Disclaimers: I don’t own
the characters, I just love writing about them. If you like to read stories in
which women express their love for each other physically, this would be right up
your alley. If not... Oh and there’s some violence, but nothing special.
Description: As you know, the Xenaverse began many years ago in the
TV-movie “Hercules and the Amazon Women.” At the end of the movie, Hercules
convinced Zeus to turn back time so those who had died might live on, thus
creating the alternate time line we know as the Xenaverse. However, in the
original world, Iolaus was dead, and Xena never met Hercules. She did, of
course, meet Gabrielle, and this is how it happened.
Thanks: To the Bardic Circle.
Didja Like It?: MiladyCo@aol.com
On The Way To Corinth
copyright August 2001
by Julia Noel Goldman
aka Xena’s Little Bitch
My army moves south quickly. This will be over soon, then on to the next
conquest. I’ve had enough of trying to gain the world by accessing
extraordinary powers. This time I’m gonna do it just like anybody else would:
hard work. Big army, plus no partners and lots of blood, equals me on my way to
ruling the world. Thanks for the focus, Ares, but now I’m on my own.
Argo’s back beneath me is solid and warm; she is the only person I trust, and
the irony of that is not lost on me. It’s a sunny afternoon, the warmth feels
so nice on my skin it almost makes me feel good, like I’m a real person. For a
moment my anger calms a bit. In the distance I see a strangely shaped grouping
of people moving along slowly. Slave traders! An unexpected blessing is any
unanticipated conflict. We attack, laughing at our own ruthlessness. As my sword
slices through flesh, I feel strong and powerful, even though I know that
fighting foot soldiers from horseback is like spearing fish in a barrel. It
still feels good to use my muscles like this, to anticipate the enemy’s next
three moves and watch them play out. I was born to fight.
In moments the girls are free. But there’s this one girl. Not even twenty,
with long red-gold hair. She stands in the middle of the road, her head cocked
to the side, looking at me oddly. I have to admit she is exactly my type. Naive
yet somehow savvy. I dismount and walk over to her.
“Xena,” I say, and nod at her.
“Of course you are,” she says, smiling warmly, her voice deep and hoarse.
Now that I’m closer to her I can see she’s splattered with slaver’s blood.
“Why do you say that?”
“Just look at you! Tall, beautiful female warrior, dressed in black; who else
would you be?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Gabrielle,” she says, suddenly shy, “I tell stories and I... I
didn’t think it was right to just leave without saying thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I just like to fight,” I say, feeling compelled
to add, “but I don’t think anyone should be enslaved.”
“How is that different from what you do?” she asks me. I move so I am
standing an inch away from her. She stares into my chest and does not back down.
When was the last time that happened?
“I do not keep slaves.”
“You enslave entire provinces to your will.”
“That’s not slavery,” I explain angrily.
“It’s not that different,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t
mean to upset you.”
“To..?” I say, stepping back from her so I can see her better, this
child-woman who would dare presume that she’s effected me emotionally. She
meets my gaze and I just... I have such a terrible track record with women. Men
are easy. But women, gods, they always end up killing me in the end. And this
one would be just the same, if I let her do it. I hate women. So deceptively
gentle. Men are simple and women are...
“Xena?”
I’m staring at the girl and it’s one of my soldiers speaking, suggesting we
move on. I mount my horse and we head out. I don’t look back.
I warn my soldiers to stay away, for I am in one of my moods. I go into my tent
and break things. Pots and mugs, anything I can find to smash. I really do hate
every single person on the earth. They are all like pins sticking into my skin.
They are like poison. Their simple lives and their happy smiles exclude me, mock
me. And the mean ones, the ones who are easily and needlessly cruel, the ones
like me, well, I hate them too. I hate everyone and everything. There is nothing
anywhere for me. I wish I had died at Amphipolis.
Today I wake up and I am in just as dark a mood. Why is my life what it is? I
dress, arm myself, and walk out into the glaringly bright day. My men are
everywhere, and that bastard Darphus walks up to me. He is the last person I’d
choose as a leader, but he’s all that’s left, and I’ve about had it with
him. Even if I didn’t think he was about to betray me, I’d be sending him
packing soon enough. It must have rained overnight; water drips from trees,
along robust, bright green leaves.
“Xena!” he calls out, and all the men turn to watch. It’s a set up. I
can’t wait, but I’ll let it play out for full entertainment value.
I turn to look at him. “Darphus,” I spit out.
“I challenge you to a battle to the death, for leadership of this army.”
He’s got a swagger today that I just want to smash with a hammer.
I laugh. I can’t help it. I address my soldiers,
“You all agree he is the best of you, the one fit to lead, more fit perhaps
than I?” I pause as if I am expecting a response. “Then please, I want you
to all watch carefully to see how easily I defeat him.”
The men are silent; perhaps they are already realizing what a mistake it was to
back someone who was stupid enough to challenge me. How dare they? It makes me
want to kill them, but that would entirely defeat my purpose in being here.
Darphus makes like a warrior, twirling his sword around, so of course I have to
pretend to yawn, covering my mouth with my left hand. I smile and he comes at
me. I hate to waste a potentially interesting fight, but I must make my point,
so with a single slice of my sword, I slit Darphus’ throat. His body falls to
the ground.
I look at my men dispassionately. “I am disappointed in you. That you could
forget for even a moment that I could take you all on at once and not even break
a sweat truly makes me wonder at your worth even as soldiers.”
The sun is blinding. I am still half asleep. I walk away from them, into the
woods. They’ll be there when I get back; they wouldn’t dare desert. Gods
what an idiot I was to trust anyone with any power at all. Well, that’s all
over now, thank the gods. Won’t have to see his disgusting face again. I
wander through the woods blindly. Every day is a horrible struggle and it’s
not enough anymore. There are gaps I used to fill with something, not sure what,
but spaces are now empty that just can’t be filled with blood.
I find myself in a small town, and I head to the tavern. It’s nice and dark
and I find a comfortable table in the back. I order ale, and lots of it. Today
is a good day to drink, so I do. I didn’t touch liquor for a year after
Higuchi. Couldn’t afford to be that vulnerable, no matter how bad it hurt. But
now, now I don’t really care. Rule the world, die in a puddle of my own vomit;
it’s all the same to me in the end. Nothing is important now the way it was to
do what Akemi asked. I failed her, like I failed everyone else I cared about.
I’m not supposed to think about what happened with Akemi. It’s like a switch
has been turned off in my head and now things I had under control aren’t
anymore. Gods.
I find myself carving the outline of a woman’s body into the surface of the
table with my knife. I rub ale into it as I carve, and I remember the girl from
yesterday, was it yesterday? She was so lovely, was she worth trying to find?
For what, now, really? I don’t want to hurt women anymore, and more than that,
I don’t want to be hurt by them. That’s what always happens, no getting
around it; even if we were only together for a night, one of us would end up
getting hurt. And at this point in my life, chances are it would be her. My
heart is not connected to my body the way it used to be. I’m not sure it’s
connected to anything anymore. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.
I should stop drinking, and yet I feel drawn to this, this feeling of... I
don’t know. Not murderous rage, anyway.
My eyes wander past my collection of empty ale mugs and thoughtlessly stare at
women as they walk past. I find myself staring at one’s backside and imagining
it’s Gabrielle, the red headed girl. I press myself up against her back and
she moans with pleasure. I shake my head to clear it and pull my eyes back to my
carving. Though my heart may be connected to nothing, the ale connects me to my
lust; I knew there was another reason I avoided liquor. Gods. I could have any
of these women if I wanted. I am the consummate seductress. In fact, I’ve
never failed to bed anyone whom I desired. It’s easy, just like war: find the
weaknesses and exploit them.
But this girl. In one short conversation, she told me she thought I was
beautiful and that I was bad. Who cares? It’s a shame I don’t have sex with
men anymore. That never hurt, somehow. It was way too easy. I wonder where
Gabrielle lives? I hate myself. I know I’m going to go after her and end up
hurting her and it makes me want to kill something. I could pick a fight easy. I
wouldn’t need an excuse on a hot day like this one. But her words keep ringing
in my head, “You enslave entire provinces to your will.” I don’t like to
think of myself like that. But she’s right, of course she’s right. Somehow
women always know, like Lao Ma knew, like Akemi knew. Why don’t I have that
kind of knowledge? About myself, about the world? It’s like I live in this
delusionary nightmare that for moments at a time I can see out of, and then I am
asleep again, lost in it, this thing I have become, this way of life that’s
killing me and everyone who crosses my path.
When I was little, the first thing I wanted to be was a healer. I loved taking
care of my brothers when they were ill, I even took care of the sick plants in
the garden. When I got a little older, it was horses. I wanted to raise them and
train them, but really I just wanted to ride. And then there was the first time
I held a sword in my hand. It made me feel powerful, and when I learned to fight
with it, well, I realized what I could be. Even at fifteen I knew that in the
real world, what it all came down to was that the stronger person had the last
word. No one wanted to die and if you held that power you owned everyone. It was
intoxicating, because it didn’t take me long to realize how good I was and by
the time I was sixteen, I was the best fighter in Amphipolis. It was scary and
exciting to have that kind of power.
The tavern has become crowded and I’m on my twenty-first mug of ale. A band
warms up on the stage, people seem to be in unusually high spirits. I don’t
want to stand out during this celebration, and I’m not ready to go up and face
my nightmares yet, so I take off my armor and my weapons, wrap them in my cloak,
and lay the bundle on the bench next to me. A drunk woman in a brown shirt and
dirty leather pants. No one special, no one to bother noticing.
There are so many little villages on my way to Corinth, I don’t know where to
start. Should I flip a coin? It all seems too easy, there could be a catch, so I
must be cautious, use every advantage I have, from the terrain to the element of
surprise. On the other hand, it might be best to take to the water sooner rather
than later. Move south through Poteidaia, then sail down and around to the Gulf
of Corinth. The image of rolling waves on a stormy day fades from my mind and I
find I’m staring at a woman’s backside. She is dancing in someone’s arms,
slowly, and she has such perfect command of her hips. The dress is tight, light
blue cotton with a pattern of tiny flowers or something on it, and her backside
is perfectly shaped, amazingly firm-looking. I can feel my hands cupping it as I
pull her against me. My eyes travel up her body, her curvy hips, her small
waist, and I notice she has red hair, up in a bun with more than a few strands
slipping out of it. It’s just the same color as Gabrielle’s. Suddenly the
man dips her and I feel a tremor run through me because it actually is Gabrielle.
She’s flushed and laughing; she looks beautiful. Perhaps this is a celebration
of the fact that many of these people just escaped a life of slavery. As I look
around, I realize I do recognize some of them vaguely from the other day.
With no awareness of it, I find I have walked onto the dance floor and tapped
Gabrielle’s dancing partner on the shoulder. They both turn and look at me,
and her smile of pleasure is so honest it almost knocks me down. I put out my
hand to her and she takes it, her partner bows and leaves the floor.
“May I have this dance?” I ask her, waiting to put my hand on her hip.
“You may,” she answers, blushing, a more flirtatious smile flitting over her
lips. The music begins again and I guide us through the slow dance, moving in a
circle with the rest of the dancers. I can tell from the way people are glancing
at us that two women dancing together is an unusual thing to see in this town,
and some of them whisper, because they know who I am. Yet Gabrielle’s body is
relaxed in my arms, as if the opinion of others matters nothing to her.
“It’s a surprise to see you here,” she begins.
“You too.”
“Well, this is where I live.” She smiles at me. Her left hand holds my
shoulder firmly. I hold her right hand gently in my left, delicate like...
like... On a scale of one to ten, ten being the drunkest, I am only six at most,
so I don’t understand why my skin feels like it’s burning.
“Then I guess you’re just where you should be.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No? Where do you belong?”
“I don’t know yet. Just not here.”
“So what’s the celebration about?” I ask, changing the subject because I
think I know exactly how she feels.
“Actually, it’s to thank you, in a way. For saving us, whether you
did for us or not. And by the way, it wouldn’t be so terrible to do something
for someone else, you know.”
I snort in response. We’re quiet for a few moments, just gliding along the
floor. Without thought I hear myself ask, “Why are you dancing with me if you
disapprove of me so?”
She looks at me seriously, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Because I can’t
believe something so beautiful could be entirely evil.”
Everything seems to stop for a moment and I want to hurt her for saying that,
but I don’t. I continue dancing. Though I’m sure she can feel the difference
in my touch, she doesn’t flinch.
“There are flowers, and fish, that I have seen in my travels,” I say icily,
“painted in rainbows you couldn’t imagine, yet their touch is death. Full to
the brim with poison.”
“Yet their beauty is worth something still, if it moves the soul.” So lovely
and so naive is this Gabrielle. It makes me want to...
Suddenly my anger rises to the top and I pull her off the dance floor. She
stumbles along after me until we find ourselves in a dim hallway near the
tavern’s kitchen. She is breathless and I slam her against the wall as gently
as I can slam. I stand an inch away from her, and she meets my gaze boldly,
though I can feel her body tremble. I’m shaking too, and I clench my fists in
an effort to bring myself under control.
“I am not evil,” I whisper angrily, begging her to understand, to make it
true.
Gabrielle reaches up and brushes her fingers along my cheek. Her eyes hold
something I can’t quite identify, but might actually be compassion.
“I know,” she whispers. I feel light-headed, as if her belief somehow
finally proves it to me; I am not evil. I reach forward and pull her into
my arms; her softness is indescribable. Our lips meet tentatively at first,
gently, as if we’re both afraid of scaring the other off. Then her strong,
warm hands climb slowly up my torso and entangle themselves in my hair, pulling
me into a deeper kiss, making my whole body shiver. It feels so good, the soft
cotton of her dress under my hands, her quiet sighs of pleasure. How can I be
part of such tenderness? I find that I am slowly losing my ability to stand and
I pull away from her. The way she looks in this moment touches a part of me that
I do not want to feel. Yes, it is compassion, and more.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I turn and run. I run through the back of the
tavern, through the town, and deep into the woods, far away from my campgrounds.
I push all thought out of my head and when I reach the lake I don’t stop, I
run into it and dive deep, skimming along the sandy bottom. I swim for hours,
then stagger back to camp to collapse, soaking wet, on my bedroll, not a thought
in my head.
In the morning I am badly hung over. My muscles ache but I don’t care why,
I’ve blocked out the night before, except for that it left me angry. My
soldiers look busy this morning, sparring with concentration, pretending to be
real warriors. How amusing. I decide to take my anger out on them, fighting one
after another, until I’ve defeated a hundred of my own men. And before
breakfast!
Then there’s food, and then the maps. Like others can lose themselves in a
story, I can in a map. Everything’s there. I thank Ares again for teaching me
to focus, and I lose myself in this routine for a few days. Sparring, planning,
running to exhaustion. Corinth. This time I won’t give up. And suddenly the
memories of my first siege of Corinth come flooding into my mind with such
clarity. First, the incredibly glorious feeling of winning, how powerful I was
then, over my army, over Borias, over the world. Second was my anger, yet the
pregnancy made me feel things I didn’t usually feel; I couldn’t believe it
when Borias left me. I didn’t think he had it in him. And the baby was so
beautiful, my baby. I wanted the things Alti promised but the pain was the third
thing, and it was too much. I was on the verge of my greatest victory, but I
backed down after Borias died. I gave it all up, the power, the baby, and I
retreated inside myself again, for a long time.
Why am I thinking like this? I should be focused on the task at hand, and yet we
are still camped just outside Poteidaia. We are not marching towards Corinth at
all. Suddenly I fear that this is one of those turning points, one of those
moments in life where you have to make a choice. I can remember some of mine so
well, and just the quickest whiffs of the memories are torture. No! I refuse
to feel like this! I walk through the woods unseeing, trying to push from my
mind the images of all the people I’ve loved and disappointed, all my terrible
choices, my endless failures.
I find myself in front of an old tree stump and I draw my sword. With all my
strength I slam my blade into its flesh again and again, putting all my anger
into my blows. I continue until I am sweating, until there’s nothing in front
of me but wood chips. I stand there panting and re-sheath my sword. What the
Hades am I gonna do with myself? Talk about pathetic.
Suddenly I hear music on the breeze. I can’t tell what it is but I follow the
sound. As I get closer I realize it’s a flute, and the beautiful, lilting
music pulls me along, entices me, promises me something wonderful. It lulls me
into mindlessness, and as that’s what I’ve been seeking, I give up my will
to it. The melody is simple and finally it pulls me into a clearing. On a rock
in the middle of the clearing sits the musician, and when the moon comes out
from behind a cloud, I see that it is Gabrielle.
“Xena! I was just thinking about you,” she says, grinning and practically
clapping her hands, as if she is not surprised to see me here in the woods in
the middle of the night. Why is it that I’m not surprised to see her either?
“What were you thinking?” I ask, my voice raspy with desire just from
looking at her. Tonight she wears a long dress in a dark color, I can’t tell
which one in the lack of light. It laces up the front and I can’t help but
stare as I walk slowly towards her. She looks so young, so beautiful. I can
still hear the simple, romantic tune in my head, though she put the flute down
moments ago.
“I was thinking about your lips, and about your hands,” she says, her voice
deep and quiet, “I never felt anything like... to be honest I don’t think
I’ve thought of anything but you since... then.”
I blush and admit I have tried not to think about her lips, and her hands.
“Why?” she asks. Such a simple question.
The only way to explain is to show her, so I move closer to the rock on which
she sits, and I stand between her parted legs. My breathing quickens as her
thighs tighten around mine. I touch her lips with my fingers and she gasps.
“Don’t you feel the magic when we touch, Xena?” she whispers, “It’s
like I always imagined it could be.”
“I don’t want magic,” I whisper, “I don’t want to feel like this.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
Gabrielle leans in closer. Her hair smells like rosemary. I close my eyes and
inhale. I rest my hands on her thighs, my palms burning from her skin, even
through her skirt. She whispers into my ear, “Yes, you do. Tell me one thing
you want. Come on, Xena. Give.”
I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for hours. It’s only a girl, Xena.
Just kiss her. “I want to kiss you,” I whisper, “No past, no present, no
future, just this.” I cup her face with my hands and I kiss her. She responds
tenderly, calming me, as if she knows the war that rages in me. I let myself
relax into it, let the sensations claim me, make me their slave. There are so
many parts of her that I want to kiss but my mouth won’t leave her lips.
After a few minutes she pulls out of the kiss and rests her head on my shoulder.
I stroke her hair and enjoy the feeling of her arms around my waist. It’s like
she brings out a part of me I haven’t seen for years, that I didn’t even
think was still there.
“Will we see each other again, after tonight?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer, feeling my hands tighten their grip on her back.
“I hope we do,” she whispers.
I don’t know what to say, so I lift her chin with my fingers and kiss her
again. It’s just that her lips feel so nice against mine. I lose myself in it,
no idea how long she’s been in my arms. It’s probably late, so I pull my
mouth away from hers, almost losing my balance for a moment.
“I’ll walk you home,” I say. Gabrielle stares at me; she seems surprised
that I’m choosing to stop. So am I, really. I help her down from the rock. She
leans against me a moment to get her bearings, and my arms just seem to wrap
around her. I hear her inhaling my scent and it reminds me that we don’t have
to stop, that I don’t want to stop. The grass looks soft and her body feels so
right in my arms. For reasons I don’t understand, I take her hand and we begin
to walk.
As we travel slowly through the dark forest toward her home, she tells me about
how she wants to be a traveling bard. She wants to write stories that change
people’s lives.
“What kind of stories do that?” I ask.
“Well-told stories,” she says thoughtfully, “I think if you tell it right,
capture people’s attention and draw them into your world, you can get people
to see things from your point of view.”
“Really?” I say skeptically.
“Yeah. And sometimes, you don’t even have to tell stories.” Gabrielle
grins up at me and squeezes my hand.
“How old are you?” I ask suspiciously.
“Eighteen.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I don’t lie,” she says, her voice deepening again.
“What kind of stories do you usually tell?”
“Adventure stories, about heroes. That’s what people like to hear mostly.
And love stories,” she pauses, and I imagine she’s blushing but I can’t
tell in this light, “Lots of people are inspired by tales of romance and
adventure, you know. Things they worry might never happen to them.”
“Do you worry about that?” Why am I asking her?
“Sometimes. But then I figure, I’m still relatively young. Anything could
happen.”
“You’re not young to be unmarried.”
“True, but I don’t hope to marry.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I thought it would be obvious to you of all people, but, I like kissing
girls.”
“You really do have a unique way of putting things,” I say.
“Thank you, Xena.” And she gives me the big grin again. Her secret weapon.
When we get to the edge of town, she turns towards me and says,
“You better come back. I want... I want to see you again, Xena.”
I lean down and kiss her once more. Our lips know each other now, already they
feel at home. I pull away and squeeze her hand before walking slowly back into
the woods.
I spend the next week putting my army through the most strenuous drills
they’ve ever experienced. We have a long sea voyage ahead of us, so I figure
it’s best to do a lot of training beforehand. I teach them all kinds of tricks
of warfare; how to use distraction in a fight, how to turn people’s emotions
into weapons against them. Whatever it takes to give a smaller army the
advantage. My free time I spend in my tent, looking over maps and trying to
think of ways to gain control over the world without hurting non-combatants. I
know my army wonders what’s really going on, why we haven’t taken Poteidaia
or any of the surrounding villages. But I can’t take Gabrielle’s village,
hurt the people she cares about. And the scary thing is I can’t really picture
taking the chance of hurting other innocent villagers either.
Really I stay away from my men because I don’t know who I am anymore. I
don’t know how to behave. I just keep quiet, a blank look on my face, and that
seems to work, but it won’t for long. Tonight the camp is celebrating the
successful hunt of a huge wild boar, and the completion of their training in the
use of the quarterstaff. I retired for the night hours ago, and have been
sitting in my tent reading and drinking port.
“Commander!” I hear from outside the tent.
“Enter!”
Two of my soldiers enter the tent, pulling Gabrielle behind them. Just in time,
I remember to keep my face blank. But the way she looks, out of breath and
flushed, breasts heaving from her constant attempts to free herself of the
soldier’s hands, makes it difficult to maintain my control.
“She was found sneaking around the edge of the camp,” explains one of the
men, “We thought it best to bring her here directly.”
“Good. Now, leave us.”
She stops struggling and they leave.
“What did you think you were doing?” I ask her coldly.
“I, uh, it had been a week and I hadn’t heard from you...” her words trail
off. She looks as if she thinks maybe she’s made a mistake, and maybe she has.
Maybe I have, or maybe I’m about to. I know I will, soon enough, one
way or another. I always do.
“You could have gotten... hurt,” I mutter.
“I wasn’t really thinking,” she says. Gabrielle looks around the tent, her
eyes follow me as I walk to a chest and pour her a goblet of port. The tent
walls are brown, and the ceiling is high. A few standing candelabras keep the
place light enough. Other than the chest and a few trunks, and my map table,
it’s mostly pillows and Oriental rugs. It’s the tent of a successful
warlord, no doubt about that, and I can see it placing me in a new context for
her. I walk over to her where she’s absentmindedly caressing a gold cup that
pokes out of a chest full of treasure and I hand her the goblet. I try not to
look at her too closely.
“You knew who I was,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, taking a sip of the port and shivering from the potency.
“A powerful warlord.”
We stand a foot away from each other, staring into our glasses, at the ground,
into the fire. The sounds of the drunken celebration outside reach new heights.
“But you thought, ‘Maybe...’” I say.
“Yeah. I thought maybe.” I feel her grinning at me and I look up at her,
unable to control my face as a smile spreads over it. Her presence warms me and
it’s hard not to move closer to her, yet at the same time my surroundings
remind me of who I’m supposed to be. I find myself slowly circling her and she
turns in place, keeping eye contact.
“You know you can’t leave now,” I say, “you’ve been caught sneaking
around my camp. You’re lucky my soldiers didn’t keep you.”
“Very,” she says, taking another sip of port. I imagine she will get dizzy
soon, with the drinking and the turning in circles. “Why are you still
here?”
“What?” I stop short, almost spilling my drink.
“You. Here. Still. Why?”
“Tactical decision.” I imagine the guards outside my tent wonder why they
don’t hear the tell-tale sounds of a young girl being ravished.
“Who are you fighting?” she asks me, draining her glass. She wants to be
drunk. So do I, so I pour another round.
“Good question.”
“You know, you’ve got everyone around here afraid,” she tells me suddenly,
“They don’t know why your army has been camped out here all this time, why
you’re not attacking anyone, why you’re not moving on. People are scared to
go to the river, or travel the local trade routes. They don’t know what might
happen.”
“I didn’t mean...” I begin. I really haven’t been thinking. Trying not
to think will do that. It used to feel good to know that people feared me, but I
didn’t mean for... I feel my eyebrows pull together into a scowl.
“See, I, I have this idea,” she says, her voice suddenly faltering, “about
why you’re hanging around and I thought maybe if... maybe if I was right,
maybe I could help, make things better...” She looks back into her wine
goblet. I step forward. My movement surprises her and she looks up. “I thought
maybe you were still here because of me. That maybe you can’t stop thinking
about me. Maybe if I just showed up...” Her voice trails off as she stares at
me. I don’t know what my expression is like, but it disturbs her. She blushes
and looks down again, then whispers “I didn’t mean... I meant...”
“I don’t think of you at all,” I say. It’s hard to say it but I do.
It’s not really a lie.
Gabrielle stares at me, her head cocked to the side like the first time she
looked at me. I’ve hurt her; I see it in her eyes before she covers it. I knew
that would hurt her and I said it anyway. I step towards her and she takes a
step back and walks over to my map table. She puts her goblet down on it and
stands there, holding the edge. The sound of my men singing says their night
will soon be over. Something in my chest hurts terribly and forces me to follow
her across the tent.
I stand behind her, only an inch from her back, eyes closed, smelling her hair.
I can feel her shaking. I don’t know if she’s crying, or if she’s just
afraid I’m going to do what any warlord would do in this situation. But I’m
Xena, warrior princess, so I put my lips against her ear and I whisper,
“Thinking about you scares me. It confuses me and makes me forget who I am.”
She steps back into my arms and I close them around her, pulling her close. She
takes my right hand and places it over her heart, her hand over mine. Such an
intimate gesture. I can do nothing but stand there, holding her, my eyes closed.
I have never felt so comforted just from holding someone.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“Same reason as you,” she says, turning in my arms until we’re face to
face.
“Because you’re bent on self-destruction?”
She laughs. “No,” and then she whispers, “because my heart tells me I
must.”
“See, just like I said.” Her heart? She is so naive. The pain in my
chest gets worse. “You don’t belong with a warlord. Not even for a night.”
“You’re right,” she whispers, standing on tip-toe to capture my mouth. Her
lips are so soft, and her face; I can’t help but rub my cheek against hers
between kisses. I brush her hair back from her neck and I kiss the skin behind
her ear. Gabrielle’s sighs turn into moans as I gently suck her neck. She’s
wearing a blue peasant shirt with a plunging neckline, and my lips move lower
slowly, until I’m kissing the smooth skin of the tops of her breasts. Her
fingers are tangled in my messy hair, and the sounds she makes continue to
arouse me like the most intimate of caresses, so much so I realize I can barely
stand.
We sink slowly to our knees, kissing each other hungrily. Her passionate
confidence excites me. I feel her tugging at my pants, pulling my shirt free and
sliding her hands along my naked back. Her touch makes me tremble, and even as I
feel it I don’t believe it. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Her
hands continue to caress my skin, moving smoothly along my sides to my stomach,
inevitably reaching my breasts. I gasp and pull out of the kiss, then stare at
her, panting, as she gently pinches my nipples. She looks so sexy, so recklessly
amorous, not like a village girl at all.
“Gabrielle,” I hiss.
“Xena,” she whispers, looking into my eyes and slowing the movement of her
hands on my breasts.
“You wanna keep going, right?” I can barely hold my eyes open I’m so
aroused. There’s a flood between my legs and images of how we must look
together flash in my mind, exciting me further.
“Oh yeah,” she whispers, her voice even deeper than usual, lowering her head
and brushing my throat with her lips.
“Good,” I moan, my hands moving under her skirt and slowly climbing up her
legs. I massage the backs of her thighs and she groans, sucking the flesh of my
neck into her mouth. My hands reach her bottom and slip under her britches,
squeezing gently. The skin of her backside is so smooth I am almost moved to
tears by it, and so hot that I find it hard to control myself. Her hands wander
into my hair again and pull me into yet another intoxicating kiss. I tug her
britches down until they are around her knees, then pull her body tightly
against mine, my hands squeezing her bottom hard. I feel her press herself
against me; it’s as if her passion matches mine exactly, and yet every time
she moans I feel my pleasure heighten.
My fingers gently slip between her cheeks, and I whimper at the warmth and the
damp softness. She moans my name again, sucking harder on my tongue. My touch is
so delicate and yet it arouses her so. I hear the cloth of her britches rip as
she moves her knees further apart, inviting me in. My hands move lower and
caress her inner thighs, smooth and hard, up and down, never quite reaching the
place she wants me to touch. Her wetness drips slowly down her thighs onto my
hands and I realize I’ve never reveled in another’s responses like this
before. I let my hands move closer and closer, gently massaging the skin nearest
her pubic area, not giving in to the pressure from her body to go faster, to
make her come now. My left hand moves back to her bottom, gently squeezing her
lovely flesh, and my right hand inches along her damp, sensitive skin, sliding
through the wet heat into her pubic hair.
“Unh, Xena,” she groans into my mouth as I stroke her from behind,
slowly, and she shifts her pelvis back so my fingers are touching her where she
wants them to. I deepen the kiss, my tongue pressing strongly against hers, not
even sure where my own mouth ends and hers begins. My fingers move in a lazy
circle in her wetness, hot and glorious, liquid fire. Her hands grip my
shoulders for support and her breathing becomes labored. She pulls out of the
kiss and rests her forehead against my shoulder. Somehow I continue to stroke
her slowly, perhaps because it feels so good to touch her like this. I want it
to go on forever but I know she can only hold back so long.
Gabrielle moves herself back and forth against my hand in an increasingly more
frenzied cadence, so I follow her desire, easily and quickly taking her to the
ultimate point of pleasure. She moans my name when she comes, and rests her face
against my neck, panting. We kneel there in silence for a moment, but only a
moment before I feel her lips moving on my neck, her hands unlacing my leather
pants and pulling them down to my knees. I let my head fall back and give myself
over to her without thought. I hear her throaty laugh and I know it’s because
I’m not wearing anything under my pants. Her hand slides between my legs and
holds me gently. I whisper her name. She continues to cup my most sensitive
area, gently squeezing, and I gasp as everything presses together, slippery and
exquisitely wet. The pressure of her palm moving in slow circles is almost too
much, and I barely notice as she pushes me back onto the floor.
“Gabrielle,” I moan again, and this time it’s my hands that tangle in her
hair as she settles between my thighs, showering them with the gentlest of
kisses. She inhales my scent and then suddenly her tongue enters between my
lips, and my hips rise from the floor, taking her with them. She licks me
slowly, from bottom to top and back again, and it takes all my strength to keep
myself still. The feeling of her tongue is luscious, and her hands slide under
my bottom, squeezing it with the same perfect rhythm. It takes only moments of
this attention to send me past the point of endurance, and I scream, pulling her
face deep inside me as I climax. I let her go and she climbs up my body until
her face is level with mine. She kisses my lips and then falls down upon me. I
wrap my arms around her and hold her close, listening to her breathing calm.
“Xena, that was amazing,” she whispers, her voice throaty, tinged with
wonder.
“Come with me to Corinth,” I hear myself say.
“I can’t,” she answers sadly, pressing her face into my neck.
“Why?”
“You said it yourself. I don’t belong with a warlord.”
“What if I was Queen of Corinth?”
She giggles. “I don’t think a change in title would help.”
“I know.” I kiss her head and we lie there a while longer. It’s dawn and I
realize I should take her home before my men wake up. She’s half asleep and I
rouse her with kisses, we smile at each other sadly as we rearrange our
clothing. How can this be the end if I didn’t even get to see her naked?
We wander outside; the camp is silent and the morning fog is thick. I whistle
quietly for Argo and she wanders up, half asleep herself. I quickly attach her
saddle and bridle, then I mount, pulling Gabrielle up behind me. She scoots up
against my back and wraps her arms around me without hesitation, like it’s
just where she belongs. Except I’m a warlord. But I’m not evil so I guess
that’s something to hold on to. I let Argo walk along slowly through the
forest towards Poteidaia so Gabrielle and I can enjoy holding each other as long
as possible.
Eventually we find ourselves riding up to Gabrielle’s house. We dismount and
stand there, looking at each other in the gray morning. I find myself holding my
chest, wishing I could stop it from hurting so much.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“My chest hurts.”
“Xena, that’s your heart,” she says, like I’m a moron, “This is
the thing I want you to think about, okay? Do you really need to conquer the
world, or could you maybe try to help save it? Promise me you’ll think about
it?”
“I promise,” I say. I grab her shoulders and pull her into a passionate
kiss. Then I let her go and she enters her home. I slap Argo on the butt so she
runs off, then I slink around the corner of the house to listen at the window. I
can hear them immediately, Gabrielle and her family, and I press my back against
the wall, staying in the shadows.
“...out all night by yourself?” Gabrielle’s mother (I assume) asks.
“I went to talk to Xena, to see if I could figure out what’s going on. I
don’t think she’s going to attack us.”
“Why not?” asks her father, sounding like an angry man given an excuse to be
angry.
“She just won’t,” says Gabrielle, sounding nervous.
“You let her take you, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice harsh.
“Herodotus!” scolds her mother loudly.
“You let that warlord bitch take you and now you’ve ruined yourself for a
decent marriage!” says an outraged Herodotus.
“You did that for us, Gabby?” asks another female voice, a sister maybe?
“Well, no. I mean, yes, but it wasn’t like that and I did it for me,”
Gabrielle says almost proudly, then more softly, “and for her.”
“Are you all right, Gabrielle?” asks her mother, concerned. What kind of
monster do they think I am? Didn’t I just save their damned village, aren’t
I not attacking it now?
“I’m fine, Mother,” says Gabrielle, sounding very tired.
“You don’t think she cares about you, do you?” asks her father,
“You’re just a piece of--”
“Herodotus!” yells Gabrielle’s mother.
“You’re nothing to her,” he says savagely, “She’s a vicious
warlord and you’re a silly village girl.”
“Thanks for your support as always, Father,” says Gabrielle softly.
“Come on Gab, let’s go to bed,” says her sister kindly.
And then silence for a moment. I don’t want to hear the parents discussion, so
I sneak out of my hiding place and walk back into the forest. The sun is up now
and I’m exhausted, having gotten no sleep at all the night before. I return to
my camp to find my men still passed out all over the ground. The grass reeks of
ale, piss, and vomit. Another successful party.
In my tent, Gabrielle’s goblet still sits on my map table, so I lift it to my
lips and drink. My hair falls in my face and it smells like her. I pull my shirt
off over my head and bury my face in her scent. I throw the shirt to the floor
and finish the port. I pour more and I stare at my maps. By land, by sea, by
land, by sea. Could go either way, really. Or not. Or really not.
You’re nothing to her, he said. She’s a vicious warlord and you’re
a silly village girl. My first impulse had been to punch him in the mouth and
say it wasn’t true. Wasn’t it true?
Though my bed is only pillows on the floor, the sheets are silk, from India,
with piles of smaller silk and cotton pillows, and dark purple curtains that
come down from the top of the tent and surround the bed when the gold cords that
bind them are untied. Many of the pillows are gold and pink, like Gabrielle. I
sit down on it to take off my boots, smiling to myself at the thought that
we’d never even made it to the bed last night. Images of Gabrielle come into
my mind and make me dizzy. She’d sounded so sad when she was talking to her
parents. I finish the port and fall back on the bed, passing out.
I don’t believe that dreams have meaning, though as I wake up a few hours
later I can still hear her voice in my mind; “You have to decide; do you want
to conquer the world or try to save it?” How dare her father assume that I
wouldn’t care about her? How could anyone not care about Gabrielle? Yeah, even
me. I can hear the sounds of my men beginning to clean up the camp, as well as
some of them retching in the bushes behind my tent. I feel rotten, yet my body
remembers her hands on my skin quite vividly. I put the shirt I wore last night
back on and sit on my bed drinking port.
Someone calls from outside, it’s one of my older, more experienced soldiers, a
man called Meleager. I yell out that he may enter and he does. He looks like
crap, bloodshot eyes, his armor covered in dirt and grease.
“Commander Xena. On behalf of the entire army I apologize for the state of the
camp. It was a very late night.”
“I understand,” I tell him, and just stare at him. If I do something now
when I’m not thinking clearly, something that just can’t be taken back, I
won’t have to decide later. “Was there ever a moment in your life where you
wish you’d taken a chance you didn’t take?” I ask him.
“A million times. I’ve come to terms but still, I have regrets.”
“Would you really do it differently, do you think?”
“Yes.”
“What would you have done, Meleager?”
“Pardon me for it, but I would never have become a soldier, I would never have
joined up with your army. If I had another chance, I’d look for, well,
happiness instead of excitement. I was young at first, but I just kept making
the same decision over and over again by never making a different one.”
He looks down, hoping he has not said too much.
“What about now? Is it too late?” I ask him, pouring myself yet more port.
“I don’t know. I’d have to see if I could make a different decision.”
“I will make it for you. This is over. No Corinth, no army, no me.” He looks
at me wide-eyed. “Can I trust you?”
“Always, Commander,” he answers, clearly surprised by my question. Why do I
believe him? Were there always people here I could trust?
“I’m leaving. I want to put you in charge of handing out payment to the
army. Can I entrust that to you?”
He nods, speechless. He knows how much treasure there is. Enough that each man
could retire if he so chose.
“Will you suggest to them that they give up fighting?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want. Dismissed.”
“I won’t let you down, Xena.”
I nod. He exits. Meleager has the respect of the men; I know he will be able to
pull off a task that others would get killed trying to accomplish. That’s age
and experience for you.
I pack. Some clothes, camping supplies, and as many gold coins as Argo can
carry. I am taking my chance. If it’s a mistake, I can always build another
army. I’ve done it before, it’s not hard when you have the right skills.
I’m so drunk that tying the knots to secure my packs to Argo isn’t easy, but
I do it. I mount her and look over the quiet campsite. I’ve lived like this
for ten years, it’s strange to say goodbye. So I don’t. I turn Argo and we
ride away into a future that makes very little sense to me.
I continue drinking on my dangerously fast ride to Poteidaia. I jump off the
horse in front of Gabrielle’s house, taking a last swig of the port before
tying it to a pack. Don’t think about it, Xena. Just act.
I knock on the door, feeling terrified and very foolish. The woman who must be
Gabrielle’s mother opens the door and stares at me. Suddenly I feel like I’m
sixteen and I don’t know what to say.
“Uh, hi. Is, uh, Gabrielle at home?” I ask, trying hard not to slur my
words.
She is about to speak when Herodotus pushes her out of the way.
“You stay away from my daughter, you monster!”
I feel this anger boiling in me but that’s not my goal here. I am here for
Gabrielle. I will not give in.
Still looking at her mother, I ask, “Is Gabrielle at home?”
The mother looks down. The sister peers around the edge of the door. She looks
like she’s been crying.
“She ran away. Will you find her?”
“I’ll find her. Do you know which way she went?”
The girl shakes her head. The mother continues staring at the floor. I think
she’s crying.
“Stay away from her,” says Herodotus strongly.
“I’ll find her,” I say to the women, and I turn and mount Argo, riding out
of the village in a cloud of dust. I’m shaking and I can’t think. What if
something has happened to her? I circle the village perimeter slowly, looking
for signs of her passing through. She was probably upset so she wouldn’t have
been careful. She might not have even known where she was going, except away.
Broken branches! Here we go. I’m on her trail; she moved through the brush
along the side of a road. I follow her footprints; every so often I find a
tangle of red-gold hair in a branch along the way. I’m going to find her soon.
I ride faster.
Late afternoon turns into early evening and I hope I catch up to her before full
dark; it will be harder if she’s asleep and I can’t consider sleeping myself
until she’s found. There’s no question it’s my fault if something happens
to her, and I’ll do anything to prove her father wrong. I don’t know the
last time I hated someone so much. The low-hanging branches cut my skin as I
push by them savagely. I’m too drunk to care.
I’m still riding dangerously fast. Argo trips on a root and I fly over her
head, cursing to myself as my arms flail, reaching for anything to stop my
trajectory. I hit the ground with a terrible thud and crack, landing on my leg.
It’s broken, I can tell immediately, and I’m glad I’m drunk. If only all
one’s injuries could occur when one was drunk. I don’t even stop to consider
the minor cuts I can already feel bleeding, as I pull myself up against a tree,
standing on my right leg. It’s obvious Argo hurt her leg as well when she
tripped. It’s a minor injury compared to mine, but riding her would exacerbate
it, so I hop over to her and grab onto the right side of her saddle for support.
“We’ve got to find Gabrielle,” I remind her, “It’s getting dark.”
Argo and I stumble along near the path. Suddenly there’s a break in the bushes
to my right, and the sound of running water. We’re moving slowly, but I think
she’s close now. I can smell a fire; is it hers? I hop along next to Argo,
still swearing from the pain; I’m disoriented at this point, and more than a
little nauseous. Suddenly we come to the edge of a little river. The sun has
gone down and the moon is just rising, so there’s enough light for me to see
someone squatting in the damp sand, probably filling something with water.
She’s okay. Yeah, I guess that pain is my heart after all. I can see
her campsite behind her, piles of blankets and an impressive-looking fire.
“Gabrielle,” I whisper. She looks up me, a dark shadow at the edge of the
woods.
“Xena?” she asks tentatively, standing and moving towards me before I can
push an answer out. Argo and I limp forward into the moonlight. I’m sure I
look terrible but it doesn’t stop Gabrielle from smiling at me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, pausing about a foot away from where I’m trying
to stand upright. “What happened?”
“The alcohol dulls the pain. A lot,” I say, staring at her. She’s so
beautiful. “I got drunk and disbanded my army. Then I broke my leg while I was
looking for you. I should probably splint it soon...”
“You were looking for me?” she asks.
“Yeah. I wondered if maybe I could come with you,” I grin.
“I’m not really sure where I’m going,” Gabrielle admits.
“That sounds perfect.”
“Then we’ll go together,” she says, shaking her head at me and smiling.
“You were right about the pain in my chest, Gabrielle.”
“I know,” she says, stepping forward into my embrace. We hold each other
tightly for a moment, then she puts her shoulder under my left arm and helps me
walk towards her fire. Suddenly there’s no doubt in my mind that together with
her is exactly where I want to be.
The End