the sight.

“Fuck, Gabrielle,” she groaned, eyes fluttering shut. “ Fuck . How do you do that?”

Gabrielle grinned, still playing with her tongue around her finger. “Do what?”

“Do…make me…” Xena groaned, and could not continue.

“Seems like you’re the one without a need for words now. Or capacity.”

Xena’s hand came up to weakly clamp over Gabrielle’s mouth. “Shut up.”

Then, before Gabrielle could devise a way to get some words in, the hand slid around to her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. 

It awed Gabrielle to no end, seeing Xena so tender, so gentle. As if guessing what her thoughts were, Xena opened her eyes and met her gaze; a question came to the surface, hesitant before asked.

“How do you feel?”

“How do you mean?”

Xena’s hand slid down along Gabrielle’s side and came to rest at her hip. “I was pretty rough with you.”

“I know. I liked it.”

“You did seem like you did,” Xena agreed, kissing her again, pausing to suck on her bottom lip. “But I didn’t hurt you? It wasn’t too much?”

Gabrielle grabbed Xena’s wrist and brought up her arm to show it to her. There were scrapes along her skin where the treebark had rubbed and cut through. “It seems to me that you were the one that got hurt, Xena.”

Xena withdrew her hand and put it back on Gabrielle’s hip. “Those were worth it.”

“Worth what?”

“Worth knowing what it felt like, having you completely at my mercy with nowhere to go.”

Gabrielle groaned and let her head fall against Xena’s shoulder. Xena laughed, and soon asked:

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m not going for seconds,” Gabrielle grumbled. “No matter how much my body wants to.”

“Oh?”

“I’m tired.”

Xena’s arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed tight. “Then rest. There’s time yet on this…shared path, as you said. Isn’t there?”

Xena’s steady breaths were a lulling, calming rhythm, slowly drawing Gabrielle into a sleepy haze. “There is,” she yawned, letting her eyes flutter shut. “Grab a blanket, would you? I don’t want some random stranger seeing me – us – in all our naked glory if they were to stumble…”

She sighed, and yawned again. She heard Xena chuckle, and felt the woman shift under her until a warmth enveloped her, covering her entirely. In truth, she did not need it – the evening sun was still warm, and the sun-baked earth breathed heat – but she liked the feeling of being enveloped thus into a smaller world under a blanket with Xena, and only Xena. 

“I’m in serious trouble with you, aren’t I?” Xena asked. Even though Gabrielle wasn’t looking, she knew there was a smile playing on her lips.

“Yes, very,” Gabrielle mumbled. “I’m very dangerous. Now hush. Let me sleep.”

Chapter Text

Gabrielle hadn’t lied when she’d said she was no seafarer. From the moment they’d set out from Chalcis, the poor thing had been retching, clinging to the railing with all her might. Xena had been reduced to little more than a nursemaid for the duration of the journey, holding her hair back, bringing her water, force-feeding her herbs to ease her stomach, mostly in vain. The only times of rest that Gabrielle seemed to get was when she slept, in Xena’s arms despite the funny looks from the other passengers. Their ship was a simple galley, and there were no below-decks accommodations to speak of. It was abovedeck or nothing, really — not that Xena minded. She preferred the fresh air to the stuffy, stinking quarters of ships. Her only issue was Gabrielle, and Gabrielle’s lack of settling. They could hardly lay down and embrace in full, not with sailors and passengers about; she had to settle for sitting up, leaning against the railing, with Gabrielle dozing against her shoulder, occasionally heaving whatever food or bile she had left overboard.

At least the winds were favorable. Four days later they docked in Thessalia, having made good time. Xena wasn’t entirely sure which of her two traveling companions was gladder for being on dry land — Gabrielle, or Argo. Judging by the twitching of Argo’s ears, she had not enjoyed sea-travel much more than Gabrielle. 

“You should ride for today,” Xena tried to tell Gabrielle as they were walking through the port-town and heading up to the crossroads. “You haven’t eaten properly for days.”

“I don’t think getting on a horse would be much of an improvement,” Gabrielle argued back, grumpy and still a little green.

“Not even on Argo?”

Gabrielle had a sweetly charming way of glaring. Xena couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“I’ll ride once we’re out of town. For now, I just want to feel the ground under my feet.”

It was as good an agreement as any, and Xena was glad. On their way out, however, she noticed Gabrielle lingering along the various market-stalls, unwilling to move on.

“What is it?”

“I’m…” the blonde paused, giving her a glance. “Shopping?”

“For what?”

“Clothes that I like.”

“What’s wrong with the ones I chose for you?”

Gabrielle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “ You picked them out? I thought it was the weaver-women of that village you saved.”

She glanced down at herself, at the blue shirt, blue jacket, and brown skirt that she presently wore. “They’re not bad,” she amended, seemingly aware that Xena’s feelings had been bruised, if not wounded. “I like the shirt. And the jacket. But the skirt is a little long and inconvenient. It gets stuck on things. And it is getting into the heat of summer — not sure if you’ve noticed, seeing as you’re seemingly impermeable to weather and are always wearing that leather skirt-dress-corset-thing of yours. I’d like something to wear that won’t kill me when the heat starts to resemble the forges of Hephasteus.”

It was a good enough argument. Xena had only been teasing, anyway; she was in no rush to get out of town. Getting out of town meant getting on the road to Potidaea, which lay only some two days away. If she could put that fate off by an hour or two, she was glad to do so; she was growing ever-conscious of the fact that there was a natural end-point to their companionship, and that it lay in Potidaea, regardless of what they found there. She found it hard to believe that Gabrielle would continue traveling with her, if she went home and found it even in some way salvaged, with some or all of her family waiting. She found it equally hard to believe that Gabrielle would continue traveling with her once she saw her home burned to the ground, destroyed forever. Whatever happened, the end would be the same.

Xena was drawn from her bitter thoughts by a piece of fabric flapping in front of her face.

“Hello? Xena?” Gabrielle was staring at her, faintly concerned. “You’re miles away.”

“Just thinking of dinner,” Xena answered. It was a safe enough answer, even if in that instant it was a lie. 

“Which one do you think works better?” Gabrielle was asking, showing her two shirts, one green, one grey. Well, tops, really; Xena judged that neither one of them would come down enough to cover even all of her ribs, let alone her stomach.

“You’re not going to try them on?” Xena asked. Then, gesturing at the green one, she said: “That one.”

Gabrielle looked at the two tops and set the other one down. Xena was surprised at how glad she was that the one left discarded was not the one she’d chosen.

“I’ll try this one on,” Gabrielle said, disappearing somewhere behind the stall. When she emerged a moment later, Xena resisted the urge to bite her tongue; she’d grown all-too conscious of the fact that whenever she did it, Gabrielle could tell. Bare arms, shoulders, stomach; her cleavage was particularly delicious. Yes, that top was good. 

“Go on, pay the woman,” Gabrielle said, evidently satisfied with how she looked in the mirror. Xena frowned — when did she agree to pay for anything?

She paid the woman in any case. For the top, and for the skirt that Gabrielle found to go with it. And for the boots to go with the skirt. 

“Gabrielle, if you buy any more things, we’ll be out of money,” Xena complained when the blonde seemed eager to look for more. 

“No we won’t. You know it, and I know it too,” Gabrielle quipped, eyeing a funny-looking hat hanging at the edge of a different stall. “Besides, isn’t it better that you get your empire’s gold changed for the normal dinars? Can’t do that unless you spend it.”

She was only joking, Xena realized. They passed some other stalls with unimportant things, bought some more necessities; she lingered at the apothecary for a long time, replenishing what she’d used, and buying some more items that she couldn’t get everywhere.

“What’s this for?” Gabrielle asked, holding the ceramic bottle Xena had just purchased in the palm of her hand. “Rosehip oil?”

Xena took the bottle and ensured that the stopper was properly sealed before she put it in her medical pouch. “It’s for your scar. Rosehip helps with wounds, but I’ve found it also helps scars fade faster.”

This time, she definitely caught Gabrielle biting her own tongue. 

“That’s thoughtful of you,” she said after a while, her voice a little thick. “Thank you.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll find use for it myself, too,” Xena replied, trying to lighten the mood. “Though I do think I want to keep the wolf-bite scars, if I can. They look kind of cool.”

Gabrielle was quiet. Too quiet, Xena decided; she stopped to look, and found the blonde’s eyes were fixed on her shoulder, still bound with bandages. 

“You okay?”

Gabrielle shook her head, and Xena felt momentary panic — only it took her a moment to realize that the shaking had been to clear her head, not to signal ‘no’. “I can’t believe you,” huffed she. “Boasting about wolf-bites. You could have died, you know.”

“I’ve had plenty of opportunities to die. Haven’t taken any of them yet, however. Hades avoids me like the plague.”

“Don’t invoke the gods unless it’s about something you want to happen,” Gabrielle said in a hushed voice. 

“Should I invoke Aphrodite, then?” Xena teased, taking the risk of naming the goddess just to get Gabrielle to smile. Which she did, brightly, whilst smacking her on the arm.

“I’m sorry,” she found herself saying after a while, giving Gabrielle’s arm a light touch. “I didn’t mean to make light of pain. It’s just a habit, I think. And in the wider scope of things, the wolf-bite is a cool scar — compared to all the others that I have, I mean.”

Gabrielle’s tension eased a little. They walked down the street with Argo in tow, in something of a comfortable silence. Xena watched as Gabrielle’s eyes fell to a sign up the street. Her body language shifted, and Xena half thought they were about to get attacked, or run into a herd of elephants, something horrendous in any case — but instead she saw Gabrielle disappear into the crowd ahead, heading as quickly as she could to the shop overflowing with scrolls.

Xena waited outside with Argo for what felt like a very long time before Gabrielle emerged with scrolls, quills, ink, and an inkwell.

“An aspiring bard, are you?”

She’d meant it in jest, but Gabrielle looked completely serious. “Absolutely. I’ve been aching to write — my whole life, really. I’d been meaning to go to a bigger town to buy scrolls and things, but I never…I never got around to it.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” Gabrielle agreed. A momentary shyness passed over her, and she looked to Xena, seeking something that lacked words. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

Xena made a face and shook her head. “Definitely not. Anything that gives you pleasure is a good thing to pursue.”

Gabrielle could not sleep. She hadn’t slept the night before, either; she’d spent the whole time sitting up, or pacing around the campfire, and had completely ignored Xena’s pleas for her to come lay down and sleep even a moment. There was a tightness in her chest and a discomfort in her heart, a squeezing fist around both, bands of iron that would not budge; she was close to home, close to an answer to a question she had dreaded for weeks, and, stood at the edge of the abyss, she did not know how to be.

The rolling hills in the distance were familiar. The road itself was familiar, though the last time she’d trudged along it, she had barely seen it for the tears that had filled her eyes. The last time she’d been here, she’d been bound, broken, weeping. She’d never thought she’d be back. 

Their camp lay not far from where she’d cut the rope. Some part of her had wanted to find it, to see where Lila had died, but as darkness fell, she’d realized it would be impossible to find. She’d agreed to Xena’s gentle plea and settled where they’d been; she’d allowed Xena to coax her into eating and drinking a little, and into laying down with her for a while. 

“You’re not sleeping, are you?”

Gabrielle shifted a little in front of Xena. “No.”

“How do you…how do you feel?”

“I’m scared.”

Having said the words, Gabrielle found that she could not withhold the fall of the tears that rushed at her, unexpected and unwelcome. She tensed and released a shaky breath even as the sorrow enclosed around her, the iron bands around her heart so tight she thought it might burst. 

Xena pulled her in close. She was warm, soft; her grip was firm, protective. If ever there was a place where Gabrielle felt safe, it was there, laying in the dark, with Xena. 

“Whatever happens, you will see it through,” Xena was saying. “Whatever truth lies in tomorrow.”

Gabrielle choked down a sob. She couldn’t help that she fought the tears, even as they fell; the pain was too much to release all at once. It hadn’t eased much at all in the weeks since Corinth. She had cried before, always out of sight, trying to hide from Xena — not for Xena’s benefit, but her own, for in the midst of her pain, she hadn’t been able to bear being perceived. First she’d hated the thought of the Conqueror, the giver of her pain seeing her feel it. Then, as her opinion of Xena had shifted, and she had begun to regard her as a friend, she’d not wanted her to see her pain, because she’d known that Xena wouldn’t know what to do. She’d been uncomfortable being that vulnerable, too.

She hadn’t trusted her, then.

Now she trusted her, felt safe with her, and still, she fought the tears.

“You can cry, Gabrielle. It hurts worse if you try to choke it. Let it out.”

Xena’s voice was breath against her shoulder. Gabrielle wanted to cry, truly, in that moment she did want to let go — but she couldn’t. She feared tomorrow, but in that moment she also feared herself, and the pain. She eased herself down from the ledge of sorrow with slow, short breaths. She needed the control. She needed to feel like she had something she could control.

A long silence passed. Xena was careful, tense though she seemed intent on acting as though she wasn’t; Gabrielle was well aware that there were thoughts in her head, and words she was choosing not to say.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Xena.”

She heard Xena clear her throat and felt a slight twitch in the arm that rested around her waist. 

“I’m wondering what you want me to do. Tomorrow, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to come with you into the village? If there’s people, they may not appreciate seeing me. I could wait outside.”

Gabrielle had neglected to think of that. Considering it, she found herself nodding. Despite the fact that she knew that Xena’s presence would likely make her feel better and ease whatever came to pass, she knew there was wisdom in her words. If there were people, Gabrielle was fairly certain they’d be less than appreciative at the sight of the former Conqueror.

“We’ll find somewhere for you and Argo to wait,” Gabrielle decided. “Tomorrow. Somewhere near the village.”

To Gabrielle, the road felt as though it went on forever. It was a road she’d known all her life; she had run along it as a child, chasing her friends; she had walked it as a youth, ambling home from late-evening moments with friends that her parents disapproved of — she’d walked it on errands, for fun, on days off from working at home, and more times than she could count, with her family. With her mother, coming home from picking blackberries near the half-built aqueduct by the quarry. With her father, returning with new-grown willow to wind into baskets and other useful things in the spring. With her sister, whispering about crushes and secrets known only unto them, coming home from adventures, from playing, from the occasional chore. 

There were trees missing where there should have been shade. The forest seemed quieter; the road, more empty.

The closer she got, the more she felt like she was choking. She was alone, with Xena left behind at the bend of the road, to wait until her return. Leaving her had felt heavy; the thought of returning to her, even more so. There was an event yet to happen between the two, which was the cause of the heaviness — and the dread, and the fear, and the choking sensation that threatened to snuff all sensation out from her limbs and stop her right where she stood.

Laughter broke through the mist of her sorrow. A child’s laugh, echoed by others. Gabrielle stood, dumbstruck, as a handful of children ran down the road, chasing one another in a game of tag. 

She knew these children, had been to their naming-parties, and had seen them grow up. They were alive, and they were happy. They ran past her, not noticing, and left her standing there on the verge of tears. The sight of them had been a promise, a suggestion of something better than she’d hoped for. 

She walked on. She walked, and then she ran. She ran through the woods, through that last quarter-mile stretch of the road, and into the village — the village, burnt but alive, with new buildings erected where old ones had once stood. The air smelled of smoke and of fresh-cut wood; it was full of the sounds that had defined the boundaries of home for her, for all her life.

Potidaea had burned, and it had survived.

She must have stood there, at the edges of the village square, for what might have been hours. Or minutes. Gabrielle did not know; she stood there, struck by emotion, and could not move. She barely registered when someone spoke to her — she barely noticed the rising voices, the gathering crowd, or the figures pushing through the villagers, coming to her, approaching—

Her mother embraced her, and she broke. She was a child again, she was small, she was nothing; she was in tears, and hurt, and in that warm embrace, she felt whole again. She felt another set of arms encircle her, and knew it was her father. They were saying her name, they were crying as well; she fell into the embrace, and for a time and longer yet, all she could do was cry. 

A slender hand reached for her shoulder. Gabrielle felt her tears go still, her sobs freeze; the arms of her parents parted, and she saw Lila. Her hair was shorter than it used to be and there was a scar on her cheek, but it was her sister — her sister, alive and well.

“Lila—“ she stumbled, pushing away from her parents and sweeping her sister into a bone-crushing hug. “Gods, Lila, how—“

Whatever cracks there had been in her heart were suddenly rushed back together with crushing, soul-stilling force. Gabrielle could not breathe. It was beyond what she had hoped for; she hadn’t even known this was an end for which she could hope.

“Come, sweetheart, let’s go sit down,” said her mother, and Gabrielle, in all her pain and relief, was beyond glad to be able to comply.

Xena sat staring at the trunk of a tree. She had sat staring at it for what had felt like ages; she had memorized every ridge, every bump of its bark. She had watched a spider crawl up along the side and disappear into a hollow, just at the bend between two branches. She had watched; she had waited.

She hadn’t followed Gabrielle, not even from afar. Some part of her had wanted to. Some part of her had felt a strong, almost irresistible need to — to be there for her, for good or ill, to comfort her if she needed it. Even so, she had not moved; she had sat in that same spot until her ass had gone numb, and had stared at that stupid tree, willing it to do something interesting, entirely in vain.

Time had passed. The sun ran overhead in the sky, dipping from afternoon to evening; golden rays painted the forest in fiery colors before all sank into the blueness of night. Xena ate, tended to Argo, and laid down to sleep.

The forest felt empty. Void of life. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware of voices, of footfalls; she was aware that she was being watched. A looming dread set on her heart, and she settled on a decision. She knew Gabrielle wouldn't like it, but she also knew it was, in truth, the only reasonable option she had.

She slept. When in the middle of the night she awoke to hushed voices and soft footfalls, she barely stirred; her instincts told her she was under attack, but her will would not allow her to fight.

When figures emerged from the darkness and struck upon her with the force of numbers, not the force of skill or power, she gave in. She did not fight the villagers; she did not even reach for her weapon. She did not cry out when rope was tied around her wrists, so tight the skin was scraped and burned. She did not cry out when countless feet kicked at her ribs and stomach. She heard them taunting her, yelling at her — calling her the Conqueror, the Empress who Failed, a monster.

Whatever would come, would come. She accepted her fate, and allowed herself to be dragged through the forest, standing or not, until she was thrown onto the ground in the village square of Potidaea, at Gabrielle’s feet.

The house was not the same, but the home within it was almost as she’d remembered. Almost as it was ought to be. There was the kitchen table and the flowers her mother liked to dry and arrange in a vase; there was the pile of firewood, always underfoot, never smartly arranged. There were pots and pans that looked a little more charred than before, but otherwise the same. Though the walls were new, smelling of fresh wood, there were salvaged bits and pieces in enough quantity that within, it felt right. It felt like home.

Gabrielle felt like an alien in another world entirely. Her father had a limp from the attack, and used a crutch to get by. Her mother was far jumpier than she had been, and would not let go of her elbow. Lila — sweet Lila — looked the same, save for the scar, but every time she looked at Gabrielle it looked like she was going to burst into tears. 

It was the same, and it was not. Whatever home Gabrielle recalled was broken, shattered to pieces; whatever home this was now, was a reconstruction from those pieces, with the cracks still showing, tense where they were joined. 

Her parents had been spared in the attack. Her mother had hidden in a barn and hadn’t been found; her father had fought, then ran into the woods, and hidden until the army had gone.

Lila — sweet Lila, brave Lila — had run when she’d told her to. She’d run and she hadn’t stopped, and by some miracle she hadn’t been caught. Darkness had saved her. She’d stumbled home some few days later, starved and crying, but very much alive. 

Her family had thought her dead. Gabrielle had felt her heart still at the thought when they spoke of it; for all the time that she’d mourned her family and the loss of her home, it had not occurred to her that someone, somewhere, could have been mourning her. They showed her the small shrine they’d built in honor of her spirit, tucked away near the fireplace in the new house. Her father had taken immense pleasure in disposing of the shrine and its offerings. His daughter lived; there was no need for the shrine, not anymore. 

Much of the village that she knew was gone. Many of the villagers were dead and gone, but enough had survived by fleeing into the woods that some semblance of Potidaea still lived. Refugees had come from other villages, burnt worse and destroyed more thoroughly; with room to grow and families to replace, the refugees had been accepted with open arms. It would be a hard winter coming, with almost half the crops in the fields burned by the fiends, but it would still be a winter to come. Life went on in Potidaea; against all hope, the village had survived.

When asked how she had survived, Gabrielle found herself unable to tell the whole truth. She spoke of a great friend who had saved her, protected her, and taken her away from Corinth; she spoke of how she trusted her, and how her friend had gone above and beyond to ensure she got back home. None of it had been a lie — she had just neglected to mention that her great friend was Xena, the Warrior Princess, the former Empress and Conqueror in whose name Potidaea had burned.

When asked why her friend wasn’t with her, Gabrielle had shrugged and said her friend wasn’t one for crowds. The matter had been left at that, and celebrations instead had been begun. 

By the time Gabrielle was done talking with her family, the day had turned to dusk. They had a feast, and she ate with more appetite than she had in days. Her mother’s cooking brought tears to her eyes anew; the wine, which flowed heavily and without concern for temperance, brought laughter to her lips. 

She was home, and for a good few hours, she thought of nothing else.

When the day began to slip to a close and her family began to turn in, thoughts of Xena began to creep into her mind. She looked at the bed her mother had laid out for her and thought it awfully empty. She knew she would not sleep without the warrior in her bed; she knew it was pointless to even try.

She slipped back out into the main space of the house. Her father was still out, chatting to some of the villagers; he’d slipped out some moments ago, saying there was some business he wanted to tend to. She stood by the hearth, still relatively clean in its newness, and felt the residual heat with the back of her hand, lingering upon the air.

Something caught her attention, and she raised her eyes to the door just as it burst open. Her father came barging in, wildness in his eyes; the moment he saw her, a wild grin came upon his face, and he gestured at her to come.

“Come along, Gabrielle, you’ll want to see this.”

Gabrielle went, growing a little frightened by the ferocity in her father’s grip when he took her hand and led her to the village square. She grew more scared when she saw that there were people gathered all around, holding torches, hungry, strange looks in their eyes. 

She felt her heart drop dead cold in her chest when she saw a group of the village’s men approach from the woods, dragging something along.  When Xena was cast at her feet, bloodied, bruised, and thoroughly beaten down, Gabrielle didn’t know what to think. She felt the rising fury in the people around her — her people, her family, the people she’d grown up with — and she knew that the taste in the air was that of bloodlust, of murder. 

They'll tear her to shreds.

“Look who we found, lurking about in our woods!” cried one of the men, striking at Xena with his walking-staff. Gabrielle felt a mirrored pain in her own stomach when she saw the strike fall — worse yet, the pain was doubled when she saw that Xena wasn’t even trying to fight.  Xena, the great warrior, barely raised a hand as she pulled herself up to her knees, head hung. Her wrists were bound, and she had no weapon, no armor; judging by the fact that she was only in her shift, Gabrielle guessed she’d been caught whilst sleeping. There was no way that anyone could’ve ever snuck up on her, let alone subdued her in a fight. Certainly not some villagers from a place just a ways’ south from nowhere. 

She let them take her.

A knife twisted in Gabrielle's heart. Why was she doing this? Why would she let this happen?

“The fallen Conqueror!” cried someone — her father, Gabrielle realized with a shudder. “The Destroyer!”

The villagers echoed his sentiment, and the fierceness of his emotion. Gabrielle imagined her father, bloodied and wild, with Xena dead at his feet. It frightened her to realize that the image of her father that she saw before her was only a few steps removed from the horrific image in her mind. It frightened her more to realize that she had little ability to stop anything. 

“No,” she said quietly, so quietly that no one heard. “No, this isn’t happening.”

“What should we do to her, do you think?” 

This was a new voice, one that Gabrielle couldn’t recognize. 

“Kill her!” cried more voices than she could count. She couldn’t even tell which direction the cries came from; all was dark, save for the flickering of the torches. Hatred seemed to blind all even more thoroughly than the darksome night. 

“Burn her at the stake!” suggested someone, earning a frenzied wave of approving cries. 

“Stone her until dead!” cried another.

Suggestions for Xena’s demise became a chorus, a cacophony of voices. Gabrielle felt bile rising up in her throat, disgust taking the place of breath in her lungs. These were not her people; this was not the Potidaea she knew.

The Potidaea I know is dead.

From the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw someone approaching Xena, fast. She had only a moment to react, and she did so on instinct; she stepped forward, struck the approaching man’s wrist with her fist, and grabbed the staff he’d held in his hands. 

She hadn’t even known she knew how to disarm a man like that.

“No!”

She stepped between Xena and the crowd and faced the villagers, desperation thrumming in every cell of her being. 

“Stop this!” she screamed, her whole body trembling. “Stop it!”

By some miracle, a ripple of confusion ran through the crowd. It seemed that the very notion that anyone would defend Xena had not occurred to anyone; that it was her, Gabrielle guessed, shocked everyone most of all.

“Gabrielle, what are you doing?”

“Protecting my friend,” Gabrielle seethed, glaring at her father. “She’s the one I’ve been traveling with; she’s the one that saved me.”

She heard her mother let out a pained, broken wail. Her father’s face was ashen, grey; he looked at her as though she were a stranger. 

“She’s a monster,” he said in a low, shaking voice. “I don’t know what she’s got over you, but—“

“She deserves death!” cried someone from behind, and the feverish fervor of the crowd surged once again. Gabrielle looked around and saw that she had no hope; as long as Xena was here, under everyone’s eye, she had no hope of talking them down.

She turned to Xena and summoned every ounce of desperation that she could.

“Get out of here,” she hissed at her. “Now.”

“Gabrielle—“

“Get out of here!” Gabrielle yelled, angry, terrified, desperate. She trembled and might have fallen; she could not bear look at Xena’s bruised face, not for a second, not for any longer. She wanted her gone; she wanted her safe.

“She can’t leave,” said her father, stepping forward. He had a knife in his hands. “We won’t let her.”

“Yes, you will,” Gabrielle glowered. “You will, or I will fight you myself. Believe me, father, that is the last thing I want to do.”

Nobody moved. Gabrielle wished Xena would take the hint. Not even a hint; the order, the command.

Just go. Get out of here.

Gabrielle jolted when she heard Xena rise to her feet. She heard the hesitation, and without looking her way, she repeated herself once more.

“Get out of here, Xena. Get out, and keep going.”

Xena left. She ran, and then, further away, Gabrielle heard her whistle for Argo. She would go, and would be gone. 

Gabrielle returned her attention to the villagers. To her father, looking at her as though she’d just died again. 

She lowered the staff. There was no use for violence, not here. She would have to talk, even if she knew no one would listen.

“What did you just do, Gabrielle?”

The crowd was beginning to dissipate. The energy was far from gone; Gabrielle knew that, unless some miracle happened, she would foreverafter be among the most hated people in the village. Possibly even more hated than Xena, she thought. Her mother was being held by her sister. Both were crying; both had pale faces, and disbelief in their eyes. 

Some others had remained, standing in a half-circle around her. Mostly men of the village, elders that she recognized; those who, in times of peace, administered justice. Apparently, court was now in session, and she was the villain, the accused.

“I stopped you from giving into madness,” she said truthfully, leaning on the staff. She felt weak; she felt faint. “Killing Xena would have achieved nothing.”

“How can you say that? You, of all people?” demanded her father, taking a step towards her. “She’s the reason you were taken from us. She’s the reason you were hurt; she’s the reason we thought you were dead—“

“But I wasn’t dead!” Gabrielle snapped. “I never was.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better? You may live, but many of us do not. Or do you so quickly forget your friends? Or Perdicus?”

Gabrielle felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. “She wasn’t here that night.”

“She’s the Conqueror! She’s the Empress — or was, until that little escapade, but who really believes she’s given up on anything? She’s a monster, Gabrielle. The men that came here and burned our home, that killed, murdered our kin, our friends — they were her men. Can you deny that?”

“No, I can’t, but—“

“Then how can you say she doesn’t deserve death?”

“Because she didn’t mean for it to happen!” Gabrielle cried. She felt she might fall, collapse, break down; she was barely holding on as it was. “She wasn’t here! She wasn’t the one who swung the sword, she wasn’t the one who looked at this village and decided it should burn! It isn’t— it wasn’t—“ she clenched her fist and let out a cry of frustration, trying to find the words. “She’s changed. She’s not who you think she is.”

“Oh, and you know, do you? After what, a month or two of being her friend?” someone else cut in. 

“She can’t be responsible for everything,” Gabrielle pleaded. “She was the Empress of thousands. Please, you have to understand—“

“We don’t have to understand anything. She’s a beast, and you just released her back into the wild,” said a different voice.

Something snapped in her mind. A decision, yet unnamed and still impossibly resolute, settled upon her heart.

“Would you rather have evil in this world that never changed?” she demanded, cold anger solidifying her trembling voice. “Would you rather that every warlord, every cruel villain remain as they are, until the end of their days? Is that the world you want to live in? A world where once you are something, you are that forever, so you might as well not even try to be better? Is that really it?”

Silence followed her words. Her anger, it seemed, had more power than she’d originally counted on. It crawled and slithered along the ground from where she stood as if it were some unseen beast, coiling its way through the crowd; she saw many of the elders shiver under the force of her gaze.

When did I become this?

“She has been cruel. She has been horrible; she has been a monster. I am not denying any of that, but it is in the past,” Gabrielle seethed, looking each of the elders in the eye, even her own father, with flaming fury dancing upon her features. “And I am saying that the destruction here was not her doing. Not her will. For that, you should blame the warlord who decided a village was worth raiding and plundering. You should blame the soldiers that killed our kin and your children. Blame those responsible; do not blame the woman who was a world away, in whose name these horrors were done. She did not wield the weapon that struck this village, and I will not blame her for it either.”

“How do you know all of this?” asked her father. His expression was guarded, one of concern. “Gabrielle, you look like yourself, but you do not sound like it. I hardly recognize you. What has this woman done to you?”

Gabrielle knew she was trembling and willed herself to stay still. The staff served as a tether, a support, as she sought the words, praying that something would strike sense into the skulls of these thick-headed, idiot men, her father included.

“It is as if I have been to Tartarus and back,” she began. “I have been tortured. I have been assaulted. I have been hurt. I nearly died. None of those pains were by Xena’s hand. Of all those pains, Xena spared me from much worse; for that, I am grateful. The men who tortured me, who assaulted me? Each one of them is dead, slain by her hand. I would be dead, my body rotting in some ditch, if it weren’t for her. From the moment I’ve known her, she has been nothing like what the stories tell. She has been kind, gentle, careful; respectful to a fault. There is a gulf between the woman she is and the woman that the stories speak of, and the difference grows greater with each passing day. She is good; she has decided to be good. She wants to change, and I have watched her go through the motions of it. Through the pains of it. She has saved lives when in the past she has ended them. Last week, she went out into a thunderstorm, fought off a pack of wolves, and rescued a lost child. The week before, she defended merchants from a pack of bandits, she fought a chimera and won. If there is opportunity to help, she takes it. Is that not a good person? Is that not someone who deserves to live?”

She leaned on the staff and eyed each of the gathered people in turn. 

“She became a monster because a warlord attacked her town. Which of your children would you have suffer the same fate? Her home was attacked, her brother died when she led a counter-attack; she killed the warlord, but was afterwards banished, blamed for the bloodshed. Pushed away by family and left alone to fend for herself. If you kill her, which of your children would you have take her place? Would you, father, have me become a monster to avenge and bear the pain of a cycle none of us began?”

Her words had an impact. She saw it; she knew it. 

“You cannot expect us to consider her a friend. Not after all that’s happened,” argued her father. “You cannot expect all to be forgiven.”

Gabrielle glared at her father like she’d never dared to do before. She was no girl anymore, she realized, sheltered in her village far away from the realities of the world; she was a woman in her own right, with plenty of anger to wield, and words of her own to speak.

“I can expect you to be fucking human, and reasonable,” she sighed. “I can expect you to put the blame where it rightfully lies. Leave her be, please; I will not have her abused so.”

“Why, Gabrielle? Why do you care so much?”

Gabrielle looked at her father, an apology playing on her lips. 

“Because she has become my friend. You say you cannot forgive her? Fine, give it time. But I have forgiven her. She has apologized for her part; she has shown she intends to change. And I want to see her get better.”

Xena sat staring at another tree, willing for something to happen. Time had passed, a day had gone, and then another, and she’d not seen a sign or trace of Gabrielle. Whatever hope she’d had of seeing her, had withered to near nothing. Her family was alive, her village somewhat salvaged — what reason did Gabrielle have now to seek her out, to continue journeying with her? She was home.

“You did it after all. I’m impressed.”

The voice was familiar and drew Xena to her feet at once. This time, however, it was not faceless; before her stood a woman, middle-aged, harsh of face, with brown hair tied tightly at the nape of her neck, and a bony, lithe body shrouded in a simple, yet elegant gown. The look in her grey eyes was cruel, cold; the set of her jaw was firm.

“Dike,” Xena acknowledged. She did not know what she was supposed to feel. Anger? Annoyance? Hurt? 

Then, in a flashing moment of what quickly twisted into pain, she realized what the goddess had said.

You did it after all.

“Wait, what?”

Dike smirked and leaned back against a tree. Everything about her felt untouchable; compared to Ares or Aphrodite, she was decidedly inhuman, and set herself apart, both in body and in spirit. 

Justice, taken into flesh. Yes, that described her to perfection. Cold, calculating; just.

“She doesn’t fear you. She’s forgiven you. She trusts you.”

Xena narrowed her eyes. “Doesn’t feel like much of a win for me.”

“I never made any promises about the girl,” remarked Dike. “Only about the soul. You still want it?”

Xena glared at the goddess with all her might. “You tricked me.”

“That is the last thing I would do. I told you that she was the key to your soul; in pursuing betterment and her trust, forgiveness, and teaching her not to fear you, you found a way to respect love, goodness, and righteousness yourself. Even if you never saw her again, you would still stay on this path, wouldn’t you?”

“If? Feels pretty definite that I won’t,” Xena sighed. She was tired; she was tired of dealing with gods, with fate, with failure. With disappointment.

“But do you feel empty anymore, Xena?”

Xena stared at her hands. She thought; she felt. Though the breadth of her existence ached for her lack of Gabrielle, she had to admit that there was a sense of completeness that had, until a few weeks ago, been gone. She felt goodness, she felt good; the feeling of the night breeze upon her skin, soft and cool, was pleasant. The shade of the sky above, the silver of the moon, were beautiful. 

She was taking pleasure in life again. She wasn’t even sure when it had begun, only that it was happening now. With a grimace, she had to admit the goddess was right. “I thought that once I regained my soul, it would feel more…like something.”

“But it does feel like something, doesn’t it, Xena?”

“I feel like shit,” Xena muttered.

“That’s just the heartbreak talking. In your heart, in your body, you are yourself again — you are yourself as you’re supposed to be. Doesn’t that feel good?”

Xena buried her face in her hands. “Go away. You’ve won whatever it is you wanted to win.”

“Perhaps one day, Xena, you’ll admit to yourself that you, too, feel like you won.”

A breeze ran along the ground. Xena sat still, face in her hands, focusing on her breaths. She’d lost, and still she’d won; for all she knew, Gabrielle would not seek her out. Gabrielle had her home, her family, and with them she would stay.

She should stay, Xena thought. It was where she belonged.

Gabrielle stared at the door and willed it to open. She’d tried everything she had, and still, it would not budge. She’d tried her fists, she’d tried prying it open — getting a nasty splinter in the process, mind you — she’d tried using a chair, and, when all else failed, she’d tried pleading.

For two days, she’d been locked in the guest room of her parent’s house. The guest room, as she called it; her room, as they called it. She’d been fed, and all else was tended to; they just wouldn’t let her out, because they feared she would run off the moment they did.

In that, they weren’t entirely wrong. Gabrielle wanted to go see Xena. She needed to go see Xena. She wanted to see her, speak to her, touch her, kiss her — she needed Xena like she needed air, and for that, the very existence of the locked door that stood in between her and Xena felt like an affront enough to warrant the interference of the gods themselves. 

She’d been a fool to think they’d be fine with it all. She’d come back to the house, and gone to bed just fine, in the room they’d called hers. When in the morning she’d tried the door and found it locked, she’d thought it a fluke. When day rolled into night and day again, she knew they weren’t anywhere near joking. They were dead serious.

“Mom, Dad, Lila,” she tried through the door, for the umpteenth time. “Seriously. Just talk to me.”

The door rattled, and her mother slipped in. Gabrielle eyed the door for a long time, thinking of the sliver of freedom she’d seen. 

“Gabrielle, sweetheart.”

She looked at her mother and felt an ache in her heart. There wasn’t anything that she could say that would console her; short of promising to stay forever and never leave, and never change, she could not spare her mother at least some hurt. 

“I want to go.”

“We can’t let you. You know that.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Her mother looked at the door, and then back at her. There was no need for her to speak; Gabrielle stumbled back to the bed and slumped down on it with a heavy sigh.

“What can I say to convince you that it’s what I want? That it’s what’s best for me? That it’s what I want from my life?”

Her mother walked over to the windowsill. Gabrielle had tried the window, too, on the first day. It was, unfortunately, nailed shut; it would not budge. 

“Surely you can hear how it sounds. You’re taken away, and you come back insisting that the woman who stole you is your friend. That she is…well, fine, perhaps she didn’t steal you, perhaps she is innocent in it as you say — or blameless, whatever. But she is not like us. She is a warlord, former or not; she goes on quests, seeks out danger, gets into fights! She’s trouble! And you have to understand how you sound, talking about going with her.”

“How do I sound?” Gabrielle asked, her voice tipped with ice.

“You sound insane, my sweet,” sighed she. “You sound as though you’ve been struck over the head and given a new personality. You’re young, you can’t be sure — decisions like this can’t be made on a whim, Gabrielle.”

“I’m not making it on a whim.”

“It sounds like you are. It sounds like you’ve been enticed by a spell, or a potion of some kind. The gods play around with those, you know.”

Gabrielle scoffed at the mention of gods. If only her mother knew. 

“Has she seduced you? Is that it?”

Now there was a subject Gabrielle definitely did not want to discuss with her mother.

“Mother!” she cried, staring at her in alarm. “Please.”

“You hear stories,” muttered she, shrugging and staring at the wall. 

“So that’s it, then? You think me a child? A child incapable of making my own decisions?”

She loved her mother. She’d always thought her sensible; none of what she was doing now, saying now, was right. It might have been sensible within some semblance of her mind, but the fact that no one was listening to what Gabrielle was saying was senseless — it was idiotic, frustrating, and downright cruel.

“You still have so much room to grow,” tried her mother, pleading with all she had. She reached for Gabrielle, but Gabrielle pulled away; she was too angry for touch, and far too hurt to accept comfort.

“You would have been perfectly happy to see me marry Perdicas at the end of summer. That doesn’t sound like a child to me. So what is it, mother? Am I a child, incapable of choosing what is right for me, or am I an adult whose decision you just happen to not like?”

She searched her mother’s eyes for understanding. For a connection, for anything. She saw only pain. When Hecuba rose to her feet and went to the door, Gabrielle didn’t follow. She knew by now that it was no use trying to slip out of the door. She knew by now that it was no use pleading, or begging.

She was there, in that room, and would stay there until she saw sense. Only problem was, she was the only sensible one in the house; it was everyone else who had apparently lost their marbles.

When the door clicked shut, she curled up on the bed, and let bitter tears of disappointment fall as they may, unhindered, and bruising with pain where they shattered in her chest. She missed Xena more than she could have known possible. More than the ache she felt an urgent need to find her, and explain; she knew that with every passing day, her chances of finding Xena grew less.

She did not want to lose her chance with Xena, not like this. 

Chapter Text

Xena waited three more days. By the fifth day of no sign of Gabrielle, she gave up. She did not want to give up, but in the end, she did. She thought about leaving a message, a note, something — but in the end, she gave up on that too, feeling it wasn’t right for her to leave any temptation behind for Gabrielle to deal with. As far as Xena knew, Gabrielle had made her choice.

It hurt that the choice didn’t involve her, but Xena understood.

She rode for two days without stopping for her own sake. She only rested when Argo seemed to need a break; by the third, she conceded that she, too, needed some rest. She slept, but not peacefully. Her dreams were haunted by images of Gabrielle; by memories of that night, of Gabrielle’s voice breaking as she yelled, of Gabrielle’s eyes, telling her to leave. To go. To keep going. 

To not come back, it seemed now. Every step away from Gabrielle was a little pain; every mile that she put between her and Potidaea tensed the string that pulled at her heart. Every day, she feared that the strain would finally be too much, and the thread would break; every day, the strain was a little bit more, and still, the thread held strong. Unseen, but not unfelt. 

As she journeyed on, she did everything she could to keep her mind off of what she’d left behind. Quests practically fell into her lap; cyclopes terrorizing towns, bandits stalking innocent travelers, sphinxes being troublesome, warlords making trouble, even a dragon that needed some poking and talking down. It seemed that every day, she found something new to fight for.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The thread was there, gently thrumming in the background. Always pulling, tempting her to go back. 

She did not want to keep track of time, but somehow, somewhere in the back of her mind, she did. A month went by, and Gabrielle still lived in her heart as if she’d left her the night before. The wolf-bite on her shoulder had faded to tiny circles in her skin, almost entirely gone. In contrast, the bruising bite Gabrielle had left on her skin in the midst of their passions lived on, even long after it had faded from her flesh. It lived in Xena’s memories as a ghost, haunting her at the most inopportune times. She almost got struck down by a rogue centaur when the ghost of a memory wafted past her, making her momentarily forget where she was, and what she was doing. 

She won that wrestling match anyway, but not without bruises.

Luck seemed to follow her wherever she went. It felt a little bit like a cruel twist of fate; whatever quest or deed she undertook, tended to go very well. She escaped near death with scrapes and bruises. One time, she was poisoned, but threw up from being punched in the stomach, and was thus spared a deadly fate. Arrows slipped past her, not at her. Attackers slipped in mud or on rocks and made easy targets. Her chakram never failed; her wits never fell short of the challenge.

The world seemed to smile at her, now that she fought on the side of good. It infuriated her, even as she did enjoy the satisfaction of having done good. Seeing people smile made her feel good. Seeing towns safe after her help, did make her feel good.

She was empty, missing Gabrielle, but she felt good, and that infuriated her to no end. She should have been suffering more; she was suffering, truly, but it balanced out with the goodness that she felt, and in the end, she was just left confused.

Eventually, to get her mind oriented with the constant thoughts of Gabrielle, she turned her attention towards revenge. She sought for the name of the warlord who had raided Potidaea and was glad to find he was still alive. If he’d have been dead, well, it would have been nice to know — but the chance to deal revenge with her own hands was too sweet a taste not to chase.

She did know that she was toeing the line of her newfound heroism and goodness, but thinking of Gabrielle, and the hurt she’d been through, she felt just in her actions. It did not take her long to get the name, Draco, a former lieutenant of hers. It took a little longer to track him and his army of rogues; he had broken off from the empire when she had abdicated, and had trailed from this village to that, making trouble wherever he went. Finally she found his trail, and tracked him like prey, to a small village on the coast.

The village lay below her at the bottom of a sloping path, ending at the sea. The sun was setting beyond the horizon, painting the world with its array of colors; sea-birds glided on the evening swells along the coast, screaming as they went. White cliffs shaded orange and pink, green forests edged with gold. She rode through the pine-woods and brush and found herself in a fishing village, small, inconspicuous. Even from afar she had been able to sense that all was not well. There were no people, and no animals in sight despite it being a fine day. There were smokes, so presumably there were inhabitants, but she saw no-one. She heard no-one, either. The village was there in body, but not in spirit. Something lay in wait there.

She left Argo further away in the woods and approached the village on foot.

A figure appeared. A man, in what looked to be peasant’s clothes.

“What business have you here?”

A strange question, strangely phrased, from a man whose clothes very clearly did not fit him. Xena did not miss the fact that he had poorly disguised a sword under his cloak. No fool would have been wearing a cloak in the late-summer heat of Greece. 

She heard a sound from within the houses that sounded like a hand striking flesh. A whimper followed it; sobbing.

Something was definitely not right.

“I’m just seeking a place to stay the night,” she told the man, feigning ignorance. Her eyes scanned the village. Ten, twelve houses; fifty, a hundred people at most. The man before her was obviously not alone. 

Someone, or something was keeping the villagers hostage. Xena saw horses in a nearby pen, the only animals out and about; fine horses, fit for cavalry, not fishermen along the coast with no need to ride further than the next town over. 

More men were emerging from the houses. These were not disguised, she saw. Armor, seemingly well-kept; proper swords, too.

Thrill began to creep up along her spine, bloodlust dancing up on her tongue. Just as it was overtaking her, however, she saw a man emerge from the central hut — a man whose face she’d have known from across a battlefield.

“Draco,” she seethed. 

“Ah, Xena. Long time, no see, eh?”

“What are you doing here, Draco?” she asked, resting her hand on her hip. Her fingers toyed at the edge of her chakram. She relished the thought of sending it into Draco’s neck. 

“Having fun. You?”

“I've got a score to settle with you,” she declared, a grin coming up to dance on her features. That feral, bloodthirsty woman she’d once been was not far buried within; it poked its head out now, now that there was opportunity for it. She could feel the air electrify with the force of her threat; every soldier, every warrior present went for their weapons. She was walking further, ignoring the fool in peasant’s clothes who would probably sooner piss himself than give her any proper threat. As she entered the circle of houses, she saw the blood on the ground, and the bodies pulled just aside, and scowled.

“I see your sense of fun has changed little from when I last saw you.”

“What’s it to you?”

“I don’t much enjoy killing women and children,” Xena remarked. “And you’ve done plenty of that, so I hear.”

“Didn’t you like the slaves I’ve sent you?”

“You shouldn’t be killing innocents.”

“You’re not one to say anything about what I do,” Draco remarked. “Former Empress as you are. Whatever happened there, anyway?”

“I got bored. The throne’s not all it’s propped up to be,” Xena retorted. She counted thirty men, half of which seemed to be competent warriors. “Do you remember a little place called Potidaea?”

Draco laughed. “I might. Why?”

“Rumor has it, you hunted its people down for sport. Now I’m all for some threats and bloodshed in the name of gaining order, but hunting? In the dark? What coward would do such a thing?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He had always been a little man in spirit, if not in flesh; he had, as she recalled, always been too eager to hurt. Too thirsty for blood. 

“You’re here to take revenge for what I did to some pitiful village? You care about those peasants?”

Xena shrugged. “That’s the gist, yeah.”

“You think you can take me? I don’t see any army standing at your back,” Draco seethed. His hand, holding his sword, trembled. Xena eyed the bloodied corpse of a young woman, cast aside as if it were without worth; she wondered what horrors he had inflicted on her before ending her life.

“I don’t need an army at my back,” she replied, her voice solid as the steel of her sword. 

Her chakram flew in the air. She knew Draco was too smart to fall to such a trick, but felling three of his lieutenants with it was a win, nonetheless. She was done talking. 

She charged into the fight with a fierce battle cry and prayed only that she would see the dawn.

The sign at the crossroads was so weathered that all that was left of it were two pieces of wood, entirely blank. Gabrielle stared at it, squinting in vain to decipher even the faintest letter, or mark to put her on the right path. She sighed, resigned to her fate; she was lost.

Two weeks. Two weeks, trailing after word of Xena. Two weeks since she’d talked her parents around, in a fashion, though in the end it had been less of a talk, and more of a discussion with veiled threats.

You can either let me go of my own free will, and see me on occasion when I come visit, she had said. Or you can wait for me to run away the moment I can, and never see me again.

Her parents had, in the end, resigned. She was strong-willed, and her arguments had been strong. She was just glad she hadn’t had to resort to running away. Having only just regained her family after having lost them, she would have been endlessly broken-hearted to have to give them up for good.

She had thought about it plenty over the course of her journey. With no Xena, she’d found that travel was, as it was, very dull. There was a lot of walking to do and no one to talk to, save in the evenings when she found herself in taverns — though, this time she had less money, and had resorted to attempts at barding to pay her way for a meal and a bed.

It was a start, though a stumbling one. It wasn’t until one night when she decided to tell a tale about Xena that it all clicked; the audience became invested, having only just been the recipients of a heroic act by the woman herself, and she found the telling of the tale flowed as smoothly as talking with Xena ever had. It was a humbling experience, seeing the people’s mood shift so easily regarding the once-feared Conqueror. They cheered at the mention of her name, toasted in her honor, and paid her handsomely to tell tales of her exploits. 

Gabrielle couldn’t wait to tell Xena about it all.

She’d done well with tracking her, so far. Xena’s exploits were usually the talk of the town, and so she was always some paces behind, trailing after the warrior. She had faith that as long as she kept following, eventually she’d find some cross-roads, some place where Xena would linger a little longer — some place where she could catch up with her, take hold of her, and apologize. And then, hopefully, never leave her again.

Gabrielle was growing very resolute on that point. 

The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention away from her thoughts. She paused, her hand tightening around the staff, and waited; the approach was from behind, and she did not much like walking with someone on her back. She would let them pass, she figured, before continuing on her way and figuring out which fork of the road was the right way. 

Two women came into view. Gabrielle appraised them from afar, noting that they carried weapons — not entirely impossible, but definitely unusual from what she’d seen on the road.  It did briefly occur to her that she might be in danger; her staff, though an able weapon against the unwary, would hardly stand up against a sword.

They might have passed her by, had she not stopped them. It was a whim, a flight of fancy; something about the two women drew Gabrielle’s curiosity. That, and she wanted to know if they had any news — all day, she had been asking everyone she saw about Xena, hoping to find some new lead to follow. 

“Hey, excuse me—“

The two women halted in front of her. One had red hair, the other blonde; both looked upon her with a plain, mildly curious expression. Up close, Gabrielle was better situated to see that they weren’t just carrying weapons for fun — they were, without a doubt, warriors. There was something Xena-like about how they carried themselves, something lithe and powerful in the stance — but where Xena imposed an air of fear and absolute confidence, these women exuded something softer, more elusive. More cat-like, when compared to the warrior princess’s fierceness. 

“Yes?”

It was the red-haired one who had spoken. The blonde held a sour expression on her face, and did not appear much inclined to speak to Gabrielle at all. The other, at least, seemed to dip into her curiosity; she even offered Gabrielle a smile.

“Have you heard any news of these parts?” Gabrielle began. “I’m looking for the warrior princess, Xena.”

That earned her two pairs of raised eyebrows.

“Why do you seek her ?” asked the red-haired one. “You don’t much look like a warrior. Is it revenge you’re after?”

Gabrielle licked her lips. So far, no one had asked her why she was looking — everyone she’d spoken to had been happy enough to answer her question, and go on about their way. These women, however, seemed to know Xena — or of her, in some way that made them scowl in distaste at the mention of her name.

“Actually, she’s my friend,” she answered. “I’m trying to catch up with her. We got…separated.”

“I wasn’t aware that Ares’s favorite was capable of making friends,” scoffed the blonde. Gabrielle couldn’t help that she glared at her words. Any mention of Ares made her skin crawl, and the implication of Xena being his favorite made her feel all the worse. 

“Well, she happens to have me, at least,” she shrugged. “She’s changed, if you haven’t heard. Not a huge fan of the war god now.”

At least, the war god's not too keen on her after I talked to him.

“Ah, yes, her heroic journey to complete as many quests as she can,” said the red-head. “We’ve heard of her exploits, yes.”

The blonde was still scowling, but the red-head’s eyes spoke something of admiration, even if she did try to look nonchalant. 

“Have you any news to share? Anything at all? I’m trying to figure out where she’s going.”

“I’m sure we’ve nothing that you haven’t heard,” came the answer. “Last we heard, she wrestled a lion in Heraklion.”

Gabrielle sighed. She’d been in Heraklion the week before, and had heard all about the heroic, albeit idiotic wrestling match. It would make for a good tale in the next tavern, but she couldn’t help but think that Xena had been, at least in that instant, impossibly reckless. It was one thing to promise to hunt down the lion rampaging in the vicinity of a town; it was entirely another to decide to bring it down with your damned bare hands.

“Where are you headed?”

“The next town,” Gabrielle sighed. “Assos. If I can find the way there, that is.”

The blonde tensed even before the red-haired one spoke, clearly guessing what her companion was about to say.

“Why don’t you join us? We’re headed that way.”

Gabrielle wondered if she was being too trusting, only briefly. Xena would have never joined two strange warriors on the road, women or not — but then again, Xena could fend for herself in a fight better than Gabrielle could.

For now, Gabrielle thought. She’d practice and get better at fighting. And when she found Xena, she’d ask her to teach her everything she knew.

“I’d love to,” she answered, smiling. “My name is Gabrielle.”

“I’m Terreis,” said the red-head. “And this is Ephiny.”

What had once been a village square and fish market had been reduced to a battlefield, bathed in blood. Men lay scattered across the pavement, sprawled where Xena had cut them down. Only one remained standing; Draco, once her lieutenant, a worthy adversary and a competent fighter.

Xena could feel her muscles beginning to fail. She’d fought for what felt like hours; darkness had fallen, and the stars had come out. There were wounds upon her that bled whenever she moved. The only reason she’d not yet succumbed to pain was the adrenaline — sweet adrenaline, driving her through pain and discomfort, putting her squarely on the edge of victory.

“Come along, Draco. Let’s end this.”

The man swayed where he stood, but when he moved, it was evident he still had much of his strength. Xena could not overpower him with sheer force alone; she had to use her wits.

When he charged her, she dodged. He gave chase; she ran.

It was not the most honorable way to fight, but being as tired as she was, she was willing to do anything.

Even something risky. 

There was a statue of Poseidon at the centre of the square. She ran to it, and with two leaps was atop it; Draco followed, and she swung from Poseidon’s bicep, hitting him square in the jaw with her heel. Draco flew, and she flew atop him, baring her sword and striking him in the gut, pinnig him to the ground with the force of her blow. Flesh was sliced, and his guts gave a squelching sound; blood fled the open wound to pool on the ground at her feet.

He blinked, staring at her, the face of his death. Xena thought she saw fear in his eyes. She was a fool to think herself the victor so soon. 

Draco’s hand swung. Weak, but sudden; pain flared in Xena’s side. He’d struck her with a dagger, not deep, only wounding — but Xena knew his habit. She knew that his dagger, always on its sheath on his belt, was tipped with a poison that usually left the victims writhing for days before succumbing to death.

“Damn you, Draco,” she hissed, twisting the sword in his gut. “You just had to make this more complicated.”

She stood and left the man to his death. The cut to her side burned; the other wounds, minor in comparison to the last, ached.

She felt her strength failing as the adrenaline pulled away from her as the tide does from a shore. She knelt to the ground, wincing in pain; she fell, fainting before she touched the pavement. As she slipped into the dark confines of her mind, she thought she saw figures approaching, and dearly hoped she’d be helped, and not killed.

As it turned out, joining two Amazons on their journey was about the most fascinating and adventuresome of a turn that Gabrielle could have never predicted her path would take. She had suspected, having seen their garb and their weapons, but it wasn’t until a brief stop at a roadside tavern that she knew, having been delightfully informed of her companion’s identities by the excessively loud gossipers. It had pleased her more than she could say to hear people speculating if she, too, was an Amazon; it had dampened her moods when to each speculation, the response had been a laughing scoff, as if the very notion were impossible.

That night, when they were camped out in a field bordering a town, Gabrielle gathered her courage and asked them to teach her to fight. Terreis was too tired from the day’s journey, and so pushed Ephiny to do it — Ephiny, who, unlike Terreis, had yet to take any liking to Gabrielle.

To say she left that training session bruised in both body and ego would be an understatement. She did, however, also gain a new friend; it did not escape her notice that after the training, where she did feel as though she’d done adequately well, Ephiny gave her a smile. The next morning, when they packed up, Ephiny helped her with her things without asking.

Gabrielle felt rather good after that. The Amazons were journeying north along the coast, and as her trail of Xena led that way, she was glad to have their company at least for a time. She felt safer, not being alone. The annoying tugging feeling at her heart had never once gone away, but in the past few days it had grown less; its silence, however, gave little solace to Gabrielle, and instead worried her. She felt as though she had to hurry, but knew not where.

She still didn’t sleep very well at night. The little she slept, she dreamed of Xena, and never in pleasant ways. She saw a thousand ways in which she could be hurt, a thousand ways in which she could be gone before she got to her. She saw her laying in bed, feverish, dying of some illness she could not name. She dreamed, and she worried, even if in waking hours she did not. Xena was fine; she was sure she was fine.

If the Amazons noticed her tormented nights, they said nothing of them in the mornings. But Gabrielle saw their concerned looks, and felt the pity that sat behind their words.

Xena lay in restless, endless sleep. Her whole body was burning and aching. She hadn’t even known her bones could ache as they now did. She hadn’t even known her jaw could throb with a constant, gnawing pain; she hadn’t even known she could be swimming in sweat, burning from within, and still be freezing, shaking as though she’d been encased in ice for quarter of a century.

She was aware, and she was not. She flowed through brief moments of waking, always in darkness, her eyes always bleary, unseeing. In those moments, she was aware of the fact that she was in a bed, in a house; that she was safe, and that she was being cared for. There was a woman that appeared in those moments, curly-haired, with a kind, gentle voice. She would sit by Xena’s bed and dab at her forehead with a cloth, speaking to her in a soothing voice of things that she couldn’t hear, or couldn’t comprehend. There were others, too, passers-by; Xena wasn’t entirely sure if they were all real. Twice she thought she’d seen Lyceus, and once her own mother; more times than she wanted, she’d seen Ares, lingering in the corner of the room. 

Gabrielle was present in her waking hours as in her sleep. Of her, Xena knew she was hallucinating; she knew, because she was always standing far, always by the door, eyeing her, never smiling. There were always tears on her cheeks, her eyes dark with desperation.

Get out of here , she had said, and though Xena had understood, her heart had shattered.

Get out of here , Gabrielle repeated in her dreams, her piercing, broken cry echoing through the endless halls that Xena wandered, seeking light, seeking respite from the darkness and the things that followed her within. She would run, her body aching in sleep as in waking, and she would enter rooms that were not rooms; forests that were not forests; villages that were not villages.

She would burn villages. She would raze forests. She would tear down the rooms. Over and over, destruction worked its will through her body, and she fought against it, and fought with it; pleasure coiled pain into a suffocating embrace within her soul, and falling in the depth of her dreams, Xena had no ability to escape it.

Xena lay in restless, endless sleep. She was dying, and her body was fighting, staving off the poison that coursed through her veins. She had been a fool to invoke Hades, she realized; she had been an even greater fool to never invoke Aphrodite in the moment when she had needed her blessing. 

“Gabrielle,” she murmured, her trembling lips curling around the name as though her mouth were loath to let it leave. 

She slept, restless, and all she wanted was for Gabrielle’s arms around her, Gabrielle’s shoulder to rest on, and Gabrielle’s voice in her ear, telling her it would be all right.

Chapter Text

The morning sun danced beautifully on the swirling waves of the river. Gabrielle watched the flow as it passed them by, faster than they were walking. Fish glinted silver in the green-blue depths, teasing them from afar; trees craned their long branches over the water, trailing their green boughs upon the flowing surface of the river.

Gabrielle thought about Xena. She’d never found out if she did catch fish with her bare hands. She made herself a mental note to ask her, once she got to it.

“Gabrielle? Can I ask you something?”

Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at Terreis. Ephiny was further up ahead, eyes scouring the path as if expecting enemies. 

“Yeah?” 

Terreis took a few running steps to walk abreast Gabrielle. “How did you become friends with Xena?”

Gabrielle was more surprised that it had taken Terreis this long to ask the question. She’d been expecting it within hours of them meeting; a week had gone by, and she’d almost thought her admission of ‘the Conqueror is a good friend of mine’ had gone unnoticed. 

“She…” Gabrielle paused to think. “She saved me from the dungeons in Corinth, from a very bad fate that would have been…horrible. She left and took me with her; she took care of me. She showed me that she was willing to change; that there was a human, a person within, with feelings, depth, and reasons for doing what she did. She was open, and I guess it just…it made sense to me.”

Terreis nodded thoughtfully. “But how did she show you? Why did you believe her? I’ve heard what has been told of her, of her ruthlessness, of her in battle. There are terrors that have gone in history, marked in the scrolls under her name. How does a person change from that? And why?”

Gabrielle was unsure as to what she could say. She didn’t want to spread all of Xena’s business bare and out to the world to see; some things, she felt, were best kept between her, and Xena.

And the gods of Olympus, apparently, but that was another thing entirely. 

“She left her life because she wanted change,” she began. “She felt empty; the life of the Conqueror was a role she took up because she was led into it, partly by her own decisions, partly by outside forces. There is no evil in her heart, as far as I can see. There is pain, there is hurt; she has been betrayed, and broken because of it. And because of that pain and hurt, she was a different person — a ruthless, cold, terrible person, doing evil things. But she…she wanted something different. She wants to be better; she wants to be good. It fulfills her, I think, just as doing evil deeds drained the life from her soul. Bringing war and ruin is never the answer in my opinion, there is always some other option; I believe she has accepted that, and has changed for the better.”

She looked ahead towards the bend in the river. A smile was playing on her lips, as it always did when she thought of Xena.

“She cannot fix the past. I know that. But she is good now; she is better each day. The deeds I hear, that I follow the trail of, I cannot help that I feel proud of her.”

“Did she do it for you?”

There was a question wound within Terreis’s words, unspoken. 

Gabrielle shook her head. “I’ll believe I was the inspiration, or part of it. But no, she did it for herself. For her own sake. I know that.”

If she’d done it just for me, she would have stopped the moment she left.

Terreis seemed lost in thought. Gabrielle was aching to ask her things, to know more of the Amazons than she already did; she’d asked and received just about all the knowledge that an outsider could get, and there was nothing left to say.

“You are very fortunate to have found such a friend.”

The way Terreis paused before the word friend made Gabrielle’s mind itch. She knew that Terreis had zeroed in on the part of Xena and her that was still unsaid, still unexplored. Something begun, but not yet in full; something Gabrielle was very unwilling to let slip from her grasp.

They turned the path from the river’s edge and into the woods. Tall beeches leaned over the road, shading them from the scorching sun. Gabrielle thought she heard a bird sing, somewhere far away; it occurred to her as strange that there were no more sounds in the woods. 

The arrow came out of nowhere. Gabrielle heard a twang, and felt air fly past her chest; she heard a thud, and a soft sigh from Terreis at her side. Ephiny was quicker than she to realize what was happening.

“It’s an ambush!”

More arrows appeared from nowhere. Gabrielle did not know what to think; in truth, she did not think. She grabbed Terreis as she began to fall, and only somewhat registered the arrow sticking out from her stomach as she dragged the Amazon to the side, seeking somewhere safe from the onslaught of arrows. It did not occur to her that she, too, was fallible, not in that moment — she thought only of the Amazon, wounded and coughing in pain, and sought only to protect her.

Ephiny was in the trees. There was a battle ensuing somewhere; Gabrielle leaned over Terreis, facing outward, and tried to see where the arrows were coming from. Her eyes caught movement in one of the trees ahead, black amidst the green gloom; she reached for her pack, instinctively, and felt a horrible, bone-jolting thud when an arrow struck into it. Water began to drip; evidently, her waterskin had been broken through.

Gabrielle reached for something, anything to protect herself, but found nothing. She grabbed Terreis and pulled her further into a hollow between the roots of a tree, and threw herself over the woman. 

“Ephiny! Up there, ahead of us, he’s—“

Another arrow, this time so forcefully sent that its tip poked through the other side of Gabrielle’s pack. She lay in front of Terreis as though her body would serve as a shield; fear trembled within her, but with it there was anger, rage at being attacked. Hatred, bubbling from deep within, from the wounds of helplessness that had only just begun to close.

Ephiny struck true wherever she went. Her dagger felled the bowman directly across from Gabrielle; skittering through the branches as though she were a squirrel, she found the rest of the ambush in haste, and made quick work of disposing of them.

When the all-clear was sounded, Gabrielle turned to Terreis. Terreis, lying beneath her, arrow deep in her gut. Terreis, breathing blood; Terreis, on the verge of death.

Gabrielle gathered the woman in her arms. Tears wetted her cheeks, blood spread on her hands; Terreis sought to grasp her arm, and Gabrielle took her hand, gripping tightly as though her hold alone could prevent the woman slipping into death and the beyond.

“You protected me,” Terreis whispered, her breaths ragged. “You did what only another Amazon would do for another.”

“Don’t try to speak, you’re going to be fine—“

“Gabrielle, you— you tried to save me.”

Gabrielle wept. 

“I want you—,” Terreis rasped, “I want you to take my Right of Cast. My rights as an Amazon, to the throne; will you take it, Gabrielle? I have to pass it on before—“

Ephiny appeared. Her face blanched when he saw the arrow; she stared in horror, but seemed unable to summon any words.

“I’ll take it,” Gabrielle said, wanting to ease Terreis in whatever she would. “I’ll take it, but please, don’t—“

The body in her arms relaxed. Terreis’s features fell slack, painless; the hand in Gabrielle’s own slipped from her grasp. 

Tears fell in the silence of the forest. Sunlight glinted through the trees; birds began to sing again.

Xena dreamed of Gabrielle. She dreamed of her touch, her feel, the scent that lingered in the crook of her neck; she dreamed of her smile, of her eyes, of her voice, telling her a tale or that, making jokes. She dreamed of her in her arms, the perfect fit. She dreamed of the way the morning's light made her sleepy eyes shine; she dreamed of the tender, yet determined way she touched her sometimes, grabbing her hand, moving her out of the way, lifting her foot off something she needed. Even when she smacked her, there was an intentional tenderness to it; everything that Gabrielle did had that intentional tenderness to it, not softness, not weakness, something stronger, something rarer. She dreamed of more, of the things that made her ache the worst — of her kisses, of the taste of her mouth, of the taste of her. The feel of her wrist in her hand, pressed against a wall, her pulse a featherlight battering against her skin under her palm. The feel of her body flush against her own, trembling in the leadup to a climax. The touch of her, tender and determined, intentional when she had drawn her to orgasm in a way that no one had ever done. Her whispers, her need; the way she had demanded Xena be hers, and Xena had given in, even if she hadn't answered the demand with words. She dreamed most of the sweet, hazy look that settled in Gabrielle's eyes after she'd fucked her and brought her satisfaction; soft, satisfied, rendered entirely hers, even if she had yet to say it. 

It seemed to help her forget the ache of her body, focusing on the ache in her heart.

The fever had eased, but she was not yet well. She would live, the healer said, but she had some time to go yet before she'd be well enough to leave. For the most part, she slept.

On occasion, the woman that tended her, a villager by the name of Althea, spoke to her. She spoke of mundane things, everyday things; she reminded Xena much of her own mother, in ways that made her hurt. Xena was so impossibly weak that even a few sentences would leave her winded. Beyond that, her mind was weary, and plagued by visions and dreams — she could hardly hold a thought, let alone a conversation without immense strain. She slept, she was awake; she ached.

They burned Terreis’s body on a pyre later that evening. Gabrielle did not know what to say, and so she said nothing; Ephiny was withdrawn, inconsolable, and, at times, seemed angry at Gabrielle.

When confronted, she would not respond. Not at first. But Gabrielle tried again the next morning, and would not let the subject drop.

“You took upon yourself all that she had,” Ephiny sighed, resigning to her fate. “Her possessions, her rights. She was a princess; that makes you a princess, heir to Melosa. Should she die, you will have a right to claim the throne.”

Gabrielle felt as though she’d walked face-first into a wall. “A…what? Surely…no.”

“Our traditions are that easy to make light of, are they?”

“No, I didn’t mean offense, I—“

“What is done, is done. You’re one of us now,” Ephiny said quietly, staring ahead into the shade of the trees. “Her things are yours.”

Gabrielle eyed the small pile of items and found she wished to have none of them. “You…you should take them to her sister. Melosa.”

Ephiny nodded and reached for the things. “You’re sure?”

Gabrielle eyed a small dagger for a while before taking it. “I’ll take this to remember her by,” she said. “And her pack,” she realized, thinking back to her own, ripped to pieces by arrows. “So that tradition is honored.”

She knew Ephiny did not like her. She hoped that, with time, her hurt would ease, and she’d realize that whatever dislike she had was misplaced. 

“Does this mean I have to come with you?”

Ephiny stared at her for a long time. “No. You may, if you want. You’re one of us; I’ll take to our, to your tribe, if you so wish. But you do not have to.”

Gabrielle bit her lip. There was a town just a few miles from here, one big enough for a tavern. Her thread to Xena was growing thin, but was still unbroken. She would not stray from her path, not now, not ever. She felt like she was so close.

“I’ll go on my own.”

Ephiny nodded. “Very well.”

“Could you— could you draw me a map, though? In case I ever do want to come.”

Ephiny stared at the scroll that Gabrielle was offering her with distaste. “We do not usually mark our lands on paper. It makes it easier to find us.”

“I’ve never been there, and I know I won’t find the way otherwise. I’ll keep it safe; please,” Gabrielle pleaded. 

Begrudgingly, Ephiny scribbled some semblance of a map onto the scroll. She handed it to Gabrielle, who tucked it safely into the pack that had been Terreis’s, and which was now hers. It was leather where hers had been woven straw; it was well-worn, scraped in places, but waterproof where hers had not been. 

“Well…”

“My path lies backward,” Ephiny said. “Our ways part now, I think.”

Gabrielle didn’t know if she was supposed to hug Ephiny or do something else. In the end, she clasped her hand, awkwardly, and said their goodbyes. No more was said; Ephiny turned on her heel and walked off into the woods, to head back to the tribe that now, apparently, was also Gabrielle’s own.

The tavern was airy and light, reflecting the atmosphere of the town it belonged to. Gabrielle stepped within with a smile on her face, sensing at once that the people here were at ease, without worries. Seeing mirth and joy in the faces of others eased the sorrow that sat upon her heart. 

She settled at the bar, wanting to catch as much gossip as she could. Hunger evaded her, but thirst did not; she bought a large tankard of ale, and toasted to Terreis with the first sip before downing half of it soon thereafter. A warm buzz settled within her, and she felt comfortable. 

“Any news?” she asked from the woman sat beside her. She had dark hair, much like Xena, but her eyes were brown. She looked softer, too. Xena had a sharpness to her features that sat easy on Gabrielle’s eyes.

“Nothing since last week’s,” answered she. 

“I just got into town,” Gabrielle smiled. “I’ve been crossing country, and didn’t meet anyone on my way here. What happened last week?”

The woman’s eyes widened with the glee of someone who had a juicy tale to tell. She leaned forward, and began the telling — but, if she had hoped to have her conversation-partner excited or elated by the tale, she was to be sorely disappointed.

“We’d all heard rumors that the warlord Draco had taken over this village on the coast, Petras. Horrible man, that; he burned villages down just for fun and killed the people, instead of doing the usual threatening and demanding alliance that most warlords do. He didn’t care if you swore allegiance; he’d cut your head off just for the joy of seeing the blood spray as if from a fountain.”

Gabrielle nodded along, wishing the woman were not such an aspiring bard. She wondered if she herself was this insufferable at times, and quickly dismissed the thought; it was no use to strike herself down so soon in her rise to fame with the talents of a bard.

“Anyway, who should come along to Petras but the warrior princess herself?”

Now she was hooked. Gabrielle leaned forward, her grip on her tankard tightening.

“She fought him and his army all alone. Thirty men, slain or fleeing; she struck him down last with Poseidon’s fist, if you’d believe it. But the bastard Draco, he was cunning even in his death. He struck her with a poisoned dagger and cursed her with his dying breath.”

Gabrielle wasn’t sure if she herself was breathing. “What happened then?”

The woman shrugged. “Well, the village was saved.”

“No, to Xena?”

“Oh, the warrior princess? I’m not sure. Last I heard, she was very ill with the poison. They said she wouldn’t last a few days; she might be dead, for all I know.”

Gabrielle felt the urge to upend the rest of her drink over the woman’s head. Of course, it was not her fault that she didn’t realize Gabrielle was in effect dying herself, hardly breathing, thinking of Xena — Xena, hurt, Xena, dying. 

Xena, dead. She had feared it, and still, she had convinced herself that all would be well. That Xena was fine, Xena had to be fine. That she'd find her eventually and they'd talk it out, and all would be well.

“How far is Petras?”

She couldn’t even disguise the fact that her voice was shaking. 

“Oh, it’s just down the way. Five miles, maybe? Follow the coastal road and then take the cliff-path down to the shore. It’s hard to miss.”

Gabrielle was gone before the aspiring bard had even time to register that she’d risen from her seat.

She did not run. She wanted to, but she did not; she could not. She wanted to have some semblance of control, and strength left when she arrived in Petras. She was sure she would need it, for better or for worse; her world was crashing down around her, and all her anxieties, all her fears were condensing into one, heavy, impossible knot in her chest, coiling and twisting, making it impossible to breathe.

All this time, she hadn’t once considered that Xena might be seriously hurt. She’d heard her heroic tales and had figured there were wounds, scrapes, and bruises, but she’d never once seriously considered that death was, in truth, always lurking over Xena’s shoulder. She hadn’t dared to think that Xena might be dead already.

Even now, as she took the cliff-path and began the winding way down to the village nestled in a small bay looking out to sea, she could not think of it. It felt impossible; it had to be impossible.

Xena couldn’t die. Not like this, not ever.

She walked as if a ghost, a woman caught in a dream. A nightmare. All seemed calm in the village, calm, and quiet. The day was turning to a close — the sun was setting into the sea, painting its still surface a vibrant, lively shade of gold.

A woman met her at the edge of the village square. She looked wary, though she was sure it was more for her being a stranger, and not for her being a threat.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted her. “Why have you come here? We have no inn, and no tavern. The road ends here.”

Gabrielle looked at the woman and steeled herself for whatever answer she would give. “Is Xena here?”

Her voice broke on Xena’s name. She waited, for what felt like an eternity, until the woman smiled, gently — in a way that spoke of understanding, almost.

“She’s been staying with me. Are you Gabrielle? Come, I can take you to her.”

She knows my name?

Gabrielle blinked. “She’s…she’s alive?”

The woman smiled again. “Yes, and she’s healing beautifully.”

Chapter Text

Xena was having a pleasant dream, filled with sunshine and softness. She was in a flowery meadow, laying in the grass, watching two butterflies dance in the air above. Her head rested in Gabrielle’s lap, soft and warm; Gabrielle’s fingers were in her hair, drawing gentle circles along her scalp. She was so beautiful, draped in softness, defined by a shining light within. A smile on her pretty, kissable lips.

Sweet, soft bliss.

Something nudged her. Xena frowned and buried herself deeper into Gabrielle’s embrace, annoyed at the intrusion. Something cold and annoying, nagging; a feeling of something shaking her shoulder, trying to pull her away from this pleasant dream.

The dream faded away. Xena swayed on the edges of sleep and waking; she was growing more and more aware of the hand that lay on her shoulder, shaking her. She grumbled and tried to roll over, reaching for the blanket to hide away from this rude awakening. She tried in vain; the hand kept her where she was. There was another on her face, she realized, and a voice speaking—

“Xena, damn it, open your eyes! I know you’re awake.”

Xena blinked her eyes open and frowned in confusion when she saw Gabrielle’s face just inches from her own. She looked angry; Xena could not for the life of her figure out what she’d done to deserve it.

“Gabrielle?”

“What were you thinking ?” she was demanding, giving her another shake. “Fighting off an army on your own? Are you insane? You almost got yourself killed!”

Xena sat up and reached her hand up to her eyes, rubbing vigorously to try and wake up faster. Without wanting to, she yawned, even as Gabrielle kept saying things she didn’t hear. She felt fine; she’d been fine for days, really. Weak and weary, but healthy enough. This abrupt awakening, to Gabrielle of all people, was beyond confusing — she was, in truth, at a loss as to what to do. She wasn't even sure if what was happening, was really happening; perhaps it was all just a strange hallucination.

“Gabrielle, what are you doing here?”

Gabrielle smacked her on the arm. Definitely not a hallucination; the strike stung, just the slightest bit. “I can’t believe you! You had me worried sick! Fighting all through Greece, wrestling lions, fist-fights with cyclopes, a knife-throwing bet? And this? What, thirty, forty men all on your own? Have you actually lost your mind?”

She looked like she was winding up for another smack, but instead she just threw her arms around Xena’s neck and fell upon her, her grip tight enough to choke. Xena coughed and adjusted Gabrielle so that she didn’t press on the bandaged wound on her side. Even for her weakened state, Gabrielle was easy to maneuver around, a perfect fit in her arms.

“And what about that shaman? I heard—“

“Gabrielle.”

If Gabrielle had been about to say something else to express her very evident frustration, she fell silent at the tone of Xena’s voice. 

“What?”

“Yell at me later.”

Gabrielle pulled back so that she could look at Xena. Her eyes were edged with red, just on the brink of brimming with tears. 

Has she been crying?

Her lips were parted and thoughts were running amuck behind her eyes. Xena guessed that she was looking for something to say, and watched her carefully, trying to read her expression to gauge the feelings within. The fact that she was there spoke for itself; the fact that she was, apparently, very angry at her for getting hurt, spoke even more.

In the end, Xena grew tired of waiting. She slid a hand to the back of Gabrielle’s neck and pulled her closer, kissing those parted lips with a careful, tentative tenderness. It wasn’t just that she wanted to; she needed to, now that she had the chance that she’d thought so long she wouldn’t have. She felt a shaky breath against her lips, spilling into her mouth as Gabrielle deepened the kiss, and then felt Gabrielle’s hands on her arms, finding a firm grip as if she were afraid she’d pull away.

It was Gabrielle who finally broke contact and leaned back, eyeing Xena carefully. Her anger seemed to have subsided for the present; a different, more pensive look sat in her eye.

“Please tell me that’s what you came here for,” Xena whispered, tightening her arms around her. Relief was beginning to flood the shores of her mind; she hoped she’d chosen right, and read Gabrielle correctly in assuming that all would, in the end, be well between them. 

“Well, I came here to apologize, but kissing is good too,” Gabrielle replied, a pretty blush on her cheeks. Her mood shifted quickly, turning back to where it had been before. “I still can’t believe you—”

“Gabrielle, please,” Xena groaned, leaning her head back. “I just woke up. I am not well equipped to be yelled at. Besides, you said you were here to apologize; berating me doesn’t sound much like an apology.”

“Fine, fine,” Gabrielle said quickly, putting her hands up. “But you have to know, I’m not done.”

“No?”

Gabrielle ignored her question, her attention drifting. She chewed her lip, her brows furrowed. Xena watched as she sat a little back and appraised her figure, nodding to herself as though she were taking stock. Fingertips found their way to the edge of the blanket, pulling it back, and ran to the hem of Xena’s shirt, lifting it.

A soft sigh left Gabrielle’s lips when she shook her head at the sight of the bandages that wrapped Xena’s stomach.

“You know, if you wanted to get me topless, you could’ve just asked.”

Gabrielle shot Xena a dirty look. “This time, I’m really not looking for that.” She paused, and a mischievous grin ran to her lips. She lifted the shirt a little more, earning a yelp and a smack from the warrior. 

“Hey! I was just checking that they were all good and safe.”

“They’re perfectly secure, thank you,” Xena grumbled. “I should know, they’re attached to me.”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Too bad.”

"Can I?"

"No."

“Please?”

“Oh, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Ple-ease?”

Xena shook her head no. “Nope, not doing it.”

Gabrielle just shook her head. “I’ll find a way yet. Just you wait.”

Xena stared at her, completely in awe. She had at times toyed with the idea of reuniting with Gabrielle, but never once had she imagined anything near the sequence of events that had occurred here, now, in the last five or so minutes. To be thus yelled at, and then to fall with such ease into their playful banter — it should have been impossible. Nothing could be that easy, right?

“You know, you’re impossible.”

“Why?”

Xena shook her head in exasperation. “You’re gone for what, a month? And you appear, seemingly out of nowhere, to yell at me on my deathbed —“

“You’re not dying! Althea said you're not, she said you're almost fine again,” Gabrielle cut in, a flush on her cheeks. “But I thought—“

She fell silent. Now Xena understood the redness of her eyes and the agitation in her posture; she had thought she was dead, or at least dying. She had been crying, wherever she'd come from. How long had she known she was ill? How far had she traveled? How had she even known she'd been hurt?

How long had Gabrielle been worrying, hurting, crying without her knowing about it?

“Well, I am very much not dead,” she found herself saying, reaching for Gabrielle’s hand. Almost immediately, she cursed herself and cringed — there had to have been a thousand and one better ways to say it than what had come out of her mouth. “I’m all right. Wounded, but alive.”

Gabrielle looked frail. How quickly the mask of anger fell, to reveal the vulnerable, scared creature within. She was worried, and deeply so; to see her in such a state made Xena’s own heart ache.

Her hand lay upon Gabrielle’s. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around Gabrielle’s wrist and firmly moved her hand up, underneath her shirt, onto her chest. 

“Feel.”

“What, your boobs?”

Xena pressed Gabrielle’s hand flat against her chest, just above the aforementioned boobs. “My heart, Gabrielle.”

“I’m feeling a lot of boob here,” Gabrielle said — and sniffled. Her hand moved a little, the base of her palm pressing into the soft swell of Xena’s breasts. Xena watched her for a moment, quiet and definitely straining to feel, or notice the strong thudding of her heart. When she felt it, it was painstakingly obvious in her eyes; a light danced into them, and soon thereafter a smile came upon her lips.

“See? I’m fine,” Xena said.

Gabrielle sighed and withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry. This is going all wrong-way up and sideways.”

“What is?” Xena asked, frowning. All she wanted was for Gabrielle to lay down with her and settle; she didn’t like the look of the tension that sat upon her shoulders. It nagged at her that she wasn’t half as good at unwinding Gabrielle’s emotions and getting her to settle with ease as Gabrielle was at doing the same to her. 

“This,” Gabrielle muttered. “Finding you. Coming to you. I had all these things I was going to say and it just…fell apart. I fell apart. I was so scared, and I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you yelled?”

“No, that was still justified, but I could have picked a better moment,” replied she, shaking her head. Her breaths were shaky, too; when she looked up at Xena, her eyes were brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Xena. I followed you, I searched for you, and it took so long — gods, I’m so sorry, Xena, I’m so sorry that I was so late, that I didn’t come at once, I would have, I swear, but my parents locked me up in the guestroom and they wouldn’t let me leave and it took me so long to talk them down and to even get going, and by then you’d been long gone and I had to track you down, and when I got to the last town today and I heard you'd been hurt and you were dying, I thought I was going to die, I couldn't even breathe, and now I’m worried you hate me and don’t even want to see me but I had to see you, and I—“

Xena’s arms enclosed Gabrielle into a world of their own, pulling tightly, pressing her up close against Xena’s chest as she sat up and pulled her to sit across her lap. “You’re rambling, Gabrielle,” Xena murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Breathe.”

And she breathed, because in truth she’d not breathed properly since the words had begun to fall. Perhaps even longer; perhaps, in some quiet way, she’d not held a full breath since she had screamed at Xena that night a month before, telling her to leave.

“I don’t hate you. Let’s start there,” Xena spoke after a while. “I’ve missed you.”

When spoken, the words became a truth acknowledged; the pain of the last month came crashing down, and Xena tensed, tightening her hold of Gabrielle.

“Are you okay—?” Gabrielle asked, moving, thinking she’d hurt her. 

“I’m fine,” Xena muttered, wiping away a stray tear. “Don’t go. You’re perfect where you are.”

Gabrielle relaxed into her embrace as if she were melting into her whole being, not knowing just how seriously Xena meant her words. A soft sound of satisfaction carried upon her breath; her hands settled, one on Xena’s chest, the other finding a spot on her waist, under the hem of her shirt.

“Wait,” Xena said after a moment. She moved backward so that she could lean against the headboard, giving some ease to her back that had been beginning to ache. “There. That’s good.”

She laced her fingers through Gabrielle’s hair and sighed. It felt good; it felt perfect. All that concerned her now was unwinding Gabrielle’s anxieties and worries; she was no good at it, but damn it, she was going to try.

“Your parents locked you up?” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the most important place to start, but it was the most pressing. There were too many questions about that night that Xena wanted answered. 

She felt Gabrielle shift in her lap, adjusting where she lay her head. 

“Yeah, they…I told them that I wanted to go travel with you. They decided I was out of my mind and figured that the best course of action was to ground me, as if I was still a child,” Gabrielle muttered. Her fingertips were drawing patterns on Xena’s arm, tracing along the smooth lines and ridged bumps of her many scars. “So I spent a week or so stuck in that room, pleading for them to see sense. Which I think they did in the end — or at the very least, I made a compelling enough threat that they had no choice but to let me go.”

Xena gave her a slight squeeze. “What threat?”

“I told them they could either let me go freely, and I’d come see them every now and again,” Gabrielle said quietly. “Or they could wait for me to figure out a way to run away, and they’d never see me again once I did.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You meant it? You would’ve run away to come to me?”

“Definitely,” Gabrielle nodded, her voice rising a little. “Not just because I had to get to you. I mean, yes, you’re important to me, but— it was more about how insulting it was that they wouldn’t trust me to choose for myself. Gods forbid I want to do something other than marry the man they pick for me and pop out babies—“ she stopped herself, and sighed. The fingertips on Xena’s forearm resumed their tracing.

Xena frowned, feeling like the mention of a man and babies was a subject that needed revisiting, even if the very idea of Gabrielle with a husband made her feel physically ill. On the other hand, there were other words in the words preceding man and babies that made her heart swell with warmth.

You’re important to me.

She said it with such ease, Xena could hardly believe that Gabrielle was talking about herself.

 Gabrielle, however, continued on speaking, and Xena realized it was time to listen, not talk. Definitely not time to think, not yet.

“Even after I gave this whole speech about you and pleaded for them to see that it was pointless to blame you for something some warlord did, they still thought of you as this…monster,” she huffed. “The closest to reason was when my mother said that even if you weren’t a monster, you were still always in danger, trouble, going on quests, living this adventurous life — and that surely, that wasn’t suited for me. That I couldn’t know what I wanted, because why would I ever want that, when I could live on a farm of my own someday, quietly and calmly, happy…”

Xena had to admit, there were points in Gabrielle’s words that she, too had wondered. The farm life was not for Xena — she was far too much a woman of action — but she had ruminated, many times over the course of the month spent apart, on whether the quieter, calmer life was what Gabrielle deserved. Not the adventure and danger; something safe, that would make her happy.

As it was, she had spent the past month thinking Gabrielle had happily chosen that life. Apparently, she had been dead wrong.

Gabrielle’s voice cut through her thoughts and gave her the answer she’d been wanting.

“I want to see the world,” she was saying. “I want to experience things. Go on adventures, danger be damned, I can learn to defend myself. I want to travel and write, and I want to do it with you.”

She pulled back, suddenly, eyes wide seeking to meet Xena’s. “You do still want me to go with you, right? Together? I mean—“

She’s so nervous when there’s no need to be , Xena hummed to herself. Adorable .

She kissed Gabrielle before giving her an answer, savoring her sweet silliness and anxiety for just a moment longer. The sight of her was to Xena a sense of fulfillment; there was beauty there that drew her eye, filled her heart, and made her feel immensely, intensely protective. 

“I want you, Gabrielle. With me, together with me, however you like. I want—“ 

She faltered, and suddenly felt as though she’d stumbled far ahead, to a place where she’d never yet been. Instinct told her she was in danger; her heart told her that she was safe.

“Will you be mine?”

Gabrielle stared at her. Thoughts were running in her mind again; thoughts, realizations, and, Xena guessed, a lot of unsettled anxieties that now, with her question, were quickly amounting to nothing. There was nothing to worry about; she didn’t hate her, she was forgiven, she’d missed her. She just wanted her.

“Of course, Xena. Was there even a hint that I’d say no?”

Xena shrugged. “You have plenty of sensible reasons to say no. Our history, for one. It wasn’t that long ago that you were telling me you hated me. And your parents certainly seem to have a made a case against me.”

“This isn’t about them. Or about what others who know nothing would consider sense,” Gabrielle said quietly. “And my feelings for you have changed, with good reason. I have no doubts. Do you?”

“None.”

The answer was given so easy, so quick, and Xena did not even realize that it might imply something. Yet when she saw Gabrielle’s eyes narrow, green tilting to darkness, she did realize, and the need to speak of the unspoken between them sparked up upon her, out of nowhere.

“Something’s changed. Your quest…”

Xena nodded. “I was going to tell you, but you seemed to need time to…” her words faded away before the sudden intensity in Gabrielle’s eyes. 

“Go on.”

“I, um…” Xena swallowed. “The night at the village, after I…left. I waited a few days, not far away, for you.”

She saw Gabrielle flinch, and brought up a hand to stroke her cheek. “It’s fine, I understand why you didn’t come. But while I was waiting, Dike visited me. And, hm…seems my quest was fulfilled. I have my soul. Had my soul for a while by then, apparently.”

“Really?”

“You sound a little too surprised, seeing as it hinged all on you, and how you felt about me,” Xena pointed out. “She mentioned something about how you spoke up for me.”

Gabrielle’s hand touched her own. Her eyes were studying her face, appraising her; taking it all in. “I did. Not sure if I made an impact, but I…I did realize it myself fully that night, I think. That I forgive you. And that I trust you.”

“And you don’t fear me?”

“I thought that one was settled before?”

Xena’s mind flickered back to memories of that night. Of Gabrielle against the wall, begging; of Gabrielle on her knees, so pretty; of Gabrielle, breathtakingly beautiful in the midst of her pleasure, straddling her lap—

“Hey! Focus, you pervert.”

Xena glared at Gabrielle. “You don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Oh? Don’t I?” Gabrielle teased, leaning in closer, just a breath away from a kiss. “You weren’t thinking of the first time you fucked me?”

Xena smirked. “Not quite.”

“No?”

She looked almost disappointed. She definitely looked excited, playful, and Xena could not help herself. The opportunity to tease was far too delicious not to grasp. 

“No, but close,” Xena smiled, pulling her in closer, lacing her fingers through Gabrielle’s hair, so pretty, like gold spun into fine thread. “I thought of how pretty you looked, in my grasp against the wall. On your knees for me. In my lap. You belong in my arms, Gabrielle; it’s where you are the most beautiful.”

Xena could not help herself, really. She made a fist and pulled Gabrielle’s head back by the hair, sweeping to kiss and suck at her throat. A low moan vibrated through Gabrielle’s lips, unbidden and a little too loud. A loud slap filled the room when Gabrielle threw her hand over her own mouth to keep herself quiet.

The urge to whisper ‘good girl’ in Gabrielle’s ear had never yet been so immense. Xena bit her tongue to still it. They were hardly alone; Althea was in the next room, and she was fairly certain that the walls were thin.

“There’ll be time for this later,” she murmured, kissing Gabrielle’s jaw. She unlaced her fingers from her hair and smoothed it with her palm. “Won’t there?”

Gabrielle was staring at her with eyes full of equal amounts of lust and frustration. “You’re impossible,” she grumbled. “Teasing me like that with no intention of indulging me.”

“I almost died, sweetheart,” Xena replied sweetly, kissing her on the lips. “I’m in no condition to indulge you the way you deserve, not just yet.”

She regretted bringing it up the moment she saw darkness pass into Gabrielle’s eyes.

“Don’t joke about that, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Xena apologized, and truly meant it. 

It was a world of their own, sitting there in that small side-room. Xena found her heart was complete with Gabrielle in her arms; Gabrielle found that the disquieting, tense nerves that had danced upon her mind for weeks fell silent when she laid her head on Xena’s chest and listened to the beating of her heart.

“What happened here, anyway?” she finally asked. “When you got hurt?”

Xena’s thumb was drawing circles on the skin of her shoulder. “Do you know the name of the warlord that attacked Potidaea?”

Gabrielle frowned at the question to a question, but answered nonetheless. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I, um…” Xena’s nerves sparked up and flared in her mind. “After I left, I, ah, I didn’t think you were coming back. I figured you had decided to stay with your family and didn’t want to intrude — which, if you want to do, you can, I won’t—“

“Xena, be quiet. I’m going with you; stop trying to convince me otherwise,” Gabrielle cut in, before the rambling fell into words that could not be taken back. “I’d really hate to find anything in common between you and my mother. It might make things disturbing.”

Xena let out a hollow, slightly frightened laugh. “Ah. Fine. I just had to make sure.”

“You’re nervous, and you’re rambling as if you’re avoiding saying something. Why did you come to this village?”

“I figured that if I couldn’t have you with me, I could at least do something for you. So I tracked the warlord down, Draco. I found him here; I killed him. I took revenge, Gabrielle — I dealt him justice, and I do not feel bad that I did. He was a horrible man.”

Xena couldn’t stop herself from flinching when Gabrielle’s hand came to her cheek. The way she grabbed at her jaw was far from gentle; she turned her face so that she could look at her, her eyes wide. Gabrielle was looking at her with such a mixture of emotion that Xena could genuinely not tell what came up on top; anger, frustration, disbelief mixed with adoration, awe, and, most definitely, shock.

“You did what ?”

There wasn’t more, really, to what Xena had said. “I killed the man who attacked Potidaea. That’s it,” she told Gabrielle. “I can give you a play-by-play, but I somehow suspect that’s not what you’re after here.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes, that’s what killing usually does.”

Gabrielle smacked her on the arm. “You did it for me ?”

“For you, for your village,” Xena told her, unsure as to why she was getting so angry. “For justice.”

A thought danced on her mind, wondering if this had been Dike’s true intention: turning her into some force of justice in the world. Try as she might, she did not hate the thought entirely. Being a hero felt good.

Gabrielle continued to process for some time longer. The conclusion of her thoughts came as another hard smack to Xena’s arm, followed by hard, trembling words.

“You did it for me?” she was asking, demanding, “You went into that fight for me? You almost got killed, and if you had, it would have been for my sake?”

“Yes, but I didn’t get killed.”

“But you could have!”

Clearly, the thought of her brushing against death’s door was overwhelming for Gabrielle. The sheer mention of it ripped her open and raw; Xena hugged her closer, kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheek, and tried to soothe her as best she could. 

“I can’t believe you,” she spoke into her neck, speaking through heaving breaths. “You— foolish, idiotic, of all the things— to do that for me, what if it had gone wrong? I couldn’t have lived with that! Gods…“

“Gabrielle—“

“I’m sorry, I’m just…I can’t stop thinking about—“ her hand was in Xena’s shirt again, seeking the place where it had lain earlier. When she did so, Xena realized that she had unwittingly given Gabrielle a gesture by which she could seek solace, and which she now sought on her own. 

Slowly, with practiced breaths and her hand on Xena’s chest, Gabrielle calmed down.

“Thank you.”

Xena relaxed when she heard Gabrielle’s words. For a moment, she had worried that revenge hadn’t been what Gabrielle wanted; that her act would remain an unspoken wall between them, weighing heavy and stinging at the edges.

“I’m not one for revenge, usually, but…” Gabrielle kissed Xena’s collarbone. “Thank you. It feels strange, but in a good way; safer, I think. That he’s not out there anymore.”

“Him, and most of his warriors,” Xena said firmly. “They’re either dead, or they ran for the hills. They’ll think twice about making trouble now.”

She felt Gabrielle’s laugh dance on her skin like the wings of a butterfly in the summer sun. “Should I be worried?” she asked, laughing again. “Should it worry me that I don’t hate the fact that you’ve killed for me?”

Xena chuckled and rested her head atop Gabrielle’s. “Perhaps. But to be a lover of mine, it might be a requirement to at least feel comfortable with the thought. I’d kill to protect you; I have killed to protect you. I won’t let anyone touch you, Gabrielle. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

It eased her heart when she felt Gabrielle relax in her arms. When her hand drifted from her chest down lower, to the bandages on her stomach, she tensed just a little.

“How did this happen?”

“Draco got in one blow when I was busy driving my sword into his gut,” Xena answered, truthful to a fault. “With a dagger that he kept tipped in poison. The wound isn’t that deep, but it got infected.”

“You’re fine now?”

“Almost,” Xena sighed, relishing the calm that had settled upon them. “The fever broke a few days ago. With a day or two of rest, I should be good to leave.”

Gabrielle fell asleep after some time. Xena sat there, holding her for what might have been an hour; having slept most of the afternoon, she didn’t feel much inclined for sleep, not yet. She dozed, and found herself listening to the sounds of the house. The door, as she’d suspected, was not particularly thick — she could hear perfectly well the conversation Althea was having with someone, presumably a neighbor, at her kitchen table.

“Who is this woman again?” the other was asking, clinking something — probably a spoon in a mug. “You said her name was Gabrielle. You think it’s the same Gabrielle she was crying out for in her fever? I thought you said you weren’t sure if it was Gabriel, or Gabrielle that she was calling for.”

Xena tensed. She’d figured that she must have mumbled Gabrielle’s name once or twice — she hadn’t realized that Althea had, apparently, decided to gossip about it, too. She might have been angry had she not been presently very interested in hearing the rest of the conversation; she sat up slightly, shifting the sleeping Gabrielle in her arms, and laid her down on the bed before padding to the door with care to not make any noise.

“It’s strange,” Althea was saying. “But I’m fairly certain that’s her wife.”

“Her wife ?”

Xena, stood at the door, mouthed the same words and mirrored the same astonishment on her face.

My wife?

“Well, I know we don’t do such things here, not marriages anyway, there’s no need — look at Jemma and Thalia, they’re perfectly happy as is. But you know how things are in the wider world. You’ve heard all about Athenians and their…tastes. And Sparta, well, there’s lewd tales to tell!”

“So she hasn’t said anything?”

“Well, no, I haven’t had the chance to talk to them,” Althea answered. “Figured they needed their privacy.”

“Then why do you think she’s her wife?”

Xena was just as keen to find the answer out for herself. She hadn’t thought her love for Gabrielle was that outpouring, not yet; she knew it, felt it, and felt it now swelling within her, thinking of her as her wife — a distant dream, but one she had, for a little time, began to entertain as a possible step faraway in the future. Far, far in the future, down the path that she was fairly certain she and Gabrielle were now set upon. Or, if not upon it yet, they were about to be. 

“When she got here, she was all sweet, asking how she was. The moment she found out that Xena was fine, she stormed into the room, shook her awake, and proceeded to yell at her. A lover might come to you and kiss you and weep, expressing concern. Only a wife would storm to your deathbed to yell at you,” Althea chuckled. “Only a wife would call you an idiot for almost dying, kiss you, and keep calling you an idiot and yell at you some more.”

Xena heard hearty laughter. She herself felt her face grow all kinds of hot, and sank to the floor, back against the door. She buried her face in her hands and knew not whether to laugh or to cry. 

Gabrielle, you...impossible woman .

She sat there for a while, listening to the women’s conversation. Gabrielle slept peacefully in the bed; outside, the moon began to rise, spilling silver into the room. When Xena heard footsteps approaching the door, she sprang to her feet just as Althea came knocking, quietly pushing the door open. Xena stopped her before she opened it in full, fearing the ray of light might wake Gabrielle — instead she slipped out herself, giving Althea a faint smile.

“She’s sleeping,” she said, doing her best to not betray that she’d been eavesdropping. 

“I was going to ask if you needed anything. You’d been in there a long time,” Althea said, smiling in a way that seemed knowing.

“Thank you, but I think…I think we’re good.”

Her stomach rumbled, and she made a face. “I might be hungry.”

“Come along, dear, there’s stew keeping warm by the fire,” Althea said gently. “And your—“

“Gabrielle might want some, too, later,” Xena cut in, deciding she didn’t want to confront the question of ‘wife or not’ with Althea. Let the woman think as she liked; in truth, she wasn’t quite sure what she would call Gabrielle, besides her own.

She thought it, thought of Gabrielle as her own, and almost stumbled in her steps as she walked to the table. The soft weakness that came with the thought was unheard of; she had never yet felt it’s like. 

Xena was almost done with her stew when the door to the room creaked open and a bleary-eyed, frail-looking Gabrielle stepped out. The moment her eyes fell upon Xena, she relaxed — a fact which did not escape the notice of anyone in the room. Xena saw, and so too did Althea and her friend and neighbor, Penelope. Xena was all too aware of their knowing looks and quiet whispers as she watched Gabrielle walk across the room, smile at the two women sat by the hearth, and come to take a seat on the bench at her side. 

“You okay?” Xena asked her, keeping her voice low.

“Yeah, I just got worried when you weren’t there,” Gabrielle said. Her hand hesitated over Xena’s forearm, wanting to take hold and have some sort of contact. Xena noticed her eyes flicker over to the two women, who were making a poor job of pretending like they weren’t watching their every move.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, cutting off Gabrielle’s hesitation by giving her hand a squeeze. “I can get you stew. It’s fish and leek.”

Gabrielle nodded quietly, and Xena went to fetch her a bowl. On her way, she smiled at Althea and Penelope, and complimented her hostess on the stew.

“Will you two be alright in the side room?” Althea asked, eyes twinkling. “I’m afraid the bed’s a little small.”

“We’ll manage,” Xena smiled back, not caring what she and her friend thought. “If it gets too much, Gabrielle will probably make me sleep on the floor.”

She bit her tongue, realizing what she’d just said would no doubt end up as further evidence to back up Althea’s wife theory. 

“Of course. I’m glad she found you, Xena. You sounded like you missed her a lot, when you were ill.”

Xena nodded and decided not to confront the blatant pushes Althea was putting her way. “Thank you again, Althea. Truly.”

“You saved this village. It was the least any of us could have done.”

She nodded again, smiled, and turned back to Gabrielle. When she sat down, she set her hand around Gabrielle’s shoulders, not missing the excited whisper that sparked up across the room. Gabrielle seemed happy with the contact and busied herself with the stew; she did not speak for a while.

She noticed the stares, too, eventually. Xena saw the furrow in her brow and caught a slight tension settling in her shoulders; worry seemed to seep into her being with the sly ease of a shadow. She did not ask, nor did she mention it, not until they were in the dark confines of their room, laying in bed. Althea had been right; the bed was quite small, but entwined in an embrace as they were, it was enough for them.

“Althea and Penelope were looking at us weirdly.”

Xena brushed a strand of Gabrielle’s hair out of her face and twirled it between her fingers. “I noticed.”

“Do you know why?”

“Maybe.”

Gabrielle yawned and gave her a poke. “Why are you being weird? Tell me.”

“Tell me your guess first,” Xena prodded. “Why do you think they were staring?”

“I’m not sure.”

Xena felt Gabrielle shrug in her embrace. The smaller woman was laying on her side, her head tucked under Xena’s chin. Their legs were one tangle; Gabrielle’s arm rested over Xena’s waist, fingertips touching gingerly on the bandage that bound her middle.

“One guess, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Is it because we’re two women?”

“Why, do you think that’s an issue?”

“It’s not common. There were a handful of girls my age back home that were inclined, some boys I guess, and an older couple of two men. But not many, it wasn’t a big place. You always hear about people in the cities doing all sorts, but…” Gabrielle shrugged again. “I don’t know, it didn’t seem like that was it. Now tell me why, since you seem to know.”

Xena chuckled. “It seems they think you’re my wife.”

She’d expected Gabrielle to laugh with her. Instead, the woman froze in her arms; Xena looked down to find her eyes wide, staring at her completely mortified.

“They what ?”

“Is the idea of being my wife that horrible to you?”

“No! No,” Gabrielle amended quickly, her hand coming up to clamp over Xena’s mouth as if that would have wiped away the teasing smirk on her lips. “No. Be quiet.”

Xena could have sworn that there was a flush on Gabrielle’s cheeks, but the darkness of the room gave little to see by. 

“Fine, if the idea itself isn’t the issue, then why are you so tense?” she asked, having freed herself from the feeble attempt at shushing. 

“I just— it surprised me, that’s all,” Gabrielle muttered. “And I’m embarrassed. Why do they think that? I mean, I haven’t— I haven’t been all over you like that, and—“

“Apparently coming to my deathbed to yell at me is something only a wife would do.”

Gabrielle stared at her. “Ah.”

“So, there’s that.”

“Right.”

“You did call me an idiot. More than once, I think.”

“I’m still not done yelling, by the way. I have notes.”

“Notes?”

“Mhm.”

“What notes?”

Gabrielle shifted a little and put a hand on Xena’s jaw, as if to prevent her from turning away. “How do you think I tracked you, Xena? I went from one town to the next, following tales of the heroic warrior princess and her exploits. I know everything you’ve done.”

Xena made a face. “Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Even the lion—“

“Even the lion you wrestled with bare hands, yes. And the cyclopes. And the knife-throwing. And the fight with the pirates. And the sphinx you decided to fight instead of answering her questions. And that time someone stole Argo and you chased the thieves on foot? Somersaulting all over the place! And—“

“Okay, now you be quiet,” Xena laughed, putting her hand firmly over Gabrielle’s mouth. Where Gabrielle’s attempt at shushing had been feeble and playful, Xena’s returned a completely different result; a sharp inhale, a shifting of Gabrielle’s body closer to hers, and a soft sigh that spoke of a suddenly arisen need.

This time, Xena knew she saw Gabrielle blushing.

“Shut up,” Gabrielle muttered, burrowing herself further into Xena’s embrace. “Don’t say anything. Don’t.”

“Did that just turn you on?” Xena whispered, leaning close so that Althea wouldn’t hear. 

“Shut up.”

“Gabrielle…” Xena murmured, her fingertip drawing a teasing line along her arm. “Do you like the idea of me shutting you up like that?”

“This is not the place,” Gabrielle sighed. “Xena. Please.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to tease.”

At that, the woman in her arms moved so that she was leaning up on one elbow, looking down at Xena with a sudden challenge in her eyes. “Oh really ?”

“Really.”

“Like you aren’t?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Xena wasn’t ready. With all her instincts, with all her skills, she was not ready for Gabrielle to sweep upon her, faster than she should have been able, pushing her onto her back, leaning over her, one hand making a fist in her hair to pull her head to the side whilst her lips came to graze against her ear, her other hand just brushing against her neck.

“Please, Xena, take me,” she whined, her voice high-pitched, breathy, interspersed with little moans, with all the flavor of lust and need and desire as what she could muster. “ Please .”

That was all she did, and yet when she pulled back, Xena did not get back up. She was left there, staring at the ceiling, all her thoughts drained from her head down to between her legs.

“How was that?”

Xena couldn’t believe how heavy her breaths had become in just an instant. “Gabrielle,” she breathed. “How— fuck ,” she groaned. 

“Sounds like I won,” Gabrielle grinned, victorious.

“Was that—“ Xena let out a heavy breath. “Was that fake? You can just muster that with—“

“Barely fake,” Gabrielle shrugged. “I have needs and I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“Gods.”

Xena tried to muster some semblance of control and found none. She was irrevocably, impossibly horny, all because of this damned woman in her bed — she needed her like she needed air.

“Just you wait,” she grumbled, returning to their earlier embrace, pulling Gabrielle back into her hold. “We’ll be leaving in a day or two.”

The threat made Gabrielle shiver. Xena knew that it was not from fear that she shivered.

Chapter Text

When they left two days later, it was Xena who was riding on Argo while Gabrielle walked beside. She herself was of the opinion that she was fine. Gabrielle, however, was not, and would not be argued with. Xena was forced to yield to her demands when she realized the blonde was not beyond attempting to lift her up into the saddle herself — an attempt that would have been futile to begin with, and would have most likely ended up with them both on the ground, bruised.

Gabrielle walked beside her — walked, or skipped, never silent, always talking. This was a Gabrielle Xena had glimpsed, but never yet seen in full; a Gabrielle unburdened by worry. She told her of the things that had happened on her journey, of her first ventures into barding, of the tales she’d told of her, of the Amazons. It awed Xena to learn the tale of Terreis, her death, and her Right of Cast. Though awed, the tale did not surprise her; of course Gabrielle had to somehow wind up an Amazon princess. That she had protected Terreis with no regard for her own life earned her much of Xena’s respect, even if she did hate hearing about it, and even more did she hate thinking of what could have been. Even though she knew all was well and Gabrielle had come out unscathed, the thought of her at the pointy end of an archer's arrow made Xena feel a little sick. Worse yet, she knew that it was not a one-off. It was in Gabrielle's heart to be courageous, self-sacrificing if need be. Her strength came from the depth with which she cared, and that was also her weakness; her weakness, and now, Xena's as well. She could not bear the thought of anything happening to Gabrielle. The fact that the blonde was more than likely to put herself in harm's way gave her heart no ease as she sat there, listening to Gabrielle talk, worrying her mind away about things that had not yet happened, but which she was sure would, eventually. 

There was an innocence in Gabrielle that persisted, even through the horrors she had gone through. Xena wished she would keep it; she wished, and swore to herself that she would do all she could to protect it. Her innocence was long gone, and her shoulders ached from the weight of what had replaced it. She did not want Gabrielle to share her fate.

In some ways, she found herself feeling that as long as Gabrielle held strong, and remained safe, she, too, could derive some healing from it. From her, from her lightness; the guiding light to the darkness from whence she was emerging, day by day. Gabrielle was the key, the path, and Xena was happy to follow. It had only been a few hours of this new normal, traveling with Gabrielle with no particular place in mind, and already she felt better than she had ever in her life. There was a calm that lay underneath everything, a solidity that she felt she could trust. 

Had she spoken of it to Gabrielle, she might have realized sooner that the feeling she was having was that of being home. But she did not speak of it, because she was too enraptured in watching the afternoon sun kiss upon Gabrielle's hair, dance on her shoulders, and caress her arms, which were stronger than they looked. The whole of her was stronger than it looked; stronger, and far more treacherously beautiful, the more she looked. Xena knew she was falling; she suspected, even then, that she had already fallen. 

She had found something far more precious than any of the riches, the gold and the jewelery and the power that she’d ever had as Empress. 

Every so often, Gabrielle’s hand would brush her leg. Touch her shin, slide up to her thigh, skirting touches, not seeking anything beyond contact — yet still, they drew Xena’s mind to a need that had not yet been indulged, but which had become a very, very pressing need that needed taking care of. Gabrielle was hers, but she had not yet made the blonde her own. There were things she wanted to do, words she wanted to whisper in her ear, and an expression Xena had never yet seen in a lover but knew she wanted to see, all of which she wanted to bring about in Gabrielle. Her need was almost instinctual, a craving that had long gone unsatisfied. 

“I’m thinking we'll stop by a tavern for the night and find a room.”

When she said it, she looked down at Gabrielle. Pink danced to her features, and excitement filled her eyes.

“You’ve only got one thing on your mind, haven’t you?” Gabrielle accused, shaking her head as she gave her a playful smile. “Fiend.”

“ Fiend ? Have I been downgraded from lover?”

“Who says it’s a downgrade?”

“I was lower than a fiend ?”

Gabrielle just laughed, having gotten what she’d wanted; a look of annoyance and some frustration out of Xena. She would have skipped away had Xena not leaned down and grabbed her wrist, halting both Gabrielle and Argo at the same time.

“What would you do if I pulled you up right now, sideways across my lap, and had my way with you?”

Excited panic flooded Gabrielle’s face. She stared at Xena, wide-eyed, speechless. She could have done as she threatened then, with so much ease; it was almost impossible to resist the urge, now that the thought had entered her mind.

“Keep teasing me, Gabrielle, and we’ll see where you end up,” she smirked, letting go of Gabrielle’s wrist and starting off again on Argo. Of course, Xena knew she had no intention of doing anything until they got to a tavern, to a proper bed. She wanted their reunion to be more than just a tryst in the bushes or a roll around in the dark by the campfire. Besides, it felt wrong to do anything with Argo involved. 

“You’re cruel,” Gabrielle muttered, giving a smack to her thigh.

“And you’re giving me ideas, slapping me like that,” Xena retorted. Really, Gabrielle was making this way too easy. “Your ass would look nice with some color.”

She heard the sharp gasp. The pink had reached Gabrielle’s ears now. She was thinking slower now, arousal clouding thought; the furtive glance she stole at Xena told all about her current state.

Yet when she spoke, it was with that taunting, teasing flavor that Xena was growing to love.

“You’re saying my ass doesn’t look nice now?”

Xena couldn’t help that she laughed. How could it be this easy with someone? She’d never thought she was playful, and yet with Gabrielle, she was enjoying it all. The banter, the suggestion, the teasing, even. She shifted in the saddle, comfortably aware that she was aroused; a gentle throbbing was beginning to steal her thoughts away.

Dinner was an arduous affair, to say the least. The tavern was packed, and they’d been hard-pressed to get a room. Getting to order was one challenge; it was another to wait for the poor barmaid to get to them with so many wanting, asking, needing a refill, getting in the way, always in the way. Gabrielle was moderately hungry; Xena, on the other hand, was ravenous. The aftermath of her brush with death had left her weak, and she was eager to regain her strength — her muscles practically ached with a need to reach their fullness again. Besides her hunger, Xena was also anxious for another reason; she wanted to get to their room, sooner rather than later.

“I’m going to go over there myself soon,” Xena grumbled. “If things don’t start moving.”

“Calm down,” Gabrielle tried, laying a hand on Xena’s forearm to soothe her. “We’ll have wine, at least.”

She nodded toward another barmaid, presently approaching them with a jug of wine and something to drink from. Kylixes, Xena appraised, instead of goblets. They were painted with imagery that was, to say the least, interesting to look at.

“A tasteful place you’ve got,” she commented to the passing maid. Gabrielle frowned, and picked up her own drink to look at the drawing closer. Having inspected it, her face was much redder; Xena couldn’t help but laugh.

“Never seen pleasurable imagery on a drinking vessel before, have you Gabrielle?”

“Eh, no,” Gabrielle muttered. Her hand was covering most of the pictures on her kylix. Xena felt a sudden urge to know what her cup was painted with — hers had a man and a woman engaged in some passionate kissing on a sofa, and on the other side, a picture of a woman jacking a man off. Rather tame, compared to others Xena glimpsed at their table.

“Show me,” she asked, leaning across and reaching for Gabrielle’s cup. “I’m just curious.”

Along the sides of Gabrielle’s cup, there were images of a man and a woman in some impressive positions of fucking. Bent over, held up against a pillar, down on the floor…

“Anything catch your eye?”

The man seated next to Gabrielle had leaned over and winked at her, a lewd smile on his face. Xena felt a scowl settle upon her features like a stormcloud. 

“I’m sorry?” Gabrielle was saying, having not understood what he was saying. Perhaps she’d not heard him.

His hand fell on Gabrielle’s wrist. Xena imagined a thousand ways with which she could cut it off.

“If you’re looking to recreate those images, I’m here. My name’s—“

“—unimportant,” Xena cut in with a growl. She looked to Gabrielle and waited for what she’d say.

“Yeah, no,” Gabrielle shook her head and shoved his hand away. “I’m not interested.”

The man, presumably more drunk than his common sense, turned next to Xena. “How about you, dark beauty? What would it take for me to get you in one of those positions?”

Xena only barely resisted the urge to launch him across the tavern. She settled for a sharp jab from her thumb to his neck, sending him to the floor, unconscious. 

“Xena—!”

Xena looked at Gabrielle and shrugged. “What?”

“He’s—“

“Ah, he’ll be fine. He’ll wake up with a headache in the morning.”

“He’s on the floor,” Gabrielle said, but even as she spoke the man’s friends dragged him away, giving Xena frightened looks. 

“He’d have been through the window if I had my way,” Xena grumbled. “Putting his hand on you like that.”

She felt Gabrielle’s foot nudge her from under the table. “Jealous, are we?”

Xena gave her a sharp glare. “Do I have reason to be?”

“No,” came the light, easy-going answer, coupled by a smile that eased all of Xena’s tension away. Gabrielle raised her cup. An image of a man’s cock entering a woman from behind flashed at Xena from between Gabrielle’s fingers. “Now, a toast.”

Xena frowned. “To what?”

“To…us. Our shared path.”

“This feels like an official something.”

“It might be an official something. You are mine, aren’t you? And I’m yours?”

This wasn’t where Xena had wanted to have romantic overtures and promises made, in the midst of a loud, smelly tavern. And yet, here she was; she was with Gabrielle, toasting with porny cups, and she couldn’t have been happier.

“To us,” she agreed, clinking her cup to Gabrielle’s and taking a long swig. “Gods, that’s vile. Why is it so sweet?”

Gabrielle hummed. “I don’t know, I kinda like it.”

Two cups of wine later — or, two for Gabrielle, four for Xena — they were feeling pleasantly buzzed and far more open to the atmosphere of the tavern. They’d gotten food, finally, which had eased Xena’s growing irritations; Gabrielle had enjoyed the visitation of a bard, though she’d had more than plenty of comments on his performance afterwards, for Xena’s ears only. 

There was tension between them, tension that needed unwinding. Tension of promises and teasing, dragged out over the course of two days and weighed by a month’s separation. They had only barely begun their path; two times spent in the throes of passion were not nearly enough to dispel the intense allure of a shared beginning.

Xena was comfortable where she sat, and made no move towards their room. Gabrielle, too, was relatively comfortable, though quickly growing agitated. Both times before, the moment had sprung upon them unawares; it was different to approach the night, knowing what was to come. Xena watched her, and decided she was nervous, anxious even; she was thinking of what to say to ease her worries when she saw Gabrielle reach for her cup and start to fiddle with it.

Wine danced on Gabrielle's tongue and laced it with an openness, easing off some of that nervousness.

“You know,” she began, leaning over slightly so that she wouldn’t have to speak so loud. “It’s a shame we can’t do these.”

Xena’s eyebrow shot up. She looked at the figures again, and then back at Gabrielle. “Why not?”

“Last I checked, neither of us had the necessary appendage for this,” Gabrielle shrugged, pointing to the image of a man fucking a woman from behind, the act itself depicted very clearly. 

Xena leaned back, intrigue rising to her mind. She was quick to suspect that Gabrielle didn’t know — how could she, she’d grown up in a small, tucked-away village, away from the lewdness of the general public — that appendages could be bought. That there was a small pouch buried at the bottom of her saddlebags, forgotten there until now. It had been there when Xena had hurriedly packed on the night they fled, and she’d not gotten rid of it since. She wasn’t sure if Gabrielle had seen it; the blonde had definitely rifled through the bags looking for one thing or another. Watching her, she guessed that even if she had seen it, she hadn’t realized what it was. 

“So, you’re interested?”

Gabrielle frowned. “What?”

“You’re interested in…recreating some images,” Xena said slowly, smirking. “With me.

Gods, this is fun. Please let her say yes.  

“Well, yes, in theory, but—“ Gabrielle paused. “I’ve seen you. There’s no way you’re hiding any surprises on that body of yours, surely—“

Xena laughed. “Oh, gods, Gabrielle.”

“Why do you look like that?” Gabrielle was asking. “Xena, you’re— what is going on? Stop teasing me!”

“Haven’t you ever wondered what that little pouch in the saddlebags is?”

Gabrielle’s brows knitted together. “What pouch?”

Xena measured its size with her hands. “About yea big, red linen, embroidered with some flowers. You never looked inside? At the leathery thing, and the straps that go with it?”

“Well, yes, briefly, but I just figured it was some…I don’t know, a tool for—“ Gabrielle’s eyes went wide. “ No.”

“There we go, ” Xena smirked, raising her cup and draining it in one go. Excitement had arisen in her belly, and she knew things were now building up to something fun, amazing even. Desire coated her tongue and filled her mouth; she wished it was on Gabrielle’s already. She wished the thing they were speaking of were attached to her and buried deep in Gabrielle, their hips together, Gabrielle’s mouth parted slightly, eyes wide with astonishment, lust, desire, her lips forming her name—

“It’s a—“ Gabrielle paused, unwilling to speak of it in public. Her finger tapped at the side of the kylix. “ That ?”

“Well, not that exactly, it’s not like it was once flesh. It’s made of leather, polished. Stuffed. Attach it to a harness around the hips and, well…I’d say it’s better than the real thing. At least when I’m the one using it,” Xena winked. 

“Seriously?”

She was as pink as a rose and as aroused as Xena had ever seen her. 

“I thought you said you weren’t a virgin in the slightest?” she asked Gabrielle, teasing. “This wasn’t included in your experiences?”

Gabrielle’s foot found her shin under the table and made painful contact. “Don’t talk so loud.”

“We could go upstairs.”

That was all she needed. Afterwards, Xena would wonder if all that night, Gabrielle had been waiting for her to initiate, to express interest. The speed with which the blonde got to her feet almost knocked her chair down, the sudden movement drawing faint curiosity from the nearby patrons. Xena stood slowly, and followed Gabrielle out of the tavern, to the stairs that led to the rooms. At the first step, however, Gabrielle stopped, and turned around, leaning on the railing. Standing on the step she was a little taller than Xena; for once, the warrior found herself looking up at Gabrielle whilst still standing on her own two feet. Her hands drifted to Gabrielle’s waist as if on their own, fingertips pressing lightly into her sides. She could have picked her up with such ease. She could have knelt down and tasted her with her mouth with ease, too; as the thought came to her mind, her hands slid down along Gabrielle's sides to her thighs, to the hem of her skirt.

Gabrielle stopped her with a slight movement of her hand.

"Xena."

"Yes?"

“I’ve been with women.”

“I figured,” Xena frowned, unsure where Gabrielle was going. 

“Only women.”

“Ah.”

“Never men.”

“Got it.”

“I didn’t know—“ Gabrielle made a face. “I’d heard some things, but there isn’t exactly a ‘get your horny needs here’-shop in Potidaea, now is there? I didn't know you could do that. So I've never done...that. And I’d never left my home before, so how could  I know?“

Xena reached for Gabrielle’s hand. “Gabrielle, my love. Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” Xena smiled, stepping up and beginning to walk up the stairs, Gabrielle’s hand firmly in hers. “I’ll take care of you.”

Chapter Text

Xena closed the door to their room softly and flicked the lock shut. It was the same as it had been the first time, and yet it could not have been any more different. The first time, there had been boundaries, limits, hesitation, and plenty of things unspoken. They had indulged in their passions because they had been driven to it; they had not planned on it. 

Yet now all was open, and bare, and frighteningly raw. Gabrielle was hers, and she was Gabrielle’s, more totally than the blonde even knew. 

“You really have a thing for doors, don’t you?”

Gabrielle’s arms slid around her waist from behind. She had to stand on her toes to get her chin on Xena’s shoulder, and the position was a little awkward; the proximity, however, made shivers run down Xena’s spine.

She flipped Gabrielle over and pinned her against the door with barely any effort at all. Gabrielle was all too willing to let her take her wrists and pin them under one hand over her head; the grin on her lips was far too self-satisfied to go unkissed.

“Can’t a woman savor the moment in peace?” she asked, leaning in to kiss Gabrielle’s breath away. “Doesn’t this time feel different to you?”

Gabrielle looked at her, and Xena knew. She knew she felt the same, even if the word itself was still elusive; she knew, and it melted her core to nothing. 

“It feels like it’s our first time,” Gabrielle whispered. “Like this is the first time it’s real.”

Xena hummed, pleased. She could have stayed here forever, on the cusp of greatness; she knew that whichever way she fell, she would land on her feet, with Gabrielle in her arms. There were no wrong choices here, no conflicting wants, needs, strings pulling her in every direction. There was only the one string, pulling at her heart, thrumming a steady harmony to Gabrielle’s heartbeat.

“Kiss me?”

The plea broke Xena completely, felling her into an ocean of insatiable need. She kissed Gabrielle, intending to be soft. Really, she did mean to be soft. But when Gabrielle met her with hunger and parted lips, Xena drank it in and indulged the hunger that sat within her. It was a desire to devour. She felt electric when the blonde moved against her, with her; her tongue slipped into an open mouth, touching against Gabrielle’s, tasting desire and wine, and drawing out breathy moans that soon slipped into whimpers. Gabrielle’s head was against the door, Gabrielle’s hips were against her own; Gabrielle’s arms, pinned by Xena’s hand, moved a little as she squirmed, arousal rising within her and driving her need towards the threshold of begging. 

“”Xena,” Gabrielle whispered, struggling to move her hips in a way that would give her some satisfaction. “Xena, please, don’t tease me—“

“Hush,” Xena murmured, silencing her with a kiss as she worked her knee between Gabrielle’s legs and leaned in with her thigh, giving the blonde something to grind on. “Be good and patient for me, Gabrielle. I want to enjoy this.”

Gabrielle groaned, her hips moving in slow waves, chasing pleasure that she couldn’t yet get in full. Xena continued her enjoyment of Gabrielle’s lips and neck, kissing, sucking, biting gently, whispering in her ear; she teased her, taunted her for her need, and reduced Gabrielle to a whimpering, pleading mess with nothing but her thigh between her legs and her lips against her ear.

“Are you wet for me, Gabrielle?”

It was pointless to ask. She could feel it against the bare skin of her thigh.

Gabrielle whimpered and looked at her, eyes clouded over with desperation. “Xena—“

“You can wait a little longer,” Xena decided, smirking as she saw Gabrielle’s head fall back against the door with a small thud. Her chest was heaving with shaky breaths, and Xena focused her attentions there. Nimble fingers made easy work of the laces on Gabrielle’s top, freeing the breasts that lay within. Xena hummed with pleasure when she held one, feeling the hardened nipple against her palm; she kneaded and pushed Gabrielle harder against the door, her thigh pressing harder as she captured her lips again, her fingers twisting and pinching at the sensitive nipple, making Gabrielle wince into their shared kiss.

“There’s so much of you to love,” Xena whispered, trailing kisses downwards along Gabrielle’s jaw, Gabrielle’s throat, Gabrielle’s chest. “So much to tease, to touch, to please…”

Her lips found the other nipple. She sucked, flicking her tongue, swirling it around the delicious hardness in her mouth. Gabrielle groaned and pushed herself into the touch, seeking more. Xena released Gabrielle’s wrists, wanting to have free use of both her hands; she wanted Gabrielle closer, and lifted her up so that her legs were around her waist.

Xena moved on to the other breast, kissing around the nipple, biting gently, soothing with her tongue, kissing again the sensitive, silky soft skin. Gabrielle squirmed under her touch, moaning softly with her breaths, completely surrendered; she was in her grasp, held up by one hand under her thigh and the legs around her waist. Xena moved back up and cupped Gabrielle’s cheek with her other hand, kissing her sweetly, softly. A need had arisen within that would not be quelled; all she needed was the permission to fulfill it.

“Gabrielle?”

Gabrielle’s eyes took a moment to focus on her. “Huh?”

“Can I leave marks?”

The blonde’s brows furrowed, and some concentration came to her eyes after a bit of effort. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Tell me I can, my love,” Xena demanded, her tone gentle. “I want to hear you say it.”

She could feel Gabrielle’s breaths under her palm, resting on her ribs; she could feel them on her lips, featherlight, gentle. She saw Gabrielle think; for a moment, she thought she’d say no.

A satisfied smile spread to those pretty pink lips, and an expression Xena had never yet seen flooded the green-blue depths of her eyes.

“Trace your love for me on my skin, beloved,” she whispered, “So that I might see it again in the morning...”

Xena frowned. It sounded like poetry, but she was not well-versed in literature such as that. Gabrielle’s satisfaction spoke of something else, however; she blinked, and then quickly guessed the reason.

“You composed that yourself just now, didn’t you?”

Gabrielle was in full bloom with a satisfaction Xena could only guess was something like a creator’s bliss. “It’s only a beginning, and I may tweak it still,” she said softly. “But I think it will make a nice poem, once I get the rest of it.”

Whatever ravenous desire Xena had felt for Gabrielle before paled in the face of the all-consuming need she now had for the woman in her arms. To see her bloom with joy for a passion of her own, even if it was not one Xena shared, was something else altogether; she realized in that moment that all she ever wanted was to bring that dancing light into Gabrielle’s eyes, in whatever capacity it might come. 

“Gabrielle, you are beautiful,” she whispered, kissing her. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

She trailed her way down along Gabrielle’s neck, a hand in her hair to pull her head back, giving her better access. Now that she had permission, Gabrielle’s skin was to her a canvas; she knew not where to begin to indulge the urges she had felt for longer than she wished to admit.

A point below her ear, slightly to the side. That was where she kissed her, bit lightly into the skin, and sucked; Gabrielle moaned and moved her hips against Xena’s abdomen, and then, when a slight tinge of pain entered play, she whimpered. Her hand was in Xena’s hair, and she could have pulled her away if she liked — but instead she pushed Xena further in, holding her there.

Xena looked at the mark, her whole body awash with shivers.

“Mine,” she murmured, returning her lips to Gabrielle’s neck. Redness bloomed on pale skin, and Xena soothed it with her tongue. She trailed downward back to Gabrielle’s breasts, and left little marks there; smaller than the first, all strategically placed so that they would not show under her top. These were marks for her eyes only, for her own pleasure; already thinking ahead, Xena knew she would be driven mad by the sight of them when she was fucking this woman, her woman, making her entirely her own.

She sucked on Gabrielle’s nipple and delighted in the low moan that vibrated through her throat. Gabrielle’s fingers were in her hair, grasping; her moans were tipping into pleas.

“Please, Xena, I need—“

“Need what, Gabrielle?”

“I need you, please—“ Gabrielle gasped when Xena bit down, immediately soothing the sharp pain with her tongue. “Fuck me, damn it, please.”

“There we go,” Xena teased, stepping away from the door and kissing Gabrielle’s jaw as she walked over to the bed. “Took you long enough.”

Gabrielle groaned, her fingers digging into the muscled flesh of Xena’s shoulders.“You were waiting for me to beg?”

“Oh, yes. I love it when you beg.”

She laid Gabrielle down on the bed and took her time removing her clothes, leaving her bare and beautiful on the covers whilst she stepped back to undress herself. Xena saw the glint of a challenge in Gabrielle’s eye, and fumbled with the clasp of her leathers when she saw Gabrielle move back on the bed, spread her legs, and slip her hand between them.

“Gabrielle...” she groaned, flashing a threat with her eyes.

“Best hurry,” Gabrielle replied, smirking. “It wouldn’t take me long...”

Xena had never undressed so quickly. She was on Gabrielle within seconds, taking the hand away and pinning it to the bed, kissing her with bruising force. She bit her bottom lip, savoring the feeling of Gabrielle whimpering and squirming underneath her, and moved her hand where Gabrielle’s had just been.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she groaned, her fingers finding slick, overwhelming wetness. Gabrielle whined, and Xena could tease her no more; she slipped two fingers in and cursed again, unable to believe how wet, how eager, how ready for her Gabrielle was. She thrust into her, and felt Gabrielle’s muscles clench — there was tension there, immense tension, almost enough to push her to climax at once.

“Please,” Gabrielle pleaded, moving her hips to sink Xena’s fingers deeper inside. “Take me, Xena.”

It took all of Xena’s willpower to resist the urge to fuck her to orgasm right then and there. She kissed Gabrielle once, savored the taste of her mouth, and then moved down. The bed wasn’t big enough for her to lay on it, and so she knelt on the floor, pulled Gabrielle’s hips to the edge of the bed, and began to kiss her inner thighs. Wetness glistened on the blonde curls and along the soft skin of her thighs, giving her a taste even before she indulged. 

When she did indulge, it was totally and completely. Gabrielle’s was a taste that she had craved for too long, and to taste it again was a blessing. It was not only the taste of her that made it so perfect; it was the sound of her when she moved her tongue, the feel of her quivering under her mouth, the touch of her hands, reaching for her head, fingers lacing through her hair, gripping tight enough to hurt. Xena allowed Gabrielle to do things she had never allowed anyone to do — she allowed her to command, to direct her, and did not resist when Gabrielle pushed her head. If Gabrielle wanted to grind against her mouth, she let her; if Gabrielle wanted to pull her mouth back to her clit, she let her. She devoted herself to Gabrielle in totality and thought of nothing less, for there was nothing more beautiful to her in that moment than Gabrielle’s need, and the way she was taking her pleasure. 

Whatever Gabrielle wants, Gabrielle gets.

Xena knew she loved Gabrielle. Yet when Gabrielle’s hands in her hair shoved her mouth deeper into her at the moment of her climax and her own name spilled from Gabrielle’s lips, Xena fell in love all over again.

“Xena!” Gabrielle gasped, and then repeated, as if one strike of lightning into Xena’s soul wasn’t enough: “Xena...”

She said it as one would say ‘mine’, she said it as if it belonged to her; her own, her love, her Xena. Xena was hers, and Gabrielle claimed her with what she wielded best — her words. 

Be mine, she had said that time weeks prior when she had driven Xena crazy with what she now knew was not fucking, but making love.

Xena , she said now, but the words were the same.

“I’m yours,” Xena whispered, kissing Gabrielle’s inner thigh. She licked, bit down a little, and sucked. Gabrielle jumped at the slight pain, but did not complain. Xena let her come down from her orgasm, fucking her slowly with her fingers still inside, focusing her attention on leaving little marks along Gabrielle’s thighs. Gabrielle’s hands in her hair were limp, relaxed. Her whole body had gone soft, languid; after a while, Xena became aware that she had propped herself up on her elbows, and was watching her with shining eyes.

“What?” she asked, briefly worried that she was about to cry. Yet it was not sorrow that had her eyes shining, but desire — a hunger that Xena had seen once before, when Gabrielle had been the one on her knees.

“Get up here,” Gabrielle said, not commanding, pleading. “Let me have a taste of you.”

She did not mean the taste of her mouth, Xena realized. The headboard of the bed was just sturdy enough to lean on. She moved over, pushing Gabrielle into position when her shuffling wasn’t fast enough, and climbed onto the bed. She looked so eager that Xena didn’t even think to hesitate before she settled so that her knees were on both sides of Gabrielle’s head, sitting back on her heels, Gabrielle’s arms wrapped around her thighs. Her own growing ache had been so far in the background of her devotion to Gabrielle that she hadn’t even realized how wet she was, not until Gabrielle’s fingertips ghosted over wetness and slipped in, making her moan in satisfaction.

“ You’re soaked,” she hummed, eyes fixed on the sight of her fingers moving in and out of Xena. “For me?”

Xena groaned and leaned forward on her hands resting on the headboard. She wanted nothing more than to lower herself down onto Gabrielle’s mouth, but she could not deny herself the sight of Gabrielle’s face, absolutely enthralled by the view she had. 

“For me, right?”

The fact that Gabrielle was able to be so commanding surprised Xena. The fact that she allowed it surprised her still, somewhere in the back of her mind. Devoted she might have been, and certainly a changed woman, but old habits still echoed somewhere in the back. Old habits, she realized, that she had no desire to indulge. 

“For you,” she whispered, looking down at the pretty blonde face between her legs. “Gabrielle, please.”

“Please what?”

Gods, she’s so beautiful.

Her fingers were moving inside still, curling a little, pushing pleasant shivers through Xena’s belly. “Use that mouth for something other than talking,” she groaned. Gabrielle smiled, and Xena lowered herself down, just enough so that Gabrielle could comfortably do what she did so well.

It did not take her long. Xena was already on the brink from the denial of a month, and from the last days’ teasing; she was desperate, and Gabrielle’s mouth was everything. Gabrielle’s mouth and fingers were beyond everything — Xena held onto the headboard for dear life and let Gabrielle lead her along to pleasure, taking it with whimpers and moans, curses even spilling from her lips. She bit her lip to prevent crying out when she came, mindful of the fact that they weren’t alone in the woods, but in a tavern, where sounds did carry through walls. The heat, however, remained even as the aftershocks began to subside. Gabrielle had moved on to kissing her thighs again, biting gently, leaving marks that were twin to those Xena had left on hers. 

Heat, pressure, need. Devotion slipped into dominance, and determination set her desire into solidity. Xena reached down and laced her fingers through Gabrielle’s hair.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” she growled, and guided her mouth back where she wanted it. “I’m not done.”

Gabrielle let out what Xena could only describe as a pleasantly surprised squeal as she allowed herself to be guided back to Xena’s sex. The second time was different; Xena had taken the control between them in her grasp, and had sunk her teeth in it, drinking it in full. She wanted to come a second time, she needed it, and she would take it — and Gabrielle, so pretty, so eager, she would give her what she wanted.

She did it so willingly Xena couldn’t help but moan at the sight. She kept her hand in Gabrielle’s hair and guided her movements, grinding her hips a little as she fucked Gabrielle’s mouth. 

“Fingers,” she demanded. “Three of them, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle obeyed, and Xena moaned again. Her pace was growing relentless, and Gabrielle was doing her best to keep up; Xena couldn’t help that praises began to pour from her as she watched the blonde do all she could to be good, to do as she was told, to help her come a second time. 

“Fuck, Gabrielle, you’re so good for me,” she groaned, and felt herself nearing the plateau of pleasure. “So pretty with your mouth between my legs, all mine...”

Gabrielle hummed and curled her fingers, sucking on Xena’s clit with her tongue doing gods-only-know-what around it, curling, not too much, not too little—

Xena leaned back, still holding onto the headboard, and came with staggered gasp. This time, Gabrielle didn’t stop until she tugged at her hair, gentler now. Xena sat back on her heels and smiled down at the beautiful woman caught between her thighs.

Gabrielle smiled up at her, her mouth shining with wetness. For a while, Xena caught her breath, just staring down at Gabrielle — Gabrielle, who was looking up at her, smiling in such sweet bliss, perfectly happy to be quiet and just there, with her.

The moment felt right. Xena felt eagerness and excitement bubble up within her, and her smile shifted into a grin as she slid one hand behind her, down along Gabrielle’s stomach, just reaching to touch the wetness between her legs. Gabrielle’s eyes went wide; Xena slipped just one finger in, just teasing, and felt she was very ready for what she had planned.

When she withdrew, Gabrielle looked disappointed.

“You wanted more?” Xena teased. “Wanna keep going?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle breathed. “I’m— yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” nodded she. “Do I need to say please?”

“It might be nice,” Xena smirked. “But tell me, which image did you want to recreate the most?”

She saw Gabrielle frown for a moment before clarity set in. “Oh. I, um…”

Xena watched as shyness settled into Gabrielle’s features. “You don’t need to decide,” she said, gentle but firm. “I have an idea of how I’d like to take you the first time.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you in my arms,” Xena said, her thoughts rushing ahead to what she was about to have and making her body run wild with aroused shivers. “On your back, under me, safe. Completely mine.”

Gabrielle’s drawn breath was long and shaky, trembling with anticipation.

“Do you trust me, Gabrielle?”

Gabrielle nodded. “Obviously.”

“Do you want me to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before?”

Another nod. “You’ve already done that, but yes.”

Xena felt more satisfaction at those words than she wanted to admit. She smiled as she got up off of Gabrielle, bending down to press a kiss to her lips before telling her: 

“Move a little and lay on your back, my love. I’ll be right back.”

She went over to the bags and got the pouch. The embroidery was her own work, as was the pouch; within, it held the leather harness, and the phallus itself. She looked at it for a moment and wondered if it was too big. She had smaller ones, or used to have, but she’d never before much cared for what her partners thought of comfort. This one was the only one she had; all the rest were left behind in Corinth. It was not huge, if anything in many ways it was average — lengthy enough to give her proper leverage and to provide for different positions — but it was, in Xena’s opinion and experience, rather girthy.

It wasn’t a decision she could make by herself, she realized. In the end she put on the harness and walked over with the toy-appendage in her hand, and sat down on the bed beside Gabrielle.

“I want you to feel this,” she said, placing the phallus in Gabrielle’s hand. “And I want you to tell me if you can take it. If you want to take it.”

Gabrielle’s cheeks were flushed pink as she felt the phallus in her hand, looked at it, and appraised it. “I mean…”

“It’s fine if you feel like you can’t. We can do other things and go buy a smaller—“

“I can take it.”

Xena studied Gabrielle’s face for a moment. She saw resolute determination, confidence; she did not see fear.

Suddenly, she was the one breathless. 

Gabrielle licked her lips as her eyes moved from the phallus still in her hand to meet Xena’s gaze. “Go on, Xena. Fuck me with that thing and make me yours.”

Xena stared at her, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you saying you’re not mine already?”

“Maybe you need to hammer it in a little bit more.”

“You’re playing with fire with your words, Gabrielle,” Xena hummed, reaching to take the phallus from Gabrielle’s hand. “There’s plenty yet for you to learn about me and what I like to do.”

“As is there plenty for you to learn about me,” Gabrielle said back, her words a little breathy.

When Xena did move, it was as if in a dream. She put the phallus through the metal ring, tightened the straps, and felt that it was rigid enough that it would not slip. Gabrielle watched her intently, expectantly, with only a twinge of nerves in her bearing. When she moved to the bed and knelt between Gabrielle’s parted legs, she felt the feral need rising in her gut, climbing up her spine, taking a place in her brainstem and making a fist of it, taking charge of her whole being. Her breaths were slow, deliberate; lust had never felt this heavy, and this sweet as it flowed through her veins.

She reached down with her hand and slid two of her fingers into Gabrielle’s sex, coating them with the wetness thoroughly before pulling them out again. She spread the phallus with Gabrielle’s wetness, preparing it, though in truth there was little to prepare for — there was more than enough waiting between Gabrielle’s legs. She was ready, she wanted it; as she watched her squirm under her gaze, she knew that she ached for it.

Xena leaned down so that her hands were on both sides of Gabrielle’s head, supporting her body. She looked down, and saw the phallus resting, hanging just an inch or so from Gabrielle.

“Touch it,” she whispered. “Take it in your hand, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle obeyed, wordless.

“Guide it in you,” Xena murmured, beginning to lower herself down. “Take it in.”

She kept her eyes on Gabrielle’s face. As she sank down and slowly worked her hips closer, pushing the phallus into her, she saw it enter her through the widening of her eyes, the parting of her lips. She felt it in the slight movement of Gabrielle’s body, her hips shifting, back arching, moving not away, but closer, to a better angle to receive her. She heard a soft gasp, shifting into a gentle sigh; she saw a smile spread onto those pretty lips, and kissed her as she filled her completely. She sank the length of her phallus into Gabrielle until their bodies met, and there she stopped, eyes seeking to meet Gabrielle’s own.

“How does that feel?”

Gabrielle looked as if she might drool. “It’s…different.”

“No pain?” Xena asked, kissing her again. Why did her mouth taste so good? 

“No,” she sighed with a smile. “I want—“

“Hm?”

“You can move it,” Gabrielle said. “I think…”

Xena moved her hips a little, a gentle, slow thrust, almost out, then back in. Gabrielle’s eyes rolled back in her head. 

“Oh, yes ,” she gasped. “I like that .”

Xena groaned from pleasure. The feeling, the knowledge, the sight of Gabrielle like this, and hearing that she liked it — she knew she was in trouble. 

She repeated what she’d done, moving slowly, yet deliberately with her hips as she thrust into Gabrielle. Slow, but gaining a rhythm, slowly picking up pace. Gabrielle’s capacity for words disappeared almost instantly; from the ease with which the phallus moved, and from the moans and whimpers the blonde let fall so freely, Xena was easily able to choose her pace and focus on pleasure. Gabrielle was perfectly wet and the phallus fit with ease; there was little resistance, if any, and yet still Xena could tell that it filled her with to a pleasant, satisfying fullness. She rested her forearms on both sides of Gabrielle’s head and began to fuck her, thrusting at an angle that she found drew the prettiest moans; she laid down fully, knowing her own body flush against Gabrielle’s felt good, and felt her abdomen brush against Gabrielle’s center every so often with her thrusts.

The fucking rendered Gabrielle truly hers. Relaxed, limp, without words; needy beyond comprehension. She had seen many things, but never had a woman succumbed to her in such a way, in such a manner of devotion, of desire. Xena immediately fell in love with the look of Gabrielle’s eyes, hooded and a little glassy, and the way her mouth could not close, not entirely. A little droplet of drool hung from her bottom lip when she bent down to kiss her, devouring the moans that she let spill.

Pushing herself up, Xena was able to appreciate the beauty of Gabrielle’s body as she fucked her, now at a quicker pace. The changed angle shifted the pitch of Gabrielle’s moans, higher, more desperate, sharper. Xena knew that she was getting in deep, and slowed down a little, not wanting to immediately run her woman through and have her walk funny for the rest of the week. Gabrielle’s breasts heaved with each thrust, her hands sought some support on Xena’s hips, so tender even as they held on; the little marks that Xena had left on her chest were each a source of immense pleasure in her eyes, the whole vision before her becoming that of a woman completely hers, totally in a way that she’d never had. Gabrielle was not hers because she had demanded it; Gabrielle was hers because she wanted to be, despite the fact that she knew the depths of who she was, the depravities, the goodness that was fast growing within, and the truths. Gabrielle was hers because she was Gabrielle’s, and the depth of pleasure that it brought to Xena was one she could have never understood, not so long ago. 

As Gabrielle’s noises grew in pitch and intensity, Xena picked up the pace and laid back down upon her, cradling Gabrielle’s head with her arms. She was kissing her cheeks, her lips, her jaw, her neck; the sight of the marks she’d left earlier, on Gabrielle’s neck and on her breasts, which moved with each thrust, was enough to drive the possessive part of her nature to the brink of insanity. She added one more mark to Gabrielle’s throat, biting enough to draw out a cry of pain, and soothed it with her mouth.

“You like me taking you like this? Like you’re my own, like I’m making you mine?” she breathed in Gabrielle’s ear, the pace now relentless, the stream of whimpers from Gabrielle’s lips constant. She could feel a change in the rhythm and the cadence of Gabrielle's moans, and guessed she was approaching a place where the pleasure gained direction, an end-point, a light towards which all sensation focused. “You think you can come for me, Gabrielle?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle whined, and from the depth of her plea Xena knew she truly meant it. “Fuck, Xena, yes—“

Xena let her hips roll in a way that allowed her abdomen to drag across Gabrielle’s center, brushing against her clit, and kept her pace. She let her breaths be hot in Gabrielle’s ear, adding the occasional whispered word, moan, praise, and felt it as Gabrielle fell deeper into pleasure and further into her possession in her arms. She may have been weak from her illness, but she was still strong; if Gabrielle wanted to come from this, then she would endure, and keep going until she was satisfied. Her desire to see Gabrielle come undone under her like this eclipsed all.

“Go on, my love,” she whispered, coaxing her now, “You’re taking it so well. You want to come, don’t you? Let me take care of you, there, that’s it…”

Gabrielle whimpered, wordless in her plea for more, for enough, for steadiness.

“That’s it, Gabrielle,” Xena rasped, “That’s it. You’re mine, I’ve got you, that’s it…”

Nails dug into the flesh of her back, dragging, deep enough to leave marks. Xena did not have time to wonder if she’d drawn blood, because in the next moment Gabrielle tensed under her, her moan cut short by a choking gasp; she kept her pace for a moment longer, and slowed only when Gabrielle relaxed under her, fucking her gently through to the end of her orgasm.

“Tell me when I can pull out,” she whispered in her ear. Gabrielle shivered under her. She breathed a few times, shifted a little, winced — and gave a nod.

Xena withdrew with all the care in the world and undid the clasps of the harness with one hand, unwilling to leave Gabrielle for even a second. She looked so tender, so small in her arms, so perfectly satisfied; her eyes were still a little glassy, a little unfocused. 

“How was that, my love?”

Gabrielle blinked slowly and gave her a satisfied smile. “Pretty great.”

Xena kissed her jaw, tracing a slow, languid path to her mouth. “Only pretty great? Not life-changing, or…”

“I’m going to want more of that,” came Gabrielle’s answer. “A lot more.”

She stretched under Xena, making a sweet, moaning sound of satisfaction. Xena could not stop looking at her; her afterglow had the allure of the moon, of the sunrise, of the spring bloom, of all things beautiful in the world. 

It surprised her when Gabrielle got up some moments later, unlacing her from the embrace they’d fallen into. An involuntary, soft sound of disapproval left her throat — one which shocked her even more than it did Gabrielle.

“Did you just whine because I got up?”

Xena pursed her lips. “No.”

“You did,” Gabrielle laughed. “The great Destroyer of Nations is whining because her lover slipped from her grasp for two seconds.”

A pillow flew across the room, only barely missing Gabrielle. “Don’t call me that.”

She eyed Gabrielle as she padded across to their bags. Naked and pretty, the sight of her bending over to reach for something was enough to have Xena wondering if she could be convinced for another round. She came back soon enough, however, with a scroll and quill in hand, an inkwell in the other.

Xena raised an eyebrow. “Where is this going?”

“I just want to write down the lines,” Gabrielle said, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the scroll on her thigh. The paper would not lay flat, and she sighed; there was no table in the whole of the room.

Xena rolled over to her stomach. “Use my back.”

She heard a soft sigh, and felt Gabrielle shuffle closer to her on the bed. Her thigh came to rest against Xena’s side, cool now that the slight sheen of sweat had chilled. Even so, Xena basked in that touch, and the feeling of Gabrielle spreading the scroll over her back, scribbling on it with gentle, tickling touches.

“You know, I might have to do this more,” Gabrielle commented, having jotted down what she wanted. By Xena’s estimate, she might have gotten a few more lines down than just the ones she’d spoken. “It was very hard trying to write out on the road. Impossible, even. I really should have a traveling-desk, or some kind of—”

“You’re welcome to my services any time, Gabrielle,” Xena murmured, feeling sleep sneak up on her. “I’ll be your desk.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Hm. Yes. Hold me.”

Gabrielle’s fingers were on her back, tracing the scratches she’d left. Xena could feel them stinging a little; she was glad for them, for even without seeing them she knew they’d be there for a while. She wanted them to stay forever. 

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Yes.”

Gabrielle’s fingers traced the hollow of her spine and found the many scars that ran the length of her back. Xena relaxed under her gentle touch, willing to be seen, to be vulnerable; she felt safe.

“Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“So if I asked to wear your leathers tomorrow, would you let me?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, really?”

Xena turned her head a little and peered at Gabrielle with one eye. “Only if you let me fuck you while you’re wearing them. With the…appendage, as you called it.”

She felt Gabrielle squirm where she sat on the bed, and was satisfied with how speechless she had gone. If there was anything more said after, she truly did not know. She drifted to sleep, feeling only the gentle touches of Gabrielle’s exploration on her back.

Chapter Text

The tang of iron drifted in the air, mixing with the smell of dirt and hay. Men lay on the ground, groaning, muttering curses. Those that were able were on their feet, scrambling away.

“Get away and be gone,” Xena seethed at those on the ground. “I’ve not yet had reason to switch to a blade, but if you make any more trouble, I won’t hesitate.“

The remaining men ran. Those that could not run, scrambled, disappearing into the woods. Xena stood as the victor, panting, brandishing a frying-pan. Or what had once been a frying-pan. Now it resembled a crumpled piece of metal in her hands.

“You could have taken my staff if you wanted to avoid spilling blood,” Gabrielle grumbled, taking the frying-pan from Xena’s hands. The fight was over; the highwaymen had put up some good fight, but they’d hardly been a match for Xena. 

“What, and leave you defenseless and without a weapon? Don’t think I didn’t see you doing your part. Those Amazons taught you some good moves.”

Gabrielle looked at Xena, this Xena, reeling from the thrill of battle. Wild-eyed, hair swept out of her face, a faint sheen of sweat making her skin glisten in the sun. She would have gladly fallen to her knees for this sight of Xena; her mind began to wander, and she began to wonder how likely it was that someone would appear along the road in the next half hour.

Her Xena, mighty and strong. Gabrielle ached as she had since the morning before last, since she had woken up from a pleasant and pleasurable dream and known that her time of the month was approaching. She hadn’t had the chance to talk to Xena yet about it; Xena had been strangely withdrawn, and there hadn’t been an opportunity to inform the warrior of her presently immense sexual frustration and need.

Gods, Xena looked good. Gabrielle felt as though she were melting. It wasn’t so bad every month — usually the week before her courses, she was a little more needy than the rest, for just a few days — but with Xena near, it was unbearable. She could have spent all day in bed with nothing else to do, but no, Xena wanted to keep going. She seemed driven to keep going, as if she had somewhere to be, somewhere to go.

Xena’s tongue ran across her lips and Gabrielle’s mind went blank. She looked at her, chest heaving with long-drawn breaths, a trickle of blood running down her leg—

“Xena! You’re bleeding,” she cried, almost stumbling over herself to take a closer look. The aching throb between her legs was instantly forgotten at the realization that Xena was hurt.

“It’s just a scrape,” Xena said, shaking her head. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s painting your leg red.”

“Flesh wound.”

Gabrielle huffed and took Xena by the wrist, leading her to a stone on the side of the road.

“Gabrielle, it’s nothing—“

“Xe-na.” 

That was final. Gabrielle gave Xena’s shoulders a sharp push and did her best to nudge away the thoughts that arose in her head about straddling her lap.

“Sit still.”

“You’re very bossy, you know that?”

“Says the woman who tells me what to do when we’re in bed.”

“Ah, but you like it,” Xena retorted. Then, revealing her present emotional rawness, she fell shy, and asked: “You do, right?”

“Of course I do,” Gabrielle answered, bewildered that Xena had even asked. She’d only been joking, anyway. Xena didn’t tell her what to do every night. 

Tonight, today, that very second Xena could have told her to do anything and she would have obliged. But Xena appeared pensive, and her lack of receptiveness to light jesting was concerning to say the least. She had definitely not noticed the fact that Gabrielle was like a cat on hot coals, and had been all day, and the day before.

Gabrielle knelt before her and placed a gentle hand on her thigh. “Xena. Are you alright?”

Xena bit her tongue and said nothing. Gabrielle nodded, understanding — perhaps understanding more than Xena knew she was letting on. She knew there was something on her mind, something she was unwilling to speak about; she was waiting for the right moment to address it. 

She flipped the hem of Xena’s skirt up just enough to reveal the scrape along her left thigh, which was indeed just a flesh wound. 

Her thighs are divine.

Gabrielle shook her head and hoped Xena didn’t notice the pink flush on her cheeks.

“Do you think this needs stitches?”

Xena eyed the scrape. “Nah, it was just the tip. But bandage it. After the blood has stopped running.”

This time, she didn’t even try to offer to do it herself. She’d learned fast enough that Gabrielle wanted to do it, and remembered still the sharp smack she’d gotten to her fingers when she’d tried to take over the last time.

Gabrielle was a quick study. Two weeks had passed since they’d left Petras, and already they’d gotten into a handful of fights, a few misdemeanors, and had spent half an evening in a jail, trying to talk themselves out of very confusing, and very misleading fraud charges. She knew the contents of Xena’s medical bag well enough to tend to scrapes and wounds, despite having only had to help Xena twice — once when an enraged bartender had thrown a broken bottle her way, hitting her in the shin, and once when a slaver had knocked her on the head with a club, enough to draw blood. She took out gauze and pressed at the wound, wiping the blood away, and saw that it was already ceasing to bleed. Soon after, she took out a fresh bandage and wrapped it around Xena’s thigh with care.

This time, when she was done, she bent down and pressed a little kiss on top of the bandage. She thought about moving forward, with more kisses, but again nudged it away.

“Can’t hurt, can it?”

“Oh, no, it wounds me deeply,” Xena pouted. “That my thigh is receiving the attentions my mouth is needing.”

“Quite poetic of you,” Gabrielle teased, rising up so that she could give her a quick kiss. Anything more than a peck, and she’d be gone. “And needy. You’re sure you’re okay?”

With her so close, Gabrielle knew Xena was aware she had no chance of getting a lie past her. 

With her so close, Gabrielle also knew that she was on the verge of folding. Some part of her wanted to know what it felt like to be in Xena’s embrace with her still sweaty and bloody from battle, tasting the residuals of that ferocity that overtook her whenever she fought.

“I’m just a little unsettled. It’ll pass.”

There was the opening, a crack in the facade; Gabrielle took hold of it, gently, and moved forward within.

“You’ve been like this for a few days now. I’m starting to worry,” she confessed. She moved to sit on Xena’s knee, on the leg that was not hurt; her hand cupped Xena’s face, preventing her from looking away. “Something’s up, Xena, I can tell. Won’t you talk to me?”

Xena seemed to want to focus on anything except the subject at hand. “We’re getting kinda close to home, that’s all.”

Gabrielle stared at her for a while as realization dawned on her. She was about to say something, speak, when Xena scowled, and said:

“No, Gabrielle. We’re not going there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not welcome,” she muttered, casting her eyes to the ground. “I’m not wanted there.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Very.”

Gabrielle sighed and let the subject go for the time being. The door had opened, briefly, and closed again. They packed up and set off, Xena riding Argo, Gabrielle walking beside; she chatted, telling stories, trying to lighten up the mood, but knew it was no use. The warrior was impossibly reclusive, and seemed on the edge of an outburst — Gabrielle just couldn’t figure out if it would be one of anger, or one of tears. Her jaw was tight, her lips a thin line; though she tried to smile at her little jokes, Gabrielle knew it wasn’t genuine.

When they ate dinner, conversation was a torturous, one-sided affair. When they snuggled up soon afterwards to sleep, it was still quiet; Xena was courteous, but far from open. She lay with her arms around Gabrielle’s waist, her face pressing into the back of her neck, her breaths steady, slowing down. 

Her lips were touching Gabrielle’s skin, just barely. Even that slightness was torture for her. She ached to be touched, to be loved; to be taken, ravished, devoured by Xena. By Xena, who at that moment was fast asleep — by Xena, who, even if she had been awake, was most likely in no mood. And Gabrielle understood, truly, she did. What rational thought and sense she had was firmly of the opinion that she needed to be there for Xena and follow her cues, offer tenderness where clearly she needed some. 

It just didn’t help that her body was a raging wildfire of desire, drowning in a need that only Xena could satisfy. 

She shifted a little in Xena’s arms and tried to settle. She was tired, she should have slept; Xena was asleep already, she could tell by her breaths and by the way her arms had gone a little slack.

Half-sleep drifted over her in waves. She wandered through jolting scenes of dreams, but could not fall within, not fully. She was too aware of Xena’s body enclosing her own, of Xena’s breaths on her neck, of her ache, the absolute soaked mess that lay between her legs. It wasn’t just a need of body, but a need of mind; if it had only been the one, she could have steeled herself and ignored it. With the two working in union, she had barely a weapon, barely a shield against what her own nature seemed to want so badly it was willing to deny her the release of sleep, and of rest.

Xena moved in her sleep, shifting so that her thigh pressed into Gabrielle’s legs. The changed movement pushed her own legs together in a way that forced a strangled, gasping cry from her lips, one which she silenced by throwing a hand over her own mouth. She lay rigid, listening to Xena’s breaths, feeling her body for signs of waking. Tension returned to Xena’s arms, and she could not help that another moaning cry, a high-pitched sound that was very close to a mewl, left her lips when Xena pulled her closer.

“Gabrielle? You okay?”

Gabrielle nodded and made an affirmative sound through her hand.

“Are you crying?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “I’m fine, Xena. Go to sleep.”

Xena moved a little so that she could look at her. Gabrielle turned her face away, unwilling to be seen in her state. 

Fingertips found her jaw and pulled her face towards Xena anyway. “Gabrielle.”

Lust flowed through her veins, thick like honeyed wine. Everything felt slow; her heart, her breaths, her thoughts. 

“Xena,” she breathed, and licked her lips. “Really, I’m— I’m fine.”

She saw realization crawl into Xena’s mind. Sleepy eyes cleared as her gaze darted from Gabrielle’s eyes to her mouth, to the lips that were slightly parted, to the chest that was heaving with unsteady breaths. Her hand moved from her chin to her neck, fingers still pressing into her jaw, keeping her in place. Gabrielle felt her heartbeat begin to race, and knew that Xena could feel it under her palm.

“Oh, my love,” sighed she, smiling in her wicked, fiendish way that meant only the sweetest trouble for Gabrielle. “I have neglected you, haven’t I?”

A shaky, relieved breath escaped Gabrielle’s lips. She let herself sink into Xena’s touch, relaxing, even as the throbbing between her legs began to increase.

Xena’s lips were on her shoulder, still tentative. “This is more than usual,” she remarked, still observing Gabrielle’s face. “You’re…are you sure you’re okay?”

“I swear,” Gabrielle tried to assure her. “I just get like this the week before I bleed.”

She saw Xena’s eyes flash with the briefest second of panic at the word ‘bleed’, and laughed.

“The kind of bleeding a woman can’t avoid, Xena.”

Xena pulled her closer, turning her a little so that she could kiss her on the mouth. Gabrielle tasted growing hunger on her tongue and in the grip she had of her neck, and felt herself melt further. 

“I know what kind of bleeding you meant,” Xena murmured against her lips. “But I do think I need to know more about what ‘this’ means.”

Her hand was on Gabrielle’s ribs, slowly inching upwards. Fingertips slipped under the fabric of her shirt, the blue shirt Xena had chosen for her so long ago, and traced a path to her breasts. Gabrielle could not think, let alone summon an answer to Xena’s question; she was breathing, panting almost, drowning in the sensual intensity of Xena’s touch on her skin. Her skin, which was so sensitive, driven electric by a rush of hormones, by a will of nature. Too sensitive, almost.

“Gabrielle…”

When Xena ran her whole palm over her breast, rolling the nipple against her hand and kneading the softness, Gabrielle let out a sharp cry of pain. Xena froze, and looked at her in alarm; the hand on her jaw tightened a little. 

“Did I hurt you?”

Gabrielle nodded faintly. “My breasts are a little swollen, and they’re just…ah, very sensitive,” she breathed. “Enough to hurt.”

Gentler touches soothed her, featherlight fingertips running along her skin. “I’m sorry,” Xena whispered. “I didn’t know. But tell me, how do you feel?”

“Remember that night, the feast of Aphrodisia?”

“It’s like that?”

Gabrielle looked Xena in the eyes and prayed that she could see the depth of the desire she was drowning in. “It’s worse.”

Xena’s hand was now inching down along her stomach, slow, deliberate, teasing. Gabrielle whimpered when she stopped at the edge of her underwear, wishing she would just go on, take her, fill her as she needed.

Xena hummed, visibly pleased. All sleep was gone from her; she had settled into that comfortably controlling side of herself where Gabrielle could just fall into her arms and let Xena take care of her, do to her whatever she wished, and know she would not go unsatisfied. When she kissed Gabrielle, it was a kiss meant to possess.

Gabrielle fell, all too willing. She moaned into Xena’s mouth and turned over so that she was on her back, allowing Xena better access, her legs wide open. Xena indulged her, moaning when she felt the wetness she held within, and moaning deeper again when she slipped two fingers inside and felt her in full. Gabrielle was in bliss, on the edge of Elysium.

“Fuck, Gabrielle,” Xena groaned, starting to fuck her with her fingers, “How long?”

“Huh?”

“For how long have you been like this, and I didn’t know?”

Gabrielle pulled Xena on top of herself and kissed her on the mouth, tongue seeking a taste of her. Her belly was awash with butterflies, her whole body was aching and panting for the pleasure Xena was giving her — it was not just a need for physical touch, for physical fulfillment, but the mental, too. Xena had hold of her, in body and in mind, and it satisfied Gabrielle to no end.

“Since,” she gasped in between words when Xena added a third finger, “—since yesterday morning,” she whimpered, rocking her hips into Xena’s hand. “Yesterday morning,” she breathed, meeting Xena’s eyes. She saw despair there, and she saw hunger; she also saw an apology.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded. “Don’t apologize, don’t talk. Take me. Please, gods, Xena, please—“

Xena’s hand on her neck squeezed a little, not enough to choke, just enough to make it clear who had the reins. “I’m going to make it up to you,” she growled, twisting her fingers in Gabrielle’s sex just enough to have her bucking her hips and whimpering. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised, pulling her in to a bruising kiss. The fingers inside of her were driving her thoughts away with every thrust; they fucked her with ever-increasing intensity, pushing her towards climax, pushing, taking—

“Fuck—“ Gabrielle choked on the word and came, clenching so hard on Xena’s fingers she was fairly certain she saw the warrior wince. 

“So soon?” Xena asked. She withdrew her fingers and laid her hand on Gabrielle’s hip. 

Gabrielle wrapped her legs around Xena’s waist, trapping her arm between them. “You think I’m done?”

Xena leaned down and captured her lips for a kiss, biting Gabrielle’s lower lip before pulling away. “Demanding, are we?”

“Would you rather go to sleep?”

Xena’s fingers circled Gabrielle’s clit, also immensely sensitive. Her whole body jumped as if struck by lightning. “No,” she grumbled, kissing her again. “I can’t believe you were going to let me sleep.”

There was a question peeking from the midst of her words. “You seemed preoccupied these past few days,” Gabrielle sighed. “I didn’t want to push you.”

Xena let out a groan. “Gabrielle—“

“It’s not that big of a deal!” Gabrielle interjected. “It’s not that important. I didn’t want to bother you.”

The way Xena kissed her then took Gabrielle’s breath away. It was hungry, it was rough, bruising — for a moment, Gabrielle felt as though she were drowning. Xena’s hand slipped back between her legs, two fingers entering what was already sensitive, still wanting more. She moaned and wrapped her arms around Xena’s neck, pulling her closer and feeling her breaths on her skin.

“Nothing,” Xena growled, thrusting into Gabrielle, claiming her and driving pleasure back into her tenfold, “Nothing is more important than this, Gabrielle,” she rasped, her breath hot on her lips before she kissed her. “If you need me, I’m yours. If you want me, I’m yours. I’m yours, Gabrielle, damn it,” she breathed, consuming Gabrielle’s whimpers with interspersed kisses between the words. “Say it.”

“Mine,” Gabrielle whispered, clinging to Xena, basking in the feeling of her so close. “Yes, you’re mine.”

She repeated those words as Xena continued to fuck her, her hips following the sensations she gave her, working in tandem, seeking the climax that was just within reach, so close, so easy. Xena’s mouth moved along her jaw and her chest, her breasts, careful to not hurt, her tongue on her swollen, aching nipples simply divine; she fucked her, allowing her palm and thumb to rub up against Gabrielle’s clit, steadily growing the pressure back into another orgasm. Gabrielle took it, head swimming with pleasure, and kept whispering that one word as if it were a mantra.

“Mine,” she breathed, and Xena thrust into her, lips enclosed around her nipple and sucking, tongue making circles. “Mine.”

The second orgasm was softer, almost an extension of the first, a rush of immense relaxation that soon shifted into deep satisfaction. Gabrielle relaxed her legs around Xena’s waist, allowing her to remove her arm, placing it on the bedroll beside her head. For a moment, all was silent; Xena watched her, appraised her, as if she were memorizing the look of her face. Gabrielle saw her, but thought little of anything else. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about how she’d like to return the favor. Sleep, however, began to drum up in her mind, having had two orgasms back to back.

Xena took her by the jaw and caught her gaze.  “Next time you find me being a blind fool, you tell me,” she said firmly, as if trying to set the words solid in Gabrielle’s mind and memory. “Please. Talk to me. Hit me over the head if you have to. I have been preoccupied, yes, but that doesn’t mean that you come second.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabrielle sighed. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“You haven’t had trouble initiating before.”

“But you’re really deep inside your head. Haven’t you noticed?”

Xena released a heavy sigh and rested her forehead against Gabrielle’s, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve been avoiding making a decision.”

“Oh?”

“About going home.”

Gabrielle placed her hand on Xena’s cheek, gentle, tender where it took hold. She felt Xena tighten her jaw for a moment, deciding whether she wanted to talk; she looked her in the eyes, and wished she’d choose to speak. 

“You’re undecided, aren’t you?”

She could feel Xena leaning into her touch as much as she could feel Xena trying to lean on her emotionally, seeking support. Trying, not doing very well at it; it seemed as though half of her were rebelling against the act, whilst the other desired it more than anything.

“You don’t have to deal with these things alone, you know.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You have a problem. You need a solution, right?”

Xena nodded. She sighed and rolled them over, moving Gabrielle into her arms so that she lay with her head on Xena’s shoulder. Gabrielle had not yet quite gotten used to the ease with which Xena could maneuver her, and the gentleness that came with it. 

Gabrielle reached for the blanket and pulled it up over them.

“We didn’t come here by accident, did we?”

Xena’s hand on her arm was unsettled, moving constantly, aimless. “What do you mean?”

“You would have known we were getting close to Amphipolis for days. You chose the road, not I. There’s no reason we couldn’t have kept going north.”

“Maybe.”

“If you were firmly resolved that you didn’t want to confront your mother, you would have chosen to go away,” Gabrielle continued, placing her hand atop Xena’s and stilling her to some calmness. “Instead, we came here. Some part of you wants this, Xena. Wants to go home, to ask forgiveness, to try and do things right. And that’s the part you chose to indulge. What you’re feeling now isn’t confusion, but fear. You’re afraid of what’ll happen, even as you want it.”

Xena’s breath was deep, and Gabrielle could feel herself rising a little with it. The exhale was slow, deliberate — she guessed Xena was counting seconds, trying to calm her pulse. 

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Your use of maybe to temper the admission that I’m right is adorable, you know,” Gabrielle smiled, pressing a kiss to Xena’s shoulder. 

“Be quiet.”

“No, I have more to say,” Gabrielle said, now resolute. Xena was open, and the space between them felt safe, secure. “You told me once that you don’t do well with uncertainty. You need to know, one way another, don’t you? It’ll nag at you forever if you don’t.”

There was a prolonged silence that grew heavy at the edges. “I told you that a long time ago,” Xena finally said. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I remember most things you’ve said to me.”

Xena hugged her closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “My little bard,” she murmured, sighing again. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“What?”

“Unwind things with just a few words.”

Gabrielle’s heart did a little leap. “You made a decision?”

“I did,” Xena said, her words tilting into a yawn. “I’ll go talk to mother.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, I’m going,” replied Xena, though her voice held some hint of hesitation. “Alone, if that’s okay.”

Gabrielle shuffled up and kissed her on the lips, smiling. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I know a good spot not far from town where we can set up camp for you to wait. It’s about two days away.”

She was still in a thoughtful mood when she added: “I think tomorrow I want to show you something.”

“Oh?”

“A place I loved, once. When I was a child.”

There was a soft smile on her lips. Gabrielle thought then that she might say what lay between them unspoken, but not unfelt; she felt her heart so clearly, so full, so warm, entirely Xena’s.

Chapter Text

Cyrene stopped and adjusted the straps of her pack, grimacing with the discomfort of its weight. It was full of mushrooms and wild greens, which she had spent the last two days gathering in the higher hills near Amphipolis. There were specific mushrooms and a few wild herbs that only grew a days’ journey away, and she usually traveled once or twice in a season to gather enough for the whole year. There would be plenty of pickling to do, and drying, and storing in oil — but, with what she’d found thus far, she felt she’d make it well enough over into the next season.

She sat down on a rock to adjust her boot, removing a small stone that had sneaked its way under her heel. For a while she sat there in the sun, resting, rubbing at the beginnings of a sore. The sounds of the forest were pleasant; birdsong from above, the wind rustling in the trees, a creek, bubbling some ways’ down the slope.

Laughter. 

Cyrene frowned. No one lived within miles of this place; not many knew the right paths to get to the higher glades, and few bothered to seek them out. Simple curiosity set her back on her feet, and goaded her into following the source of the laughter. It was coming from the creek, or near it; for a moment, she thought of a time years ago, of a happier time, when she’d come upon her children, playing in the water, laughing, crying out for the other to stop splashing. That memory, so happy in its making, was now weighted with sadness.

“Xena, stop!”

Ice struck through Cyrene’s veins and stilled the breath in her lungs. For a moment, she stood with one foot in the present, one in the past; she did not breathe, she did not move. Laughter spilled into the light of the forest, joyful laughter — there was the sound of footsteps not far away.

“Gabrielle, get back here!”

That voice. It was the voice Cyrene had spent years forgetting; the voice that still spoke to her sometimes in the depths of her nightly dreams.

She should have walked away. She should have left, gone home, forgotten all about it. She shouldn’t have walked up closer, hidden behind a thicket, invisible to the two women in the glade just beyond. She shouldn’t have crouched down, shielded from sight, and listened. But try as she might, even as anger, hurt, and hate climbed atop her mind as raw as the day they had been wrought, she could not help herself.

She looked through the branches and saw her daughter, clad in the guise of a warrior, her hair long and black and free, her face lit by the summer sun. There was a smirking smile on her lips, one that Cyrene recognized from when she’d been a child, playing with Lyceus. 

“You want some of this, huh?”

The other woman was a stranger. Shorter, golden-haired, with an airy, kindly complexion; she looked like a sweet girl, and Cyrene could not for the life of her understand why a girl such as her would have ever been traveling with her daughter. Xena, the Warrior Princess; Xena, the Destroyer of Nations. Yes, tales of Xena’s heroic accomplishments and conversion to a force for good had reached Amphipolis, but Cyrene had refused to hear them. She could not believe them. 

She would not.

“Admit it,” the other woman was saying. “You have the last bit of the of sugared oranges, even though you promised that I’d get them if I won our bet. I won, you lost. They’re mine, Xena, and I’ll have my prize.”

Cyrene watched as the shorter woman prowled around the camp towards Xena. She lunged, and Xena rolled away, laughing again; the blonde ran after her, and tripped, falling to the ground with a sharp cry.

The speed with which Xena was upon her, all laughter erased from her face and replaced with worry, astonished Cyrene.

“Gabrielle? Sweetheart, are you hurt?”

The blonde, Gabrielle, waited until Xena was close before she sprang into action. Cyrene was fairly certain that her daughter would not have fallen for such a trick, and even less she believed that Xena would let a woman so small flip her to her back and pin her to the ground without fighting her off. Yet Xena did not move; she lay on her back, wrists pinned to the ground, not because she was overcome, but because she surrendered.

“Aha!” yelled the other woman, Gabrielle. “I got you.”

“Sure you did,” Xena was saying. “I let you get close.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I did it on my own. Amazon abilities and that.”

“Oh?”

Xena moved Gabrielle over to her back with such swiftness that to Cyrene’s eye it really looked as though it happened in the blink of an eye. It did not, however, miss her notice that Xena's hand shielded the other woman's head, preventing it from hitting the ground as she flipped her. There was a tenderness entwined with her roughness, her strength being used for more than just power; she was playing, and that was all. Even with Lyceus, she'd hardly ever held back, giving her brother bruises when they'd wrestled. 

“Unfair!” came the complaint. “I wanted you under me.”

In a move that Cyrene truly failed to comprehend, Xena rolled them over again, leaving the woman Gabrielle on top.

“There we go,” she was saying. “I’ll let you be on top.”

“Oh, let me,” Gabrielle sneered. “As if this wasn’t your plan all along.”

“Can’t say I’m disliking where I am at the moment.”

“The oranges. Where are they?”

“Oh, they’re hidden.”

“Where?” 

“Somewhere I knew you’d look, eventually.”

When Gabrielle’s hand went for Xena’s cleavage and retrieved the paper-wrapped packet of candy, Cyrene began to think she ought to move on. Yet the words that fell after froze her in place; she could not move.

“You fiend,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head.

“You wound me, wife.”

If there had been ice in Cyrene’s veins before, there was now fire. She heard Gabrielle cry out, amused and shocked, and heard some complaint about ‘shutting up’ and ‘make me’, but saw nothing more — she slipped away, hand over her mouth, and kept quiet for at least half a mile before she made it back to her path and the way out of the woods.

Wife?

To be true, she had not thought about Xena for a long time. She tried to avoid the subject of her altogether; traveling bards knew her tavern by the reputation that she’d throw out anyone who repeated tales of Xena, regardless of if they were in the positive side of things, or the negative. She had spent years pretending she had no daughter; she had spent years trying to erase the child whose actions had brought on the demise of the other. 

Yet now she could not escape thought, curiosity, and pondering. That one singular word, and that one singular scene, those few minutes she’d witnessed, had sent her mind into places she had not wanted to visit. She had seen Xena as her daughter had once been, better even; smiling, shining, playful. Comfortable, exuding a stability Cyrene had not recognized, but which suited her impossibly well. She was still the same Xena, warrior-like and strong, with something frightening about her bearing even when she was smiling. Something of a predator, calm until she wasn’t.

Cyrene had known Xena as a child, smiling and eager to learn; she had known her as a youth, headstrong and idealistic. She had known her too in the depths of her failure, and had cast her away when she had seen that the shining, sunlit child she’d once known had disappeared into depths of darkness that she did not recognize.

The Xena that had returned with Lyceus’s body, wild-eyed and bloodstained, filled with rage and desperation, it was a Xena she hadn’t recognized. What came after had been even less; the tales Cyrene had heard, the horrors, they had only set her more firmly into the mindset of a mother who had lost two, not one of her children. 

She had never known this Xena. She had never thought she would know this Xena, see this Xena, even glimpse this Xena — this Xena, who was happy, settled, and in love. This Xena, who, apparently, was married. This Xena who laughed and played and was so solidly herself, but with a new air of gentleness that Cyrene had never seen. The fact that her partner was a woman would perhaps have shocked Cyrene more, had there not been a thousand other things to be shocked by. 

Why is she here?

What does she want?

Will she come to see me?

What will I say if she does?

The questions plagued her all the way home, and a long time thereafter. That night, Cyrene slept little, if at all.

Meanwhile in the glade, Gabrielle was happily eating the last of the candied oranges. There had been an interlude of moaning, whimpering, and rolling around some more between her victory over Xena and this final moment of sweet satisfaction; Xena still lay on the bedroll, the blanket tossed lazily over her lower half for some semblance of decency, watching her with a shimmer in her eye. Gabrielle glanced at her, and smirked.

“You know, one of these days you’re going to wear out the word by using it so much.”

“What word?”

“Wife.”

“Will I?” Xena asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just having fun. Your face gets all red when I tease you with it.”

“It does not.”

“Believe me, it does.”

Gabrielle let out a huff. “It’s not something to make light of, you know. If things had gone differently, I would be getting ready to be someone’s wife right now.”

Xena’s face twisted into a grimace, all playfulness gone. Her mind went back to the beginnings of their meeting — to the raid on Potidaea, the killing of Gabrielle’s betrothed, which they really had not spoken much of, not yet.

“Xena, stop it.”

She’d shut her eyes and not even realized it. “Huh?”

“Torturing yourself with bygones,” Gabrielle said, laying down so that she could lay her head on Xena’s stomach. “I did not love him. Yes, he didn’t deserve to die, and he was sweet in his own way, but I never wanted to marry him. But still, it’s been on my mind. Mother always said we should tie the knot by the end of summer.”

“Ah. And that’s getting closer.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you uncomfortable with it? Me jokingly calling you that? It’s only because Althea and—“

“Oh, I know, you’re a fiendish devil for teasing me about that,” Gabrielle chuckled. “I’m not bothered by it, really.”

Xena tilted her head and frowned up at the sky. She wished she could have been looking at Gabrielle’s face, but she was too comfortable where she was. Afternoon sun shining warm on her bare skin, Gabrielle’s head on her stomach, a soft, comfortable weight; silken hair under her fingers where they rested on her head. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Gabrielle.”

The blonde made a noise of complaint. 

“Gabrielle…”

“It’s just the wife thing.”

“What wife thing?”

“Marriage.”

A heavy stone settled on Xena’s chest. She wasn’t sure if its weight was anxiety, worry, or excitement; it felt like a strange mixture of all three. 

“Go on.”

“Well, I didn’t like the idea of marrying Perdicus. Mostly because when you’re married, you’re supposed to have sex, and I did not really…I could have done it, but would I have enjoyed it?”

Xena clenched her jaw at the thought. It bothered her enough to think of Gabrielle with anyone else; it bothered her more to think of her with a man that she didn’t even want. 

“I mean, no, of course not, I feel about as much sexual desire for a raw potato as I did for him or any man, but…” Gabrielle sighed. Her fingers were fumbling with the edge of the blanket, pulling at a loose thread. 

“But what,” Xena coaxed, when the silence grew a little too pressing. She could feel tension settling in Gabrielle, antsy, jumpy tension; nervousness.

“But when I think about marrying a woman, it’s…different. I like that thought. I toyed with the idea before, but I was never serious about it. It’s just not done, you know? You marry and you have babies, and for that you need a man. You build your farm, you live simply. Love isn’t exactly at the forefront in those matters.”

The words ‘a woman’ had awakened two thoughts within Xena, causing a very sharp and jarring collision. She herself was a woman, and obviously, most likely Gabrielle was speaking of her — and yet, she had not said her name, leaving room for the possibility of another woman. If Xena had hated the idea of a man marrying Gabrielle, she found herself hating the idea of Gabrielle being another woman’s wife even more. 

“So when I think about marrying a woman—“ Gabrielle shrugged, her words again twisting jealousy tighter into Xena’s mind. “It would be just for me. Not for my family. Not for the purposes of having babies, a farm…for love, and only love.”

“And you, um…” Xena swallowed. Her heart was racing for some reason and she could not still it, no matter how hard she tried. “You like that thought?”

“I do.”

“Marrying another woman?”

“Another—“ Gabrielle sat up and turned to look at her in astonishment. “That’s why you got tense? I thought it was because the subject is a little touchy. You’re jealous and pouting because I didn’t outright say it’s you I’m thinking of marrying?”

Xena made a face. “Shut up.”

“Xena,” Gabrielle said, her hand on her shoulder. “Look at me.”

Xena looked at her, sunlight in her hair, a pink flush on her cheeks. A rose turned into a woman, all things beautiful condensed into a soul, a person, a being that made all other people pale in comparison. She was the shining sun where the rest of the world was flickering flame.

“Are you proposing or something?” she asked. Gabrielle smacked her in response.

“No, you idiot,” she huffed. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“This doesn’t feel like a conversation I should be having with my tits out.”

Gabrielle’s hand on her shoulder pushed her down when she went to get up. “Don’t move, you look beautiful as is. I’m enjoying the view.”

To emphasize her point, she made no attempt to disguise the long, drawn-out look she ran along the length of Xena’s body. Shivers ran down Xena’s spine when she saw the slight rise of Gabrielle’s chest, a gentle inhale and a deepening of the flush on her cheeks; to see her so affected by just the sight of her awakened every emotion of joy and bliss within Xena’s heart in ways she’d not known was possible. She needed not doubt that Gabrielle wanted her, not when she looked at her like this, and reacted as she did. 

“Just the view? You don’t want to sample a touch—“

“Quit distracting me, Xena,” Gabrielle said, a little sharp with her tone. She looked her in the eyes again, and something struck through to Xena’s soul. “I’m only thinking of marrying you. Not any other woman. Just you. Hypothetically, at some point.”

Now it was Xena’s turn to take in a soft, lengthy breath. Was the world spinning?

“And you like the thought.”

“Yes.”

Xena nodded slowly. “And you’re trying to get me to say what I think, so that you’ll stop feeling funny whenever I joke about you being my wife?”

Gabrielle said nothing, but she knew.

“Gabrielle,” Xena sighed, smiling. “I’d marry you this instant if I thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sweeping softness settled in her chest when she said it, and she knew she meant every word.

Gabrielle’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, wait. Who’s proposing now?”

“I’m not proposing! I’m just telling you the truth,” Xena argued. “I like the idea of you being my wife. Eventually. I hate the idea of you being someone else’s wife. So long as you’re with me and mine, I’m happy.”

Gabrielle chewed on the words, processing them. “You like the idea.”

“Yes.”

“Eventually. Not now.”

“Not now. Unless you want to—“

“I’m not ready!” Gabrielle laughed. “Stop tempting me.”

“So, it’s a tempting thought?” Xena asked, sitting up, sliding her arms around Gabrielle’s waist. “A thought you’ve had before we talked of it now, it seems?”

“Obviously,” Gabrielle replied, kissing her quickly before saying: “I mean, we are courting. In my village, couples usually court a month or two before marrying. Betrothals are a different affair — I was promised to Perdicas when I was nine, I think. Ever since I turned eighteen, it’s been a matter of putting it off with one excuse or another. I did well enough for three years, but last winter mother finally had enough and said it was time I settled down and got out of her house. It was all I could do to negotiate for a summer wedding.”

Xena blinked. She’d asked Gabrielle to be hers, but the word courting hadn’t been in her mind. In truth, she hadn’t quite known what she meant by ‘mine’, other than that she was now hopelessly, endlessly devoted to the woman presently in her arms. “Wait. What exactly is your definition of ‘eventually’?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “I’m not sure. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. Like you said.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same line of the scroll here,” Xena said. “I’d hate for you to be disappointed in two months if there’s not yet been a wedding.”

“I won’t. My mother would be, if she knew. As far as they know, I left to go travel with a friend,” Gabrielle confessed. “My father would probably have your head for ruining my virtue.”

Xena stared at her, incredulous. “What virtue have I ruined? As far as I know, you’d lost that long before—“

Gabrielle kissed her again, shutting her up for a few seconds. “Be quiet.”

“I won’t stand for being accused of things I haven’t done.”

“Was what you did to me last night particularly virtuous, do you think?” Gabrielle teased, kissing her jaw, her hand cupping Xena’s breast, palm pressing into a hardened nipple. “Or are the bruises and marks on my flesh the signs of a virginal maiden?”

“They’re the signs of someone who’s mine,” Xena sighed, falling back down on the bedroll, Gabrielle with her. “Someone who, apparently, still has an appetite…”

Chapter Text

It was raining. Of course it had to be raining; the street was all mud, the paths turned to rivers, and the very atmosphere of everything was turned to an air of misery that Xena could not convince herself wasn’t a bad omen. She stood in the shadow of a house and eyed the tavern’s door, unsettled and antsy; she did not want to move, but she also did not want to stay.

She thought of Gabrielle, out in the woods in the rain. She wondered if the tarp would hold and keep her comfortable; she hoped she wasn’t cold. Had she paid more attention to the weather, she could have taken Gabrielle to the cave she and Lyceus had hidden in as children, avoiding chores. As it was, she’d had to settle for using tarps and hoping that the downpour didn’t turn into a rainstorm with wind. 

The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I’m back with Gabrielle.

Xena stepped into the street and almost got run over by a cart that she’d not seen coming. She almost sent a string of curses at the driver, but stilled her tongue; she shook herself, let the feelings flow out, and walked up to the tavern door.

As the door to the tavern fell shut behind her, a figure stole away from the alley behind where she’d stood and disappeared down the street into the grey, rainy gloom.

Xena could have sworn the tavern fell dead silent the second she stepped in. A hush ran like a ripple through the gathered crowd, eyes turning to appraise her, faces twisting into scowls. Some part of her wanted to turn on her heel and run, to get Gabrielle, and to go. A small, scared part, the part of her that still bled from the open wound of rejection. The blood of her banishment had never cooled, had never ceased to run, trickling into an endless void that sat within. She felt it now, hot and stinging, in the back of her throat, and briefly thought she might puke.

She felt the sting stronger yet when she looked across the tavern and saw her mother. Pale-faced, wide-eyed, afraid. As she approached, swallowing that fear and hurt, she saw her mother’s face go through a myriad of emotions; from fear to anger, from anger to hurt, and finally, settling on cold, steeled hatred.

“You should have never come.”

Xena stood before the bar, a physical barrier between herself and her mother. She was glad for the distance; she didn’t know what she wanted, truly. The wounded part of her wanted to run, still; the child in her wanted to be held. The warrior in her wanted to fight, an instinctual response to a perceived threat despite there being none.

The part of her that loved Gabrielle, the whole of her, just wanted to settle it all. To clear the air, for better or for worse. To seek answers, to not be left in the shadow of unknowing any longer.

“Well, I am here, regardless.”

Whatever talk there’d been in the tavern was now silent. All eyes were on the two of them, all ears perked up for whatever words would be exchanged. 

Her mother looked her over and scoffed. “At least you had the sense to leave your weapons. Or have you left them altogether, abdicated as you are?”

Xena wasn’t sure if she liked the fact that her mother had news of her. At the very least, it was an opening.

“I left them at my camp. I figured you wouldn’t appreciate them in here.”

Cyrene sighed and grabbed another goblet to wipe down. “Just go away, Xena. There’s nothing for you here.”

Nails in skin. Bruises on knuckles, bones cracking underneath. Hands held under icy water until numb. Xena dragged memories up and sought control; a balance held within, taut and wavering, but strong. Still, she wavered.

Trying something else, she thought of Gabrielle’s waist under her hands, soft, yielding. She thought of Gabrielle’s voice in her ear. She thought of Gabrielle’s smile, of her laugh, of the wrinkle in her nose when she made her teasing face. She found a softer, more flexible strength in those memories. She would not falter.

“I’ve changed, mother.”

“I’m no mother to you. No one here is kin to you, not after what you did,” Cyrene seethed. 

“I have changed,” Xena repeated, forceful. “I gave up the throne; I am trying to do better. Every day, I try to do better. I am trying to be good, to make up for the terrible things I’ve done. I’m trying to change my fate, my life.”

“How? By doing some heroic quest every now and then? Is that going to bring Lyceus back? Is that going to bring the sons that you led to slaughter back from the dead?”

Blood pooled in the confines of Xena’s soul from the wound twisted open by the knives her mother’s words flung at her.

“What would you have me do?” she asked, feeling resignation clawing its way up her guts from the pit of her stomach. “Is there anything that I could do to gain your forgiveness? Or have you condemned me forever?”

The glare her mother gave her was one of frozen fury. “To condemn you, I would have to think of you — and I don’t think of you, Xena. As far as I’m concerned, both my children died that day. I did not know who you were then, this creature that came back, bloodied and broken; I did not know who you became thereafter, either. I did not care then, and I do not care now. Just go away, and don’t come back. There isn’t anything for you here — not redemption, not salvation. Forgiveness is out of the question.”

She trembled with anger, and her voice shook with the force of her hate. Xena could feel her world fraying at the edges, threads pulled and being picked apart. A little tug, and it might all fail.

“So be it.”

She turned on her heel and walked away. It was not that she was beyond begging; she would have begged if she had seen any chance to. Whatever pride she might have had, did not apply in this — she deserved to grovel and plead, to beg, but none of that was of any use against what she faced. There was no opening, there was no crack in the facade that she could push. She could have sooner borne the world’s skies in the stead of Atlas than change the mind of her mother. 

The rain had turned to an absolute downpour. She walked, she did not run; she did not care that she got soaked. Raindrops mixed with tears, resignation coiled into a knot with disappointment and hurt within her chest. When she wept, all parts of her wept — the child, the warrior, the lover, the wounded, all of her wept at once. She had her answer, and it was as she’d expected. 

Perhaps, had she not been blinded by tears, she would have noticed the hooded figure following her from afar, shrouded in the mist of rain and hidden in the darkness of the forest.

Gabrielle sat by a failing fire, twirling Xena’s sword in her hands. She’d propped the sharp tip into the ground, letting the blade fall from one hand to the other, toying with the weight; it was fun watching the firelight glint off the blade, casting shadows into the oilcloth tarp that kept the rain off the bedroll she sat upon. Argo stood not far off, under a tarp of her own. Far be it from Xena to leave her horse uncomfortable, Gabrielle thought. She smiled, thinking of the sight earlier that day when Xena had shimmied up into the tree to tie the tarp, looking more like a creature than a human being.

