For Disclaimers and Author notes: See Part 1

Chapter VIII. The Test of Gold

Even under the steady downpour, flames spread through the city. The night sky was filled with the orange and red glow of fire, the foggy blur of rising steam, the shadows of black smoke. Horns, bells, screaming rang out, adding to the already churning chaos of explosions, shattering glass and echoing animal cries.

Citizens ran aimlessly through the streets hoping to escape the ever-widening wave of flame, trampling each other or running into rows of Praetorians who held them back, attempting to control the panic. A herd of goats charged a group of Vigiles attempting to douse the fire at a temple to Demeter, kicking and butting them in terror. Several shops near the Forum were reduced to rubble when barrels of lamp oil exploded-the jet of flame and smoke shooting high above the city.

From atop the temple of Aphrodite on the Viminal Hill, the God of War watched the fire cloud and laughed. "This is awesome," he said to Joshua, who stood straight-backed and tense beside him. "Man, I love explosions!"

Steam and smoke rose all around their position, lit by the circle of inferno below. They had been standing there, upon the rooftop, long before the flames, the smoke, and the screaming. Joshua's eyes were wide, his face an ashen smudge. In the square below, an occasional panic-stricken citizen or animal would streak through, but for the most part the area remained quiet save for the background roil of destruction and disarray. The boy looked to Ares and scowled. "Yeah, people dying, it's just great."

The god turned. "Aw, don't tell me you're starting to soften on the Romans." He shook his head. "In case you've forgotten: They threw you in a cell."

"So did you."

"Hey, I let you go. And besides," Ares grinned, "I wasn't going to crucify you."

"That's comforting." The boy watched the fire, his brow furrowed. He turned to the god. "How did this start? Was it the lightning?"

The God of War pointed across the city to a large palace to the southwest-the Domus Aurea. "The man who has all your answers lives over there."

"Someone did this deliberately?" The boy was incredulous.

"Not just someone; the Emperor Nero."

"He did this? To his own people?"

Ares laughed. "Crazy, huh?"

"Why?"

"I don't know." The god shrugged. "Ask him yourself." The God of War became distracted by the commotion in the city below them. He watched as another building, engulfed in flame collapsed into cinders. Scrutinizing the scene, he rubbed his chin. "The only problem with all this is that there isn't enough fighting. It could really use a couple of swordfights or maybe a cavalry battle."

Joshua lunged forward and grabbed the god's arm; Ares allowed himself to be spun by the boy, whose eyes burned with anger. "How can you just stand here and watch all of this?"

Ares thought about it. "Joining in is tempting, I'll admit. But the fire doesn't look like it needs any help from me."

"Why don't you save them?" Joshua sighed. "You have powers. Why don't you help them?"

"Not my jurisdiction, kid." The God of War chuckled. "Plus, I kinda like all this fire and chaos; it feels like home to me." The boy rubbed at his eyes, stinging with the noxious fumes rising around them. Ares watched him with contempt. "Why are you so concerned, anyway? You're safe up here; who cares about anyone else?"

"I shouldn't be surprised you would say that." Joshua shook his head. "My father is down there. So are my friends. So are a lot of innocent people and animals-and they're all afraid and they're all in danger." He stared out into the conflagration. "I just want to do something, to help somehow."

Ares turned with a detached shrug. "Then go, what do I care? Besides, you're drowning out the screams with all this whining."

Joshua blinked. "I can just leave?"

"Sure. Why not? Just remember-" The god leaned in close. "I let your friends go, that means you owe me one."

The boy nodded, hoping his hands didn't shake too visibly. "I know."

The God of War seemed satisfied with this and continued to watch the fire spread. Joshua looked too, trepidation and concern settling upon his features. Another explosion rose with a fiery arc into the sky as lightning and rain crashed down upon the city. Swallowing hard, the boy moved back into the temple to make his way down to the street. Ares watched him when he appeared from the mouth of the temple, moving across the wide square and through an alley toward the destruction.

"Nice kid," the god thought with a smirk. "A little too gullible, though."

**********

"How long has it been?"

Gabrielle had to pause before answering the question. She moistened her lips. "A candlemark, maybe two."

"It's hard for me to keep track." Xena looked to the ground. "Things are still foggy."

They remained quiet, descending easily into silence once again. The large pergola in which they sat sheltered them from the rain, and the flat, grassy span of a park kept the fire and smoke away. They had limped in each other's arms to this spot, through the embers, through the ash to this shelter away from the city around them. Cries could be heard, disembodied behind the rows of houses sunk in the thick shadows. Cinders fell like stars or snowflakes out of the steam and smoke to the ground. Far off-a universe away it seemed-explosions boomed in the night.

Gabrielle rubbed her eyes. She turned and looked to the woman sitting beside her on the low marble bench. The hair, the face, the voice: It was Xena.

It was Xena, but how? Gods, how?

Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair, favoring her surely-broken ribs as she did.

"You can talk to me, you know?" Xena turned with a sad smile. "No need to be afraid."

"Yes there is," Gabrielle spoke; her voice fragile and dry. "What if this is a dream? What if you're some beautiful, unbelievable dream? I'm afraid if I speak to you I'll wake up." She looked away, head bowing. "Like I always do."

Xena smiled at that. "As far as I can tell, I'm no dream." Leaning back she wrapped the red cloak of Nemesis around her armored shoulders. "And I promise I'm not going anywhere."

Gabrielle sniffed, eyes watering. She turned to speak, but halted abruptly, lips parted. She sighed. Rubbing at her eyes, the tiniest of smiles appeared on her face. "I-I like your hair that way."

"I haven't seen it yet." With a laugh, Xena blew at an inky strand of her long forelocks-the once-ubiquitous bangs now gone. "It hangs in my face."

"Not very practical."

"No." Xena shrugged. "Unless you wear a helmet or a mask."

Gabrielle averted her eyes for a moment. Xena put her hand to her head, wincing in pain. Gabrielle reached out to her. "Wh-what is it?"

"Nothing, really. My head hurts." She opened her eyes groggily. "I don't feel all here yet. Still a lot of shadows in my mind-a lot of empty spaces waiting to be filled or revealed." She shrugged. "It's still strange to be…me, I guess." Xena exhaled slowly. She blinked in silence for a moment. She turned, a tiny smile on her face. "How is it to be you, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle chuckled in surprise at the strange question. "Well, it seems to be picking up." She met Xena's eyes then looked away suddenly.

Why is this so hard?

Gabrielle darkened, taking a deep breath as she watched water pooling on the ground beyond their shelter. She didn't lift her head. "The truth is I feel old and increasingly useless."

Xena shifted, looking sadly to the other woman. "How old are you now?"

"Not counting the twenty-five years I was frozen or the one year I was asleep?" Her smile flickered briefly. "I'm thirty-six."

Xena grinned with a quick levity tainted only slightly with melancholy. "That's older than I was-er-than I am." They laughed and Xena touched Gabrielle's wrist, her fingers, smiling brightly now.

"I know." The blonde warrior shifted ambivalently, her eyes darting away. Why haven't we touched until now? She remained still though her wrist, her fingers trembled. "When we first met, I couldn't even imagine being this old." Xena bowed her head, blinking with a sad urgency. Gabrielle watched the warrior and sharply inhaled with realization. "You…you don't remember the first time we met, do you?"

Xena looked away. "I will."

Thunder fell heavy above them, rattling the pergola, trembling through the marble they sat upon. The light of the flames cast a blurry evanescence along the horizon, shifting intensity in slow pulses. In the wake of the storm, cries rose on the air and Gabrielle squinted out into the night trying to place them. "How did this all begin?" she asked not expecting an answer.

Xena lowered her head. "I started it."

"What?" Gabrielle straightened despite the pain to her ribs, eyes wide and blinking. "How?"

"It's…it's hard to explain." Her voice trailed off into the rhythm of raindrops around them. Xena swallowed. "I was at Nero's palace."

"What? Why?"

"I was there to kill him."

Gabrielle sat forward. "Did you?"

"No." Xena shook her head. Her eyes grew unfocused as she began to remember the events. "He… he seemed prepared for me. He used my memories, my real ones, against me, to confuse and distract me." She turned to Gabrielle. "When I realized who I was, I had to get out of there. I had to-" Xena's gaze softened. "I had to find you." Her grip tightened on the blonde warrior's wrist. "On my way out of there, I tipped over a brazier of burning oil. The wind did the rest."

Gabrielle thought about that. "Still, it spread quickly, as though it had help." She looked to Xena. "You said Nero was prepared for you, couldn't he have prepared for this as well?"

The warrior princess nodded slowly with realization. "It would be possible to direct the fire's flow." They sat in silence, contemplating this. Xena snapped a finger, startling Gabrielle. "I remember seeing soldiers with amphorae of oil in the streets around the palace." She tilted her head toward the other woman and winked. "When did you get so smart?"

Gabrielle smiled but was lost in a swell of conflicting impressions. The comment, the gesture, the tone of voice was all quintessential of Xena's personality, but something about the woman was still missing.

Or is it me? Am I the problem?

She swallowed, her face sagging and appearing tired. "Just part of getting older, I suppose."

"What is it?" Xena leaned toward her. "Gabrielle?"

At the sound of her name spoken by that voice, the protective timbre, the concern, the rush of memories it inspired, Gabrielle put her hands to her face and began to weep, though she struggled against the tears. "Gods."

Xena leaned toward her, arms moving for her friend then pausing before finally reaching out to touch the blonde hair, the damp cheek. Gabrielle's head slumped longingly against the touch trailing gently through her hair and against her skin. A soft sigh escaped amidst the sniffles. Suddenly, she pulled away and Xena watched her with an expression of muted pain and anguish. Through sobs Gabrielle whispered, "I'm sorry... I can't..."

They remained apart. A fork of lightning seemed to split the sky into sharp fragments that fell to earth as water and flame, rushes of wind, shattered stone and mud. Xena wrapped herself in the red cloak once again and stared out into the night as Gabrielle wept quietly under the rhythm of the hard-falling rain.

**********

In the earliest hours of the fire, information was at an obvious premium and not easily obtained. It was no surprise the usual lines of communication broke down or were destroyed outright as the Roman infrastructure shifted to meet the real threat of total destruction and widespread death. General panic and the astonishing ferocity of the blaze conspired to completely erode all but the most necessary and primal of civil cohesion.

That said, the Emperor Nero received his first status report and damage assessment a mere two hours after the beginning of the crisis. This suited the ruler well, for as it was well established, he did not like to wait. He met with the heads of the Vigiles and the Civil Defense forces upon a high, covered balcony at the Domus, where he watched the fire's progress to the south.

"'Evening, gentlