by Ella Quince
quince@shentel.net
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Xena and Gabrielle are property of MCA /Universal. No
copyright infringement was or is intended. This fiction may contain descriptions of a
sexual nature between two consenting adult women. Please do not continue if you are under
18 years of age or this is illegal in your locale.
PART TWO
Her name is Gabrielle, but she doesn't believe me.
And yet she wants to believe. Even now, by the flickering light of the campfire, I can see the desperate yearning in her eyes...and the sadness. She knows that Gabrielle is a storyteller, but she has nothing to say. A few days ago I tried to tell her about her family in Poteidaia and of our life together on the road, but as she listened she started to shiver. She wouldn't ask me to stop -- she hasn't lost her courage -- but I didn't have the heart to keep talking. This woman is afraid that some morning she'll wake up and remember a life different from the one I've given her. Rather than lose herself again, she has become no one.
So we spend our evenings sitting in silence while I sharpen my sword.
Gabrielle... I've always loved the way the fullness of its sound rolls off my tongue. But I've seen the slight twitch of tension in her shoulders every time she hears her name. I've started saying it less often.
And I wonder, would she be happier if I'd never found her?
Over a week has passed since the night I walked into a small tavern in search of a woman called Larissa. I slipped into the shadowed back of the room the same way I would stalk through the forest tracking a deer. I didn't want anyone watching me when I caught my first glimpse of the tavernkeeper's sister. If by some cruel trick of the gods that woman was a stranger....
But no, it was Gabrielle.
She stepped out of the kitchen, a tray dangling from her hands, and I knew her in an instant -- knew the familiar curve of her body, the shape of her face, the sound of her laugh. My hands began to tremble. I placed them palm down on the rough tabletop and tried to steady my breathing. So, it was true; the battered young woman I had given over to Hades was not my bard. A wave of dizziness washed over me, equal parts relief and exhaustion. I could afford both now that I was certain Gabrielle was alive and safe.
There were times -- dark times -- in the weeks before when I had been afraid my frantic search for her would end... differently....
When she missed our rendevouz in the village of Acora, I wasted days searching the area in widening circles, expecting to see her come striding over the next meadow... or the next. Then I returned to our last meeting place and pain-stakingly picked out her cold trail. When it merged with that of a caravan, I moved more quickly, until I rode into a clearing of churned earth and trampled debris. I studied the ground for over an hour, teasing out a rough scenario of attack, defense... loss. There was blood spilt on both sides, but mostly from those who had huddled around the wagons. Judging from the pattern of tracks, their goods had been rifled and carried off in one direction, along with the horses; the plundered wagons had been dragged off in another direction, probably by the survivors.
I hunted down the marauders first, racing toward my greatest fear. I must have found it. When I emerged from the blinding cloud of my rage, every last man in their campsite was dead, and I was cradling her body in my arms. But there was a subtle difference -- of weight, of shape -- that made me take a closer look at my burden.....
With renewed hope, I doubled back to follow the second trail. It led me to a healer who had tended the wounded travelers, and what I learned from that woman brought me here, to a tavern owned by a man named Nicos.
Hearing the familiar sound of Gabrielle's footsteps, I looked up. There was surprise in her expression, but no hint of recognition. The healer had warned me, so I had thought I was prepared for her reaction, but nothing could buffer the shock of being a stranger to those sea-green eyes.
Looking back, I can't even remember what I said to keep her near me as long as possible. I battled the urge to wrap my arms around her and let her warmth melt away memories of touching a cold, still body that looked too much like her. Instead, I watched her move around the room as she served ale and wine to the tavern's patrons. She answered to the name Larissa with an ease that unsettled me. With all the trust that was in Gabrielle's nature, she believed this was her life. And I began to realize it wouldn't be as easy as I had expected to pull her away from here.
Our campsite is bathed in moonlight. Gabrielle rises to her feet and walks over to me. Her movement breaks my reverie; her words break our silence.
"Love me," she whispers.
I reach for her, my hunger rising fast and sharp. Her urgency matches mine, breath for breath. We've come together every night since we fled the tavern, and there's no shyness left between us. Our bodies talk with ease, pleading, demanding. Hands grasp my shoulders and shake me. Harder, faster!
Her urgings fire my blood in ways that almost frighten me. I used to be so gentle with my bard; I didn't want to hurt her. Now our love-making is fierce and uncontrolled. I don't hold back. If there's any pain, Gabrielle seems to welcome it as much as pleasure. Perhaps she doesn't care either way. In the throes of passion, with a body alive to every kind of sensation, she finds herself.
We travel in silence now, too. And without that connection of words constantly flowing between us, I can't bear to ride on Argo. Side by side, we march down the road, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I'm not sure where she goes. What place can you visit without a name, without memories?
My own mind keeps searching for a solution to our problem, a plan that will bring Gabrielle back to herself and back to me. After all, I constructed a plan before, just after I found her.
I decided to seduce Larissa.
Larissa, not Gabrielle.
The idea came to me the morning after my trip to the tavern. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cave that served as my refuge, I mulled over my approach while I patiently worked saddlesoap and oil into my stained leathers. Although I was a stranger to her, the shy gleam in Gabrielle's eyes had hinted at a strong attraction. I'd seen that same look in her eyes two years ago in Poteidaia. If I could lure her into going away with me again, then she would have all the time she needed to heal and remember...and if she didn't remember, I would have time to win her trust before I told her who she really was.
So I returned to the tavern night after night, talking to her as often as I dared without drawing too much attention to what I was doing. I knew my plan was working when I heard the jealousy in her voice.
"I hear you travel with someone -- a bard named Gabrielle."
I wanted to tell her the truth -- that she was jealous of a love that was already hers for the asking -- but I still doubted whether she would believe me rather than Nicos. So when we met in the stables the next morning, I continued to play the part of a warrior toying with a new bauble that had caught her eye.
After much too short a time together she pulled away, flushed with her desire. "I have to get back to the tavern or my brother will come looking for me."
Just as I'd suspected, she wasn't ready to follow me of her own free will, at least not yet. Of course, we were alone in the barn, unwatched. I could have carried her away by force. But then what? If she regained her memories, she would thank me...but if she didn't, my impatience would have destroyed all hope of trust between us.
When she reached the door, she looked back at me, her expression a touching mixture of bravado and uncertainty. Despite her lust, she was still an innocent.
"Yes," I reassured her. "I'll be there."
Nothing could have kept me away from the tavern that night. The minute I walked through the door I knew a trap had been set for me, but even then I wasn't about to abandon her. Since my time for a leisurely seduction had just run out, I trusted that I could turn the attack to my own advantage. And I did. The betrayal sparked an anger in Gabrielle that swayed her loyalty away from Nicos. With my blade still wet with the blood of my enemies, I said, "I'll leave now...if you come with me."
"Because I remind you of Gabrielle?"
"Because I love you."
She had no reason to believe me, except that it was my heart-spoken truth. Love was all I could offer her; it's all I've ever been able to offer her.
To my relief, that love was enough to call her to my side. But my conquest blinded me to the distance that still divided us. It was the tavernkeeper's sister who followed after me, not Gabrielle. Through carelessness I took the name of Larissa away from her too soon, and not even my love has been enough to fill the emptiness it left behind.
This quiet woman who walks beside me is willing to be my lover, but I miss my friend.
And I think back to that night in the cave and how her body remembered the touch of my hands....
...and I start to wonder what else her body remembers....
...and then I have my answer.
I wait until we stop for our noonday break, when she is tired and hungry and longing to rest. Before she can reach the shade of a tree, I step in front of her. I draw my sword slowly, but she's still unprepared for my attack.
"Ow!! That hurt!"
"Yes, I'm sure it did." And then once again I slap her thigh with the flat surface of my blade. She'll have bruises there tomorrow. "Come on, defend yourself."
She steps back hastily. "With what?"
"Your staff," I say with an exaggerated sigh. "It's more than just a walking stick, you know."
Her eyes widen with shock, but I see her hands automatically move into place along the shaft. She hefts it up, creating a barrior between us.
"Go away," she says.
"No." And with a sweep of my boot I knock her feet out from under her, dumping her to the ground on her back.
"I hate that!" she cries through gritted teeth. Knuckles white as she grips the Amazon wood, she flails back wildly.
With a mocking laugh, I easily side-step her swing.
Scrambling to her feet, she shouts, "Look, I don't want to do this!" She's very angry now. "What's the point?"
I shrug. "No point. I'm just in the mood for sparring." And I aim a quick overhead blow to her head.
Her staff squarely blocks my blade's descent. The elbows of her arms are bent just enough to absorb the force of the blow.
So fast she doesn't have time to think, I disengage and swing for her midriff.
She blocks me again.
I pivot and come at her from another angle.
These are the opening exchanges in a routine I devised to hone Gabrielle's fighting technique: a set series of moves and countermoves that she followed for form and speed. She's practiced that same routine with me almost every day for over a year. The pattern is as much a part of her as her muscles and bones.
I continue to set a pace beyond thought, and without thought she enters into the rhythm and flow of our movements. It's a dance between us, one of my favorites. And it ends with a dramatic flourish as one end of her staff sweeps up under my arm. As always, my sword goes flying through the air.
We face each other in a new silence, one that shouts with meaning.
"How did I do that?" Bewildered, she stares down at the staff. It drops from her hands as she stammers out, "I...I don't know how to fight...."
I don't answer. I give her the time she needs to realize--
"Unless...I'm Gabrielle," she says in a whisper. "I'm really Gabrielle." Then she looks up at me, and I nod.
The relief shatters her. I catch her as she crumples toward the ground. I hug her as her body sobs out all the fear she's been hoarding for so long. And I stroke her hair, murmuring her name over and over again.
"Gabrielle...."
Someday she will remember. For now, it's enough that she believes.
[Comments can be sent to Ella Quince care of: quince@shentel.net ]
Continued - Part 3 (Conclusion)