Though it was not particularly cold, Gabrielle felt chill. The humidity in the air seemed to suck away heat, replacing it with a sticky, uncomfortable clamminess. She had wrapped her cloak around herself, but it didn’t feel like enough to ward off the discomfort. If Xena didn’t come back soon, she would have to settle down to sleep and suffer the cold on her own.

Not that she thought she’d sleep much, alone. There was something in the darkness of the forest that made her worry and jump. The raindrops falling upon the many leaves hushed most noise, whilst simultaneously creating sounds that were far too like footsteps, padding carefully around the campsite. The only thing keeping Gabrielle somewhat sane was Argo; the horse had good instincts, and as long as Argo was calm, she was able to soothe herself into something of a calm state as well.

I hope Xena’s alright.

 A twig snapped in the distance. Gabrielle stopped twirling the sword and took it in her hand. Fear sat in her stomach and began to climb up her throat as she listened, now certain she heard footsteps. Footsteps, and then, a sniffle.

Argo’s ears twitched, but in no other way did she seem alarmed. Gabrielle stood up slowly and waited, ready to strike if there was need. She did not much like the feel of the sword in her hand, and her eyes flickered to her staff, laying just aside. 

“Gabrielle?”

“Xena?”

Gabrielle didn’t let go of the sword until she saw Xena in full. When she did, she hurriedly set it aside — in truth, she would have thrown it, but she knew Xena wouldn’t approve — and rushed at her, seeing the mess that she’d been reduced to. She didn’t need to ask to know the conversation hadn’t gone well; she saw well enough the redness of Xena’s eyes, the trembling of her breaths, and the exhaustion that sat upon her shoulders, which belonged to one who was overtired, overspent, and who had cried until there were no more tears left to cry.

“Oh, Xena, you’re soaked,” she sighed, her hand on Xena’s arm, feeling how cold her skin was. “Come, let me help you.”

Xena let Gabrielle lead her to the shelter of the tarp. Gentle words and caresses helped her out of the wet leathers and underclothes, and with Gabrielle’s insistence Xena put on not only a dry shift to sleep in, but the blue shirt that was Gabrielle’s own, so that she might be warm. She was cold and trembling, and so Gabrielle told her to lie down under the blanket and the furs, and set to the task of boiling water for tea. 

Xena laid on her side at the edge of the bedroll, further in the enclosure of the tarp. Gabrielle sat next to her, her hand resting beside her, enclosed in Xena’s own. She watched her from the corner of her eye, observing the way the flickering firelight painted blue shadows across the peaks and valleys of her face, drawing out the shapes and contours that she loved so dearly. Her eyes were cast in shadow, but the blue of them shone deep in the night. Her lips were red, her skin golden in the fiery glow; there was tension in every muscle of her jaw, betraying the tension within.

The water boiled, and Gabrielle made a cup of chamomile. Xena sat up and accepted it without a word, cradling the hot cup in her hands. With the blanket around her shoulders, she brought to Gabrielle’s mind her own self from what felt so long ago. Back when she’d been ill and Xena had taken care of her, forcing her to drink copious amounts of that yarrow-concoction that she still would rather not touch. The cup was the same brass cup, and the blanket about Xena’s shoulders the same; the only difference was that she was ailing in heart and soul, not in the body, and there wasn’t a herb in the world that would soothe such wounds.

“As far as she’s concerned, she has no daughter.”

Gabrielle picked up the edge of the blanket and moved under it so that she could sit next to Xena. She wrapped an arm around her and laid her cheek against Xena’s shoulder, releasing a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“At least I know now,” Xena muttered. She drank the tea and grimaced; it was still a little too hot. “There’s nothing I could do that would tempt her to forgiveness. She’s decided to hate me forever.”

“You did what you could.”

“Which isn’t really anything at all,” sighed the warrior. Her hands around the cup were tight, clenching as though she wanted to dig her nails into the palm of her hand. 

Gabrielle put her hand on Xena’s forearm.

“You did what you could. You tried to apologize; you tried to talk. You can let go of the rest, now.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

“Yeah.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I know,” Xena whispered. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here.”

Gabrielle gave her a little nudge. “Where else would I be?”

Gabrielle ran her hands through Xena’s hair, twirling strands and making loose little braids, and thought. Xena was fast asleep, though she would soon be waking; dawn was approaching, though as of yet the only sign of it was the mist rising from the downs and the silent hush that the birds had fallen into. She had not slept much, having been occupied by thoughts. What had begun as a nagging worry had grown into a fully-blown problem. She had told Xena that having gotten the truth, she would begin to heal. Yet as she had listened to her talk, and had seen her face, and known she had cried, she had begun to suspect that her words, though well-intended, had been a misinformed lie. She was too uncertain about Xena’s healing; she was not sure if this was a wound that would close over and heal into a scar over time. 

She could understand why her mother had rebuffed her. There were hurts there, wounds and pains, and a great loss to put distance between mother and daughter. She had no illusions about the destruction Xena had once wrought, but in this case, she felt that perhaps, some fault lay in the mother, too. To lose one child was bad enough; to blame the other, and to cast her aside, was worse. Beyond that, here was the root of Xena’s pain, the start to her downspiral. She watched Xena sleep, restless where she lay, and feared that an improper healing would end up festering, and bring trouble in the future.

Resolution calmed the mind. Gabrielle sat up and untangled herself carefully from Xena’s arms, earning only a slight noise of complaint from her warrior. She kissed Xena’s brow and murmured some sweet words, and got up — though not before jotting down a quick note and tucking it in the blankets beside Xena.

It was early as she set out from the camp with her staff in hand and a jacket about her shoulders. She found the road easily enough, and headed into town, hoping that the tavern was already open.

The first thing Xena became aware of was the fact that the tip of her nose was cold. The air had a damp to it, residuals of the night’s rain; mist hung low between the trees, tendrils crawling over the wet earth. She shivered, and rolled over, still half-asleep, seeking Gabrielle’s warmth. Her hand fell upon an empty space, striking confusion in her mind. She felt around and found no warmth, no Gabrielle; she sat up, and failing to see the blonde anywhere, she was even further confused.

“Gabrielle?”

Only birds answered from the trees above. Xena threw the covers off herself so that she could stand, and in doing so she felt something in them; a scroll, she found, tied with one of Gabrielle’s hair-ribbons. 

I’ve gone to town to talk to your mother. Don’t be mad, I’ll be back by noon. Please don’t follow me.

— Gabrielle

Xena read the message once, twice. She looked away and shook her head, and read it one more time. 

“Gabrielle, damn it,” she muttered, tossing the scroll aside. She paced a little, and then picked the scroll up again, reading it once more. With a groan she crouched down and stared into the campfire, trying desperately to settle the bundle of nerves that had coiled in her belly. She felt all things terrible, with Gabrielle having disappeared without asking; she felt uncomfortable with the thought of Gabrielle speaking with her mother. What would she say? What could she say? 

Why did she even go? 

Xena sighed and tossed some sticks on the fire. She was cold. She wanted to go after Gabrielle, but that was precisely what Gabrielle didn’t want. It didn’t matter that Gabrielle herself had done something that, though Xena hadn’t expressly told her not to do, she should have known was unwanted. Xena would have never let her go, if she had asked. She would have argued, she would have fought; in truth, the fact that Gabrielle had gone felt like something of a betrayal. She shouldn't have gone. She wouldn't have wanted her to go.

“Which is why you went,” Xena grumbled, poking at the fire again. It needed no tending, but she needed something to do. “When I get my hands on you, Gabrielle…”

She did not finish the sentence. She did not, because she could not; she wasn’t even sure what she’d say. She wasn’t sure what she felt. A little hurt, maybe. A little betrayed, perhaps. She knew she was worried, and anxious, and nervous — and helpless, Xena realized, that was what the feeling coiling in her stomach was. She felt helpless and unable to control what happened next. She hated being helpless, and the fact that Gabrielle had reduced her to such left her feeling confused. Hurt, yes, but confused most of all; she could not decide how she felt about the fact that Gabrielle had unwittingly put her in the realm of feelings that, to her, were poison. 

The day was looking to be pleasant, sunny and shining. It might have been a perfect day, had Xena’s mood not been as it was, and had Gabrielle not been gone. As such, there was a dark cloud in the sky, though it loomed dangerously close to Xena’s head, casting shadows on her mind. Old urges were waking in the confines of her thoughts, and she clenched her fists — only this time it was an urge to still the want, the desire for pain. She needed something else.

A distraction.

Xena let her eyes wander over the campsite. She could rearrange the saddle bags, perhaps. She could run threw some sword drills and work up a sweat. She could comb through her hair, again. Catching sight of the creek glinting sunlight through the trees, she thought of fish, and of fishing. Yes, fishing would take her mind off things. 

Sullen and sour-mouthed, Xena reached for the saddlebags and began to methodically unpack them.

The tavern was quiet in the early morning hours. Gabrielle had come in as soon as it opened, and had settled in at a corner table with breakfast, making a poor show of pretending to be a weary traveler. There were few people up and about so early in the day, least of all in the tavern; even the proprietor herself had yet to wake. The man that had served Gabrielle was Toris, Xena’s brother; she’d guessed by the shared sulky manner and the dark features. 

Of course, a patron had called him by his name, confirming her guess, but regardless she felt quite good about having taken a guess in the right direction. She was beginning to wonder if she should speak to him when an older woman walked into the tavern, striking her thoughts into silence. This was Xena’s mother, there was no doubt about it. Xena was not made in her image, not exactly, but there were traces of Xena all over the woman — in her brow, in the blue of her eyes, in the tilt of her jaw, in the sheen of her hair — that made it certain to Gabrielle, even before she saw her greet Toris as only a mother would ever greet her child.

Her son, anyway. Her greeting to her daughter had been anything but kind.

Gabrielle busied herself with scraping up the last bits of her breakfast, not wanting it to seem too obvious that she’d been watching the pair. She heard Cyrene send her son off, and then heard the clatter of wooden cups and plates, and a faint whistling tune. It was the same tune Xena sometimes whistled when she was working on something, mending a boot or sharpening her weapons. Gabrielle had heard it countless times, but it had never occurred to her to think where the tune came from.

Now she knew.

She swirled the last of her water in her cup and drank it. Even as she set the cup down, Gabrielle was very aware of being watched, and raised her eyes to find Cyrene staring directly at her. It was only a passing moment, but for a breath Gabrielle could have sworn the woman looked panicked. When she blinked, the expression was gone; she smiled, and Gabrielle smiled back.

Not long after, the woman came over, presumably to fetch her plate.

“Do you need anything else, dear?”

There was a maternal gentleness to her voice that drew Gabrielle’s mind to imagining Xena’s childhood. 

“A cup of tea might be nice, if you have any,” Gabrielle replied, smiling again. She was hesitant to leave, now that Cyrene was there; she needed some excuse to sit around for awhile. “And company, if you have time,” she added as an afterthought. Again, she thought she saw something flash in Cyrene’s expression — worry, or anxiety perhaps. 

“I’m traveling alone and wouldn’t mind some news, if you have any,” Gabrielle explained, smiling a third time. Was she smiling too much? 

“Let me get you that tea.”

It was a moment and more before Gabrielle found herself sitting with Cyrene, two mugs of tea on the table, and a stifling silence in-between.

“So, why have you come this way?” asked Cyrene. She kept touching the spoon in her mug as if to stir, and leaving it be without doing so. 

“Just traveling,” Gabrielle said, truthfully enough. “The road takes you where it takes you, that sort of thing.”

She sipped her tea — too hot, burning her tongue — and cleared her throat. “I am a bard,” she explained further. “Probably should have led with that.”

Cyrene smiled, genuine, and reached for the spoon again. “Are you? How exciting. Any new tales I’d not know about?”

Gabrielle ran her finger along the ear of her mug and pursed her lip as if thinking. In truth, she was thinking — and came quickly to a decision. “Lately, people have really been getting into anything I can tell about Xena. The warrior princess, you know?”

It was a risk, and Gabrielle saw her words land like a blow to Cyrene’s face. The woman did recover impressively fast; she smiled, sipped her tea, and grimaced, evidently having burned her tongue, too.

“Not much of those tales in my tavern,” Cyrene said, the tone of her voice edged with a forced neutrality. Gabrielle held her breath, watching carefully; she thought she recognized the crease in Cyrene’s brow, and felt as though mother and daughter, though in so many ways vastly different, were not entirely separate as people. The tension was similar, if not the same, and she knew that Cyrene was uncomfortable despite doing her best to hide it. 

“Care to tell me one? If I like it, I might let you tell tales here tonight. For a cut of the profits, of course.”

Gabrielle smiled, entirely genuine this time. She picked through the stories in her head, and landed on the best one that she could think of. 

This will serve me well, she thought.

“Have you heard the tale of Xena and the terrible warlord Draco?”

Cyrene watched the young woman sat across from her and could barely contain the surge of emotions that sat within her enclosed, dammed-up heart. She had listened to the girl’s tale, well told and well spoken, of Xena’s defeat of Draco. She had heard and taken to heart the fact that the girl spoke of her enacting justice on behalf of her lover, whose village had been raided by Draco. She had caught the glint in Gabrielle’s eye when she’d spoken of it, and had guessed that she had, in fact, chosen to tell a tale that concerned her as well — for if she was Xena’s wife, then surely she was the love, too, for whom Xena had done this terrible, though great deed. The smile on the girl’s lips was so genuine, and the way she spoke Xena’s name made Cyrene’s own heart ache. Even though she tried to remain professional, Cyrene could hear it still in the way she spoke it with a softness only a lover could ever conjure, a sigh wound within the syllables, love placed upon each letter. 

Sure, she’d never imagined her little girl with a wife, but she had thought about her with someone she loved. She’d thought about what kind of person could love her daughter as she deserved; she’d tried to imagine the kind of person her daughter would accept.

Looking at Gabrielle, she almost felt the urge to laugh. Here was someone she would have never imagined, never thought of — for indeed, even in the midst of her motherly daydreams of a child’s future, she’d never once settled on any one thing when it came to Xena’s future husband. Partner, now — wife, in truth. It had always been a fantasy, and there’d never been any surety in it. She knew what kind of a woman Toris needed; she’d known what kind of a wife Lyceus would have needed. Yet with Xena, she’d never quite known for sure. Even as a girl she’d been so hard-headed and solidly herself, it had been impossible to conjure up an imaginary person that could stand alongside that, and complement that which Xena was.

And here was Gabrielle, an answer to a question Cyrene had once asked, and which she had long since given up on trying to answer. When she’d seen her in the tavern, she’d half expected to see Xena with her, come back for another round of apologies. Realizing the woman had come alone had presented Cyrene with options, and somehow she’d wound up sitting at a table with her, chatting over cups of tea, listening to a story about Xena’s heroic exploits. She could not help that she wanted to know more about Gabrielle, and having begun to talk to her, she wanted to know even more. The girl was charming in her own right, and her company was welcome to her, even without the added connection to her daughter.

She suspected that Gabrielle had come to talk about Xena, but as she spoke nothing of her, and Cyrene herself did not bring up anything, they chatted away about this and that with a surprising ease that would have shocked Toris, had he known who she was speaking to.

At last there was a lull in the conversation. Gabrielle had finished her tea, though she was pretending she hadn’t, as she had for quite some time.

“Listen, Cyrene, I—“ Gabrielle paused. “Xena’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

Here, again, Cyrene had a choice. She chose against her own wants, and against her common sense; she let her heart choose.

“She is,” she replied, in complete contradiction to what she had been saying and believing all these past years. Even to Xena, just the night before, she’d said something completely different. She had denied her then, in the face of all.

Here, in the face of Gabrielle, she felt differently. Perhaps it was the lightness of her air and the pleasantness of her manner; perhaps it was the fact that though she had not directly spoken of Xena except for the telling of the tale, Cyrene had picked up bits and pieces anyway, and had begun to put together a picture of her long-forgotten daughter, awakening feelings she’d thought she’d buried for good.

“Maybe you’ll be upset with me for having sort of led you on, but I, um,” Gabrielle glanced at her, almost shy. “I’ve been traveling with her for a while now. And I know she came to you last night.”

Cyrene nodded. “I see.”

“You really can’t forgive her for what she’s done?”

“I said all I had to say to her when she was here,” Cyrene sighed. “I don’t see how today it would be any different. Lyceus is dead; the daughter I knew is dead.”

Yet even as she spoke, she felt a little more hollow, the words heavy in the saying. It felt wrong, saying them to this lovely ray of sunshine, condensed into a woman; she had no desire to throw her hurt at Gabrielle. It had been fine, doing so to Xena — Xena was, after all, the root of her pain. She knew Xena, or had known her, and in that comfort she felt justified in being angry with her. But she could not bring herself to be angry with this stranger, no matter who she was to Xena.

“You can’t mean that,” Gabrielle insisted. Her emotion was rising, and Cyrene now saw the strong, intelligent woman that sat solidly behind the smiles and charm. “She’s your daughter, you admitted as much. She’s been horrible, yes, but she’s changed. She’s doing better every day.”

“So you say, but how does that change anything?” Cyrene tried.

Gabrielle leaned across the table slightly, passion burning in her eyes to such a depth that Cyrene was left speechless. “I thought that if she came here and spoke to you, and found out the truth of how things would lie between you, that she’d then be on the path to healing. I thought that even if you rejected her and told her you’d never want to see her again, that eventually she’d be fine. But damn it, Cyrene, I was wrong. She won’t heal, not properly — it’ll scar and bleed whenever poked, and it won’t go away.”

Cyrene felt something heavy on her chest, constricting her breaths. “Why are you here, then?”

“I am here to plead with you,” Gabrielle sighed, leaning her face in her hand. “I wanted to see you, to know if you were as cold as you sounded. I needed to know if you were the kind of woman who would truly deny her daughter, even after she has changed and committed to doing good.”

“And am I?”

Cyrene wasn’t sure if she liked the way Gabrielle’s eyes seemed all-seeing in that moment. She watched despair dance upon Gabrielle’s features, and felt herself soften; she was so close to the edge of something that might have been called forgiveness. She waited for Gabrielle’s response as if she couldn’t breathe — she knew of nothing else except the prolonged silence. She saw a crease settle between her brows, and she saw a different array of feelings settle into the eyes that only a moment ago had been pleading; she saw fear, confusion, and a twinge of anger, and knew not what to make of it.

“Cyrene…” Gabrielle began, her tone a warning. “Tell me you keep half a dozen men as armed guard for your tavern.”

Cyrene turned to look over her shoulder and felt fear strike itself through to her belly, settling there as a block of ice. “No…” she whispered. No one in the tavern moved; no one dared to.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the man in the middle, evidently their leader. He had all the looks of a lackey and all the confidence of one who carries a weapon amidst those who do not. “We’re just here on some unsettled business.”

Cyrene noticed Toris standing in the doorway. She saw him twitch toward the broom at his side, and let out a strangled noise of disapproval.

“Toris, don’t,” she warned him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

To his credit, he obeyed her. Having spoken, however, Cyrene was now very aware that all eyes were on her. On her, and then past her; all of the bandits’ eyes were fixed on a point past her shoulder.

Gabrielle.

“You,” said the man in charge. “Get up.”

Cyrene went to move, but was shoved down by one of the men. 

“Not you,” growled the leader, now standing beside Gabrielle’s chair. “You.”

Gabrielle did not move. 

“Uncooperative, are we?” asked the man, leaning over. A flurry of movement caught everyone by surprise; Gabrielle’s staff struck him in the shoulder, sending him back as she stood and swung at another man, catching him on the hip with a sickening crack. Cyrene saw Toris join the fray at once, and felt herself freeze in fear as she watched a fight ensue.

She should have taken the opportunity to run. When the thought occurred to her, it was already too late; rough hands grabbed at her, and a rougher voice called out over the sound of the fighting, stilling all to silence.

“One more move, and somebody gets hurt.”

Cyrene was barely aware of the cold steel at her throat. She was painstakingly aware of Toris’s bleeding lip and torn shirt; she was more than aware of Gabrielle, seemingly unhurt, standing over a man who looked like he’d just been struck by a herd of elephants. She looked at her, and she knew, even before anybody moved, what she would do. 

The staff clattered to the floor. Anger and resignation sat heavy on Gabrielle’s shoulders as she pursed her lips and raised her hands as a sign of defeat.

“Fine. What do you want?”

The man holding Cyrene gestured for some of his men. “Grab her,” he told them. “Grab her, and we’ll go and leave these lovely people in peace.”

There was nothing anyone could do. The men grabbed Gabrielle and dragged her out of the tavern. Cyrene found herself thrown to the ground the moment the leader saw that their job was done. He stormed out, slamming the door, and left all in silence.

Toris was at Cyrene’s side at once. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Cyrene said, her voice shaking. “But you…” 

She sighed, and resigned to what she’d known was coming.

“You need to go find your sister.”

Chapter Text

Gabrielle wasn’t entirely sure when she’d fallen unconscious. The back of her head hurt, and she faintly recalled hitting her head; her shoulder hurt, and she more distinctly recalled falling over, striking a stone or something as she went down. As she awoke in full, came to realize that the strange stiffness on her wrists was a length of rope, binding them tightly in front of her. She was in a cave of some kind, and she was cold, and for some reason wet, as though she’d been dragged through a river, or thrown in a lake. 

Fear and annoyance came to her mind, hand in hand. She remembered the tavern and being taken away willingly; she remembered her hands being bound and a blindfold, preventing her from seeing where they went. She remembered words, questions she did not understand — she remembered snippets of conversations that made no sense to her, and which she now could barely piece together. 

She’s with the Conqueror, someone had said. You think she’s a warrior, too?

Be quiet, we were told to just bring her. We don't get paid to ask questions.

Gabrielle chewed her lip, trying to recall what had been said after. She was in trouble and she had to get out. She had no weapon, and with her wrists bound, she had little chance of putting up any kind of fight with just her bare hands. Standing up, she felt a little woozy, and had to catch herself on the cave wall to steady herself. Memories of leaving Corinth trickled back to her and set a weight on her spine, her gut twisting with residual fear. She tried to nudge the panicking feelings away, but failed; for a moment and more, she was in the past, back in the dungeon, weak and helpless, with no hope for escape.

Xena had come for her then. Gabrielle focused on the image of Xena in those memories and pushed all else away. Even the image of a Xena that was not yet hers was soothing, and little by little, the choking, racing of Gabrielle’s heart stilled to a more steady, calm pulse. To focus on Xena was to think of Xena; to think of Xena was to think of what Xena would do.

Well, I can’t just somersault my way out of this, Gabrielle thought, unwittingly smiling a little. Acrobatics might have been out of the question, but she did find inspiration in Xena’s boldness. She dipped into the frustration she felt at being tied up and held up as she was, and found strength within — strength, and determination, fixed solidly on her own stubbornness. She’d get out of this, somehow; she’d find her way out, and she’d do so quickly, before Xena had time to get too worried. 

Gabrielle looked around. There was a torch on the wall, too high for her to reach; it lit the cave she was in, but it was not the only source of light. Overhead she saw that the cave’s ceiling was partly open to the sky, spilling daylight from above. She tried to peer at the light and guess whether the day had gone past noon, but could not for the life of her tell; it was cloudy, as though it was going to rain.

Looking at the cave floor, glistening with wet, she realized that it had already rained, explaining her wet clothes. 

She walked up to the entrance of the cave. It gave out to a tunnel, which she guessed led to a larger cave; she had the sense that she was far from the open air. At the entrance to her cave, which she now realized was more of a cell, there were two guards. Harsh, burly types, brandishing swords large and sharp enough to cut her in half with one blow.

“Hey, um,” she began, swallowing a little on a dry mouth. “You guys have any water? I’m thirsty.”

The guards said nothing.

“Seriously? You keep me prisoner and you won’t even talk to me?”

Still, nothing. Gabrielle sighed and walked back, knowing there was no use in trying further. They were just guards, and she recognized neither one of them from the tavern. She sat down in the driest corner of the cave that she could find and pulled up her knees, trying to keep as warm as she could. 

Though her thoughts and her understanding were still incomplete, she began to piece together a picture of what had happened. Someone had seen her with Xena, and had followed her to the tavern. Someone had been watching; someone whose interest was not directly in her, but in Xena. Considering she was in Xena’s home town, that was not much of a surprise. But what? And why?

Gabrielle sighed and settled her chin on her knee. She might have dozed off, or even fallen asleep; in any case, when footsteps approached her, she started, not having realized that someone had entered the cave. It was one of the guards, carrying a pitcher of water, a small cup, and a plate. He said nothing as he set them down not far from where Gabrielle sat.

“I’m cold, too,” Gabrielle tried.

The guard disappeared, and re-entered not long after with a coarse, rough-woven blanket. 

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said quietly, accepting the blanket. It smelled of horse, but not of Argo; it hadn’t even occurred to her until then that Argo had a specific smell, nor had it occurred to her that it might be a little more pleasant than the average horse’s stink. She wrapped herself with the blanket and reached for the cup. The water was icy cold and tasted metallic, like iron. 

At least her captors didn’t want her to starve or to be too cold. That was a good sign, Gabrielle decided. It meant she wasn’t in danger of getting killed anytime soon. For better or for worse, she was needed alive.

Three hours into the afternoon was as far as Xena’s patience went. She’d fished for a good few hours, the results of which sat waiting by the fire, perfectly smoked and wrapped up in leaves, tucked in the ashes to keep warm. The saddlebags were rearranged and perfect. She’d run through drills until her muscles ached, and she’d swam in the river; she’d washed her hair thoroughly and had spent a good while in the shining sun, combing through knots and setting her hair to rights. She’d repaired a hole in her boot and had fixed up the edge of Gabrielle’s blanket, which had begun to fray after she’d caught it on a thorn-bush some days before. She’d done everything and more, and still, Gabrielle had not come back. Waiting for her with a fixed hour had been hard enough, stewing in her annoyance, frustration, and sullenness. Waiting for her with no end in sight was torture beyond it; Xena could not help the frown that fixed on her face, and the foul mood that Gabrielle’s absence was quickly sinking her into. 

Footsteps, in the distance. Xena perked up, and then relaxed, disappointed; they weren’t Gabrielle’s. Yet as she listened, she thought she recognized them. She was on her feet at once, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she crept behind a tree, hiding from view. She heard the footsteps wandering, as though the person were looking for something; she watched, silent and waiting, as a man crept into her camp. Not just any man: her brother.

“Toris?”

Her brother jumped a good foot or two in the air when she emerged from behind the tree. She did not take out her sword, though her hand still remained on her belt, near enough to reach if she needed it. By the sight of him, however, she guessed she would not; he was not here to fight her, though he did look like he’d gotten a good pummeling already from someone.

“Xena—“ he gasped, stumbling over a stone. “I— damn.”

“Why are you here, Toris?”

“Someone attacked the tavern,” began he, and Xena felt her bones turn to ice. “Mother’s alright, but, erm—“ 

“Toris—“

“Your friend, the little blonde one. They took her.”

Ice shattered, alongside Xena’s reality, for a split second. 

“What do you mean they took her?” she cried, crossing the distance and grabbing her brother by the front of his shirt. “They took Gabrielle? Who?”

“Yes, I don’t know where, I don’t know who—“

“Was she hurt?” Xena asked, her voice just barely staying clear of trembling.

“She fought them for a while but I don’t think she got hit,” Toris spoke quickly. “Xena, please, they came in specifically looking for her. We had nothing to do with it.”

Xena threw him out of her grasp, sending him staggering backwards. She didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted control, and knew not how to keep it; she wanted to hit something, hurt something, she wanted to do something, anything to stop the nauseating worry that had stormed her belly, twisting, turning, hurting in there now with such ferocity she could barely think of anything else. She was struck by a crippling fear the likes of which she’d never known — she felt helpless in ways she’d never known possible.

“We're going to talk to mother,” she growled, glaring at Toris. “I want to hear everything about these bastards. I want to know where they went, what they looked like, and what they wanted. Everything, do you hear me?”

Xena could barely contain herself. She could not stop thinking about Gabrielle. She had to know where she was, in what condition, she couldn't stop wondering if she was hurt, if she was dead; images flashed through her mind, and with the weight of her life’s history, it was almost impossible for her to avoid the darkest, most horrible thoughts. She saw things she'd never wanted to imagine, and her heart bled a little more with every passing minute. Here was a moment where she truly, seriously needed to be in control – and here she was, falling apart, her eyes burning with a desire to cry, unable to think straight.

There was that cold, harsh self that sat deep within her. The self that she’d been when she’d been the Conqueror; in that guise, she knew she could have control. Yet when she thought of leaning into that feeling and dipping into that self, she thought of Gabrielle, and it all fell apart. She couldn’t take that step back; she couldn’t take that leap backwards when she’d sworn to Gabrielle to move forward, always towards being better. Even now, when she knew it would help, she couldn’t do it.

Instead, she tried to focus on Gabrielle. She tried to focus on her and find solace, to find the peace she needed to think right. She needed to be smart now; she needed to be able to think, to calculate, to figure out what had happened, and where she’d been taken. For that, she needed to be calm; for that, she needed to be in control.

She thought of Gabrielle and found herself leaning into the love she felt for her. She leaned, and fell; peace enveloped her heart. It wasn’t suddenly a question of if she’d find her – she knew she would find her, always. Control settled into her hands and took hold of her heart, a softer, warmer control than she’d known before. It came from a different place, one which she knew was more resilient; it was a quieter control, but one she knew would weather any storm.

She should’ve known something could happen. Of course she had enemies; of course there was danger, always around the corner. She wondered if she should’ve noticed something, if there’d been some sign. She wondered if it would have changed anything, if she’d have gone after Gabrielle when she’d woken.

“Xena, are you alright?”

Xena started. She hadn’t realized she was standing at the door of the tavern, hesitating, until Toris touched her on the shoulder. She nudged his hand off with a heavy sigh.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, and pushed through the door and into the tavern. She looked about, and felt her heart sink; though the tables and chairs had been put back where they belonged, the dusty floor still held the patterns of the fight, the footprints and the signs of falls, stumbles, droplets of blood. 

Gabrielle’s staff rested against a table nearby. Xena bit her tongue as she crossed the space and took it in her hand. To hold something of Gabrielle’s was an empty comfort, knowing it was her only weapon; without it, she was helpless.

Not helpless, Xena tried to tell herself. She’ll be fine. She has to be fine. 

Her gut twisted, and she grimaced, gripping the staff so tight her fingers hurt. 

“What happened? Tell me everything,” she demanded, turning to face her mother. Her mother, who sat at a table in the middle of the room, pale-faced, ashen. Beside her sat Toris, equally pale — they were afraid of her, Xena realized with a wrenching motion in her heart. They sat there, frozen in fear, absolutely terrified of her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she muttered, trying in vain to ease the harshness of her manner. “Just tell me what happened. Every detail, please, as fast as you can. I have to go after her, I have to—“ she swallowed back a sob and turned away, unwilling to break down under the eyes of her family. Her chest felt tight and her heart felt constricted; she could barely breathe, and for a moment that lasted a lifetime, she fought for control amidst a rising storm of pain.

“Please,” she sighed, turning back to face her mother, feeling substantially weaker on the inside even as she put on a hard, cold face. “Just tell me everything. There must be something to hint at who they were. Every detail. What they wore, how they spoke, what they said.”

And her mother told all. Xena stood until she began to feel faint, and sat down, grabbing a stool and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. She gripped her fingers tight but did not push in with her nails; she would not seek control that way. She thought of Gabrielle and found peace, and settled herself again with the thought of Gabrielle's smile on her mind. Tension sat heavy within her body and within her heart; every passing moment felt a moment too long, as if time were running out.

There was little to decipher from what she heard. The men sounded like hired hands, mercenaries, a mixed group of anything and everything. A brief flutter of fear had entered Xena’s mind when her mother had mentioned one of them sounding roman — a fear that had subsided when she heard the descriptions of the others, and had realized that their manner, their actions had been far too haphazard, too chaotic to be those of Caesar’s command. Yet she could not guess who else it could be. Her list of enemies had been long enough before she abdicated; having left, she guessed her list had only grown longer. 

Gabrielle had fought. Xena could not decide if she was proud to hear of it, or horrified. In truth she was likely a mixture of both; she could only hope that Gabrielle would have the sense to not make too much trouble. Whoever had taken her, there was a good chance they wouldn’t be particularly soft. Xena let her thoughts brush over the idea of torture, and flinched, her heart recoiling in pain. 

Let it not be so, she tried to tell herself. Yet even as she did, she was calculating the odds, and found them slim. And still, even as she wished against all hope that Gabrielle was fine and not presently being subjected to pain and anguish, she knew that she preferred that to the worst alternative — that Gabrielle was dead and gone, her life ended in the hands of her enemies.

“She can’t be dead,” she muttered, clenching her fist. “If they wanted to hurt me by killing her, they would have killed her here. Right?”

She looked to her mother as if hoping for something.

Comfort? Reassurance?

“She gave herself up so that the rest of us would be spared,” said Cyrene, quietly. 

Xena sighed. “Of course she did,” she whispered, digging the heel of her boot into the earthen floor. 

She kicked at a stone, startling both her mother and Toris with the sudden movement. They were tense and she knew it was because of her; they knew not what to say, and try as she might, she did not have the capacity to begin unwinding the fear they felt of her. 

“You’re sure no one saw where they went?”

Toris shook his head. “I ran to the door the moment I could, but they had horses.”

“If they had horses, they can’t have gone in many directions,” Xena began, her mind starting to race through options. “And if they mean to come at me, they can’t have gone far.”

She went over the map of her mind. As a child, she’d explored all around Amphipolis; she’d explored the hills and the valleys, the river’s run, the ponds, the small lake further out in the woods. She’d found caves and tunnels, tall trees to climb, reaching for the sky…

There weren’t that many places to hide that she could think of. 

“I’m going after her,” she finally sighed, standing up. “Alone.”

She looked at her brother, who nodded. Xena wasn’t so sure if he would have even offered his help; some glimmer in his eye made her thing that maybe, just maybe, he would have.

She looked at her mother, whose lips were pursed in the manner that she tended to do when she was holding something back.

“What is it?” Xena demanded. “Do you disapprove?”

Disapproval or not, she was going anyway. That was never up to question; she wanted this over with so that she could go out and find Gabrielle before it was all too late.

“No, of course not,” Cyrene said quickly, raising her hands. “She’s your wife, of course you have to go after her—“

“Excuse me?”

Xena felt as though her mind had been wiped entirely clean by a tidal wave of confusion. She stared at her mother, a frown so firmly fixed on her brow that it almost hurt, and for a long while, she could not think of what to say.

“What did I say?” Cyrene asked. 

“My wife ?” Xena repeated her words. “Where did you hear that?"

The woman looked guilty. Xena, for the life of her, could not comprehend how, or why her mother would have even gotten the idea that Gabrielle was her wife. Was it something Gabrielle had said? Had word somehow gotten to Amphipolis from Petras?

“I don’t—“ she cut herself off, rubbing at her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. “No, I don’t have time for this. This isn’t important. I have to go.”

She rushed out of the tavern. Sure, she mostly hurried out because she needed to get to Gabrielle, but some small part of her gave into that urge to rush because she really, really did not want to confront the conversation that she’d found herself on the brink of, with her mother of all people. Not now, not today; not until she had Gabrielle in her arms.

The man standing before Gabrielle was definitely not the mastermind behind it all. Though he was the smartest of the bunch, that wasn't saying much at all. He might have been an able brawler, and perhaps he controlled the men in the room well enough, but there was something about the way he walked in that made her think that he was checking in on her, ensuring that she was all set and secured, as if someone had asked him to do so. He also seemed to be waiting for something, for someone. He acted like a man under orders not his own.

There wasn’t anything particularly definitive about him or his manner; he resembled a dirty dog, with unkempt brown hair, an unpleasant face, and a sneering, callous mouth. His clothes were worn and dirty; only his armor, made chiefly of leather, was kept well enough. A warrior who only took pride in his fighting, and in nothing else, Gabrielle judged; a good one, guessing by his muscles. She wouldn’t beat him in a fight, nor could she best any of his men. She might have tried, but it would have been foolish to do so, seeing as she had no death wish.

Besides, she somehow suspected that if she died, Xena would find a way into Death to come after her, and she sure as Tartarus wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Well?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m just trying to understand who you are,” said the man. “You don’t look like much of a fighter.”

“Maybe I have hidden talents,” Gabrielle shrugged. 

“If you’re not a warrior, then why are you with the Conqueror?” asked he, peering at her curiously. “It doesn’t make much sense.”

“She has her reasons.”

“You’re important to her, then?”

Gabrielle bit her tongue. She wasn’t sure which was the right answer to give. She wanted to be safe; it didn’t much matter what lie she told to ensure it. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

The man fiddled with the long knife that he had tucked in his belt. “You see, our boss just said you needed to be alive. There wasn’t much made specific about what condition you needed to be in.”

Fear struck clear into Gabrielle’s veins, a jarring jolt through her teeth and her bones. She saw the glint in the man’s eye and felt disgust rise to the back of her throat; she’d seen that glint before, and knew precisely what thoughts lay within the man's mind.

The last time she'd faced such a threat, Xena had been there to intervene, just at the right moment. 

This time, Gabrielle was fairly certain that Xena wasn't coming, at least not any time soon. She'd have to manage on her own, somehow. 

“You don’t want to do that,” she began, backing away from the man as he approached. “You see, if any harm comes to me, you can bet your ass that Xena’s going to kill you.”

“Really? And why would she do that for some slip of a thing like you?” sneered the man. “I’ve seen her, you know. Worked for her command, once. Raided villages with her soldiers. Saw her strike a man’s head clean off for looking at her wrong. So tell me again why she would care about someone like you? Whores are plenty, slaves too--”

Gabrielle thought through her options and landed at the best one. The most ridiculous, but in her panic, she couldn’t think of anything else. 

“I’m her wife!” she yelped, jumping back as the man lunged at her. At the fall of her words, the room fell deathly silent. The man pursuing her stared at her, wide-eyed; the guards lined up along the wall looked equally, if not more dumbstruck.

“Wife?” 

Gabrielle cleared her throat. “Yes, wife. Why else do you think she would’ve abdicated and turned all good? Love can change a person, you know.”

She was well aware that she was laying it on thick, but somehow, by some grace of some god above, probably Aphrodite for all she knew, it was working. The man with the knife took a step back, a tint of fear in his eye.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he muttered.

You’re not seeing it now either, you fool, Gabrielle thought to herself.

“Xena’s coming for me. I know she is, and I know you know she is coming, too. Whoever you’re working for probably captured me just to lure her in, right? Or to use me as a bargaining chip. So what do you think she’s going to do if she gets here and finds me hurt or injured? Cause you know she’s going to get me out of here. She’s the Conqueror! She can do anything,” Gabrielle said, winding words into something believable and threatening, trying in earnest to be convincing. “If you’ve seen her, then you know what she can do to those who’ve displeased her. What do you think she’ll do to those who hurt her wife ?”

She watched her words take effect and leaned back, satisfied. Perhaps there was also some satisfaction in the word itself, and in the title she’d claimed. Falsely placed, of course, but pleasant nonetheless. 

This might be my finest work yet.

Chapter Text

Whoever had taken Gabrielle had not done much to cover up their tracks. Xena followed the trail of horses out of the town and into the hills, soon recognizing enough of the land to guess where they led. She skirted up higher into the slope, away from the trail, and came up around the entrance to a system of tunnels and caves that lay at the base of the valley where Amphipolis was. It was not well-known, nor was it easy to find by directions alone; it was only luck that Xena remembered it, having once gotten lost within whilst playing hide and seek with her brothers as a child. 

She spotted the first guards a good few hundred yards out from the caves, and passed them without issue, leaving stunned and unconscious men in her wake. Having a solid path eased her into a state of coolheadedness that helped her with her work; she felt no rush now that she knew almost for certain that Gabrielle was somewhere in the caves, being held, and most likely alive.

The thread, the faint tugging in her heart, confirmed what her rational mind guessed. She could just about feel it pulling; a steady, tiny beat, strumming in her chest. 

After she’d disposed of another set of guards posted at the cave’s mouth, she made a quick survey of the area. There were many entrances into the caves, and she knew that once she was inside, she’d be creeping through half-blind; she didn’t know where Gabrielle was, and would in all likelihood need to find something, or someone to guide her through. 

There was a sudden sound behind her. Instinct sent her to her knees just as something — no, someone — flew overhead, sword striking where her head had been just moments ago. Xena drew her sword and took a strong leap back, wanting distance between her and her attacker; she wanted to watch and appraise her opponent before she struck. When she saw who it was, however, she could not hide the fact that she was a little surprised by the sight of a young woman, blonde and sneering, standing before her, brandishing a sword. At first glance, she might not have thought her a fighter at all — and yet, her stance, the way she held herself, and the wild look in her eye told Xena that all was not as it seemed.

“Took you long enough,” taunted the blonde, smiling as though she were pleased. “I was wondering if I’d have to send you a map.”

Xena scowled. “Where’s Gabrielle?”

“You’re here just for her?” pouted the woman. She acted as though Xena should have known her; there was a strange tint of familiarity in her manner, despite the fact that Xena truly had no idea who she was. “Not even a little bit pleased to see me?”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“You should, seeing as you ruined my life.”

Xena fixed her frown upon the blonde. “I’ve done plenty of that. If it’s vengeance you’re after—“

“Of course I’m here for vengeance!” barked the woman. “What else would this be? You deserve pain for what you did to me. It's as simple as that."

"Then why take Gabrielle?" Xena demanded. "As far as I know, Gabrielle hasn't done a thing to you. Let her go, and deal with me instead."

The blonde laughed, hollow and empty. Something was missing from its ring, something that would have made her more human, more real. As it was, she appeared more a ghost, a shell of a person; Xena felt pity for her, looking upon her, even as she felt some tendrils of guilt crawling their way through her mind.

"Dealing with you alone wouldn't have been enough. See, I had a whole plan,” the blonde began, taking a few steps to the side. Xena mirrored her movements, keeping her distance, sword at the ready. 

“It’s taken me so long to get here, you know. I had to train and practice and get stronger; I worked in your army, trying to make my way up the ranks so I could get close to you, but no, you had to slip away just as I was getting into position. You disappeared, and Corinth fell into chaos. Lucky for me I gathered some loyals to my side and made the best of it. These fools needed someone to lead, and I needed some extra hands to get what I wanted.”

She jumped forward, Xena jumped back. She was playing with Xena, trying her defenses; Xena watched, careful, keeping her cool. There was something unhinged about the woman’s words and manner, something that she hoped would eventually give her an edge. 

“This whole ‘doing good’ thing you went for, it really is quite foolish. It sounds stupid. But you seemed fixed on it, so I tried to undo it. I had this whole plan to wreak havoc in your name! That would have driven you to finding me, eventually, right? You’d have come in search of the impersonator, and we’d have had our little reunion then. But you know what irksome obstacle I came across when I did that?”

Xena indulged the blonde a little. “No, what?”

“That stupid bard of yours. Everywhere I went, they already knew about you. They knew you were on the side of good, and they sure as hell knew that I wasn’t you,” she glowered. She jumped backwards onto a rock, now standing taller than Xena. “Doesn’t Xena have black hair?” she mocked, mimicking some other person. “Aren’t her eyes a shining icy blue?”

Xena bit her tongue to stop herself from smiling. Gabrielle hadn’t said anything about ‘shining icy blue’, not to her, anyway.

The mention of ‘her bard’ felt nice, too, almost enough to distract her from the present situation.

“I was going to burn down Amphipolis and your mother’s tavern,” the blonde was saying. “I figured at least that should get your attention. But then, lucky me, I see you enter the tavern, that very same night. Whatever did your mommy say that made you cry that hard?”

Stones settled into Xena’s ribs, one after the other, the next heavier than the first. She glared at the blonde and tried to steel her emotions; she knew she was just trying to get a rise out of her. 

“It’s none of your business,” she said, her tone icy cold. “Where’s Gabrielle?”

“She’s tucked away safe while we get our chatting out of the way,” shrugged the blonde. “As long as you behave, she’ll stay in one piece. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

Xena gritted her teeth. “Tell me where she is.”

“You know, I really can’t believe you’d let her walk around all alone like that. Don’t you know the world is dangerous? There’s women like you and I in it.”

“Gabrielle’s free to do what she likes,” Xena glowered. “I don’t own her.”

“Really? Wasn’t she brought to Corinth to be your slave?”

“Tell me where she is,” Xena cut in. “I’m done with your games.”

“But we’ve barely begun,” pouted her opponent. “You haven’t even guessed my name yet.”

Xena set her jaw. “I’m not playing.”

“Think your bard will be as pretty with a few missing fingers?” 

“Whatever you do to Gabrielle, I’ll do to you,” Xena growled. “Deal?”

“Promise?”

If Xena had been unsure of her mental stability before, now she knew; she was dealing with a madwoman. 

“I don’t know your name,” she scowled. “So there’s your game gone from the start.” 

At the opening, her opponent jumped down from the stone with one graceful somersault, landing where Xena had been standing. Xena, seeing her approach, had moved for upper ground, and stood now in the hooking branch of a large oak-tree, a head above the blonde.

“You really should work on remembering faces and names,” said she. “How about a refresher? My village was called Cirra.”

A jolt ran down Xena’s spine. For a moment she thought she could smell the smoke upon the air, the stench of charred flesh. It was barely a stumble, but it almost cost her the fight before it began; she was half a second too late to dodge the woman’s attack in full, and so had to jump upwards, further into the tree, slashing down to parry her blow with her own blade. Steel met steel, and a sharp ring echoed in the glade. 

“Would you look at that?” said the blonde, grinning as if already the victor. “You do remember something.”

Gabrielle was pacing back and forth in her cell. She’d been doing so for at least an hour, if not more. Not only was she bored out of her mind, she was getting very, very worried. The light from above had tilted into the evening, and she knew that Xena would by now be looking for her. She knew that Xena was probably already at the tavern, or had already set out to look for her. Though she certainly wanted Xena to come and help her get out of the mess she was in, she couldn’t help that she felt conflicted. She knew it was a trap, and that she was the bait. She knew there was someone else behind it all, someone who wasn’t the man she’d taunted. She’d heard a female voice from the main cave, speaking to the men. She’d spoken of Xena and laughed; Gabrielle thought she could hear her voice still, echoing from somewhere in the cave.

She walked past the entrance once, twice before stopping. All day, there’d been two guards at the way into her small cave. Now there was only one, a scrawny looking man, somewhat taller than she, but somehow very unwarriorlike in how he held himself. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that caught her eye; perhaps it was the fact that his helmet was on crooked, or the fact that he was fiddling on the hem of his shirt, humming a tune. In any case, she saw an opening, and took it, stepping up closer and clearing her throat.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is?”

The man, who supposedly was meant to be guarding her, almost jumped out of his skin. “Gods! Don’t walk up to people like that,” he gasped, adjusting his helmet. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding me?”

The man glanced around. “Well, yeah.”

“You’re new at this?” Gabrielle asked, stepping a little closer. There was a knife tucked into his belt that she guessed she might be able to take off of him. The rest of it worried her, however; she wasn’t so sure if she could stomach killing the fellow. 

“How’d you know?” asked the guard, frowning. “Do I give off a vibe or something?”

“No, no, I’m sure you’re a great guard,” Gabrielle amended. “You just don’t seem like the type, you know. What’s your name?”

“Joxer. What do you mean by type?” asked he. He did seem a nice kind of fellow; a good guy, truly.

“Mean and big, kind of stupid,” Gabrielle shrugged. “Evil,” she added, eyeing him carefully. "I'm Gabrielle, by the way."

“I can be mean,” argued Joxer.

“But you’re not big, or stupid.”

“Or evil! I just took the job for the money, really. Wanted to travel and all, and there wasn’t much to do that with in Corinth. They said it was easy work; hold a spear, carry some things.”

“Do they pay you well?”

Joxer leaned in. “Truth be told, I haven’t been paid once,” he whispered. “The blonde lady scares me too much, so I haven’t asked.”

“What blonde lady?”

“My boss. Callisto. She’s all mad at the Conqueror.”

“Is that why she’s got me locked up?”

Joxer looked at her in surprise. “Is it?”

“Well, I’m Xena’s wife, so that’s got to have something to do with it.”

Each time she claimed the title, it felt a little more natural to say it. 

“You’re married to the Conqueror?”

“She’s not—“ Gabrielle paused. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Isn’t she all kinds of evil?”

“Yes, very.”

Joxer looked at her with doubt. “You’re kinda small.”

“What, is there a height limit to marrying big evil women?”

“No no, that’s not what I meant,” amended the guard, quickly. “I just meant that…” 

He let his words fall away. A bunch of soldiers walked past, but they threw not even a glance in his direction.

“They don’t think I’m any good at anything,” he sighed. “I tripped over the pot of dinner earlier. That’s why they stuck me here alone. Can’t even leave to go take a leak.”

Gabrielle looked at him with a played up expression of pity even as an idea popped up in her mind. “That’s not very fair of them.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“You know, I could come with you. That way you can still say you’re guarding me,” she suggested. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

“Really?” 

“Well, truth be told, I’d rather you go in the bushes than go in the tunnel here. It would stink. And besides, my hands are tied. Can’t do much like this, can I?”

Joxer seemed to think for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright, you got a deal.”

Thank the gods for stupid men, Gabrielle thought to herself as she allowed Joxer to take her by the arm and begin leading her out of the caves by a back tunnel.

Xena dodged another swing from Callisto’s blade and made for a forward roll, hitting her shoulder on a stone in a way that sparked pain down her arm. Dirt blew up from the strike of her heel on the ground, briefly blinding the blonde, giving Xena the edge to stab at her. Her blow parried, and she used a dagger to parry the retaliatory blow that threatened her open side. For a moment, she and Callisto were caught in something of a pinned embrace — then, with a sharp cry, she shoved the blonde away, trying to get her off balance. 

She was a better fighter than she’d given her credit for. Not enough to scare her, not yet, but enough to have Xena applying every part of her mind, every part of her body, desperately trying to keep her cool.

“You do realize that you haven’t a clue if she’s alive?” Callisto asked when she came at Xena again. “I’ve found there’s wonderful ways to prolong a death.”

Xena felt a stab at her heart, emotional and jarring, even as she went in for another attack.

“I’ve had her all day, after all,” taunted the blonde. “Aren’t you wondering why my dagger’s bloody? I haven’t struck you once, not yet.”

Try as she might, Xena could not stop herself from hearing Callisto’s words. Nor could she help that she reacted, though she did not want to. She knew she was being played; her mind was aware, but her heart would not listen. The conflicting fight within took her focus away from the fight on the outside, enough that, for the first time since they’d begun their deadly dance, Callisto got in too close. The tip of her sword struck Xena’s arm, drawing blood; barely enough to hurt, but enough to strike adrenaline into her veins and true worry into her mind.

I need to focus, she told herself.

She grabbed her chakram and sent it flying, hoping to gain an edge. It took speed off a nearby stone, and flew directly towards the blonde. A hand shot out, enclosing around the circling blade. Xena stared, wide-eyed, at her own chakram in the hands of another.

It was only barely that she had time to dodge the thing when it came flying back at her. 

“A neat trick,” Callisto mocked, laughing as she sprang at Xena again. “But not quite enough, I’m afraid.”

Xena swept under her legs and turned around, cutting a gash into Callisto’s thigh. Blood sprayed into the dirt; a sharp cry of surprise echoed in the hillside. Stumbling forward, Callisto was unable to stop Xena from striking her in the face, her fist cracking sharply against her jaw. Before she could try and subdue her, however, the blonde squirmed out of her grasp, almost hitting her with her sword, elbowing her in the face, hard; Xena stumbled back, cursing under her breath and wiping at her nose. 

“Damn you,” Callisto spat, wiping blood from her mouth.

“There’s more where that came from,” Xena grinned. Having tasted blood both in her mouth and on her blade, she felt a rushing wave of excitement draw within; she gripped her sword tighter and let out a sharp battle cry as she went at Callisto again, trying to strike before she gained solid ground. A swing, a parry, a blow — dirt flew up into the air again, and Callisto jumped out of the way, now on the defensive. With exhaustion beginning to draw on them, it was quickly becoming a race to push the other over the edge first. Xena was stronger, but Callisto seemed quicker; it frightened Xena, somewhere in the back of her mind, just how equally matched they were.

Her heel caught on a root or something and she fell backward. Callisto flew upon her, too eager to make use of her stumble; Xena caught her arm as she came down and wrenched her sword away, casting it in a high arc into the trees. Her own sword had fallen some paces away. Her dagger was gone, and as far as she knew, Callisto had no weapon left, either. It then became a wrestle, with both trying to catch the other on her back. Callisto’s hands grabbed and scratched at Xena, whilst Xena tried to use her legs to her advantage. When at last she managed to lock her leg and arm around Callisto in such a way that she was pinned face down on the ground, she felt a rush of relief.

“You do realize my guards have orders to kill her the moment they see you, right?”

Xena’s fingers stopped an inch from where they’d been about to strike Callisto unconscious. She held her in place and squeezed at her neck instead, forcing a choked breath out of her throat.

“Then I’ll have to take you with me, won’t I?”

“And if they see me held prisoner, the orders are the same,” Callisto wheezed. “If they see me dead, she’s dead. Did you really think I wasn’t prepared? Whatever you do, Xena, you lose. Your precious Gabrielle will be dead, and you’ll be all alone again, without your darling wife. What do you think it’ll feel like, having her blood on your hands?”

The foul tendrils of Callisto’s words wormed their way into Xena’s mind. The fear she’d felt all throughout began to flare, and threatened to weaken her stance; she’d been terrified from the moment she’d heard Gabrielle had been taken, and though she’d packed it in, far and deep underneath layers and layers of rational sense and control, it now threatened to burst through and paralyze her in full. She couldn’t afford to lose, not this. 

Not Gabrielle.

A flicker of fear was all it took. A flicker, and she faltered, and Callisto struck. Xena let out a cry when Callisto’s forehead collided with hers, striking pain and stars into her mind; she was suddenly on her back, with Callisto’s hand on her throat, pressing—

“Let go of Xena, now .”

A blade appeared between them, the tip of it pressing into Callisto’s throat and pushing her away from Xena. 

“Gabrielle?” Xena gasped, hardly believing her eyes. Gabrielle stood over them, her sword in her hand, not too firm in her grip; a harsh darkness sat in her eyes, accompanied by a firm set of her jaw, and a tense frown in her brow. Callisto lay on her back, staring up at Gabrielle, a strange, almost satisfied smile on her lips. She had lost, and yet, she smiled.

“Would you look at that,” she laughed, seemingly uncaring that there was a sword at her throat. “Your little bard’s got a bit of warrior in her.”

Her eyes flickered over to Xena, still kneeling on the ground at Gabrielle’s side. “Do you think she has what it takes?”

Xena frowned. She stared at Callisto, at first not comprehending, not understanding the smile, nor yet the taunt. Then, as if in slow motion, it all fell into place. She saw the motion, she guessed the end; she sprang into action even before her tongue formed the words.

“No!”

Her hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword and pushed Gabrielle away in the same instant that Callisto sat up, pushing herself forward. Though Xena managed to pull the sword away from Callisto’s throat, she could not stop the motion in full; somehow, in wrestling the sword away from Gabrielle’s grip, the tip pointed more downward, and she felt the all-too familiar squelching pressure when the blade sank into Callisto’s gut. It went in deep, and somehow, the woman seemed to push herself forward still, as if desiring more of the pain, more of the hurt; a terrible, haunting smile came upon her lips, and a croaked laugh left her throat before she fell back to the earth, bleeding into the dirt.

She wasn’t dead yet, Xena knew. She had never been one to leave the dying to suffer, and seeing the jagged, through and through cut that the sword had made in her gut, she knew there was little chance of saving her. A quick jab of her thumb to the back of the blonde’s ear made sure of her death, as painless as she could make it.

She looked down at the woman for a moment and allowed herself to mourn. She felt the shame and guilt that came from the knowledge that her actions had brought her to this end; that her raid on her village had taken the life of her family, and had in turn taken her sanity, and had driven her onto this path of becoming less of a woman, more of a monster. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and sincerely meant what she said. She let the moment pass, and let the feelings fade; once her mind cleared, she turned to Gabrielle, who lay still on the ground, groaning. It was only then that she realized that she’d shoved her quite hard in taking the sword away from her, and that she’d landed hard on rocky ground; there were a few scrapes on her arms that Xena immediately knew were her own fault, and at once a new wave of guilt rushed over her, drawing her out of her shame and into her concern for Gabrielle.

“Gabrielle, I’m sorry, I—“ she stumbled, kneeling at her side and wrapping her arms around her, pulling her into a tight, crushing embrace. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her words tilting into a whimper as the fear came crashing into her chest in full. She was no longer apologizing for the scrapes, instead apologizing for it all — for the whole of the day, for the abduction, for the fight, for everything. “Gods, Gabrielle, I’m so sorry—“

Gabrielle’s arms were tight around her shoulders, clinging as though she never wanted to let go. She wasn’t saying anything; after a while, concern flared in Xena’s mind, and she pulled away, gripping Gabrielle’s arms, touching her face, cupping her cheeks, looking her over, choking up with worry.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” she was asking, but Gabrielle was still not saying a thing. There were tears on her cheeks, she was silently crying; Xena saw that she kept looking over at Callisto’s body, which lay not far from them. That was when she realized the cause of Gabrielle’s pain, and with a wrenching, tearing motion in her heart she understood that Callisto’s final blow had made its mark despite all her efforts to prevent it.

“You didn’t kill her,” she told Gabrielle, turning her face away from the body and back to her. “It wasn’t you. She did it herself, but I held the blade, Gabrielle. It wasn’t you.”

Gabrielle fell back into her embrace, releasing a single, heart-breaking sob. “I don’t know if I believe you,” she whispered, gripping at Xena’s arm. “I thought I felt—“

“She did it herself, Gabrielle,” Xena repeated, trying to be firm despite the trembling of her own heart. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t choose it; you wouldn’t have done it.”

Gabrielle pulled back and shook her head. “No, Xena. If she had hurt you, I would have killed her. I know I would have.”

Xena looked at Gabrielle, still feeling that twisting, wrenching motion within. She believed her when she said it; she knew, even if she didn’t want to believe it in full, that Gabrielle was capable of killing, if the situation warranted it. She hated that she was the reason that Gabrielle was capable — she hated that she was the reason that Gabrielle had been put to the test of it to begin with.

“But it wasn’t your first choice,” she said, gently, wiping a tear from Gabrielle’s cheek. “Killing isn’t your first instinct. If there is another option, you seek that first. I know you do; I know you will.”

Gabrielle swallowed. There was something hollow in her eyes, something that scared Xena, even if she could see that it would fade with time. It would; it had to.

“Come, sweetheart,” Xena said gently, rising to her feet and pulling Gabrielle along with her. “We need to get out of here.”

Gabrielle nodded. She seemed hesitant to let go of Xena, and in truth Xena had no intention of letting go of Gabrielle. With her arm tight around Gabrielle’s shoulders she began to look for a path down the slope when she caught sight of a guard, approaching them with what looked like her chakram in his hands. She tensed, and raised her sword, preparing for a fight.

Gabrielle’s hand came upon her forearm, touching gently as it pulled her arm back down. “It’s okay. Joxer’s a friend.”

Xena looked at Gabrielle with a confused frown. “ That’s how you got out? You befriended a guard?”

“Talking’s my talent,” Gabrielle shrugged. “I promised him that he could come with us.”

Gabrielle was fairly certain that Xena would have carried her, if she’d only let her do it. She was happy enough with Xena’s arm around her shoulders, her own around Xena’s waist; she didn’t think much at all beyond the fact that she had Xena, and that she was safe again. Ghosts of the fight, of Callisto, and of being captured toyed at her mind, but with Xena near, they stayed away. She could feel the tension in Xena’s body and knew she was holding herself together with immense amounts of willpower; she knew, as much as she guessed that there would be a release, eventually, when they were more in private.

At some point on their return to Amphipolis, Gabrielle found herself unable to wait. Ignoring the fact that Joxer was with them, she stopped, briefly confusing Xena. She smiled up at her warrior and felt another wave of relief wash over her, realizing again that Xena was there, with her. Her hand felt so comfortable resting on Xena’s armor, like it was home there. It was easy enough to pull Xena closer with a gentle tug.

“Kiss me.”

Xena’s eyes flickered to Joxer’s retreating form; the man hadn’t noticed that they’d stopped. She dipped down with a smile on her lips and kissed Gabrielle, sweetly, tenderly — but right at the end there was a slight whimper when Gabrielle pulled away, and Xena’s hand was on the back of Gabrielle’s head, pulling her in for just a little more, betraying again the vulnerability that sat below her controlled facade. 

Xena smoothed Gabrielle’s hair with her hand and kissed her forehead before resuming their walk, her arm around Gabrielle again. She didn’t speak, and Gabrielle didn’t either. There was a tiredness that had settled in them both, one which was entirely lost on Joxer — he kept chattering on and about as if there hadn’t just been a gruesome death, of his boss no less, that they’d all more or less witnessed. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Xena’s hand never left the hilt of her sword, a fact that was not missed by Gabrielle; she counted and noticed the glances and looks Xena threw behind them, and knew that the warrior had not yet entirely counted them in the clear.

“Just because their leader’s dead doesn’t mean they won’t make trouble,” she said quietly, leaning down so that only Gabrielle heard. “Though, if all her henchmen were like him—“

Gabrielle felt a shiver run down her spine, having Xena’s voice so close in her ear. “At least one of them knew you.”

“Oh?”

“I might have done some talking,” Gabrielle began, leaning in closer to Xena as she walked. “To keep myself safe, you understand.”

“Yes?”

“Well, one of them, maybe some lieutenant of Callisto’s, he got up in my face a little—”

Xena’s arm tensed around Gabrielle’s shoulders. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” Gabrielle said, and quickly added: “No one did. I was knocked out when they brought me there, although I think that’s because I fell over and hit my head. They gave me water and food and a blanket when I asked. Fairly decent, as things go.”

“I’d rather not have you gain any more experience to make further comparisons,” Xena muttered. Then, realizing what Gabrielle had said, she asked: “You said he got up in your face. What does that mean?”

“He made some threats,” Gabrielle said, trying to keep light despite the fact that in the saying, her words wavered with some residual fear. “Maybe he meant to do something. But when I, um, when I told them that I was your wife, he backed off. I don't think they'll come after you, now that Callisto's gone.”

Xena groaned and rubbed at her face. “Again with the wife thing?“

“It worked! They almost pissed their pants when I even suggested what you’d do if you came and found her wife in any way injured or hurt,” Gabrielle argued. “I just said it to keep safe. And besides, you're the one who's been joking around, saying it all the time, not me.”

Xena could only laugh. “If you think I’m angry or annoyed at you for doing what you could to stay safe, then you’re sorely mistaken,” she began, looking at Gabrielle with something of pride in her eyes. “Your wits are quite sharp. But gods, did you have to say you’re my wife? That's just another set of people, spreading the same rumor. My mother somehow thinks we’re married. Was that your doing?”

“Well, I didn’t say anything to her,” Gabrielle pouted. “I did to Joxer, though.”

“You told Joxer—?”

“Told me what?” asked the ex-guard, newly acquired third companion. “Amphipolis isn’t far, by the way. I see chimney-smokes.”

“Nothing,” Xena shrugged, her voice slipping into the cold, neutral tone that she used with strangers. “Don’t mind us, Joxer, this is just a little wife-to-wife conversation. You understand, right?”

Joxer hurried off at once, very clearly unwilling to intrude on said conversation.

Gabrielle gave Xena a poke in the stomach. “Don’t tease me.”

Yet there was a smile tugging at her lips, beautiful and poorly hidden. Xena was glad to see a light returning to her eyes, even if she knew it was only for a moment’s time; there was still a mountain of emotion and energy to work through before she would dare to say all was well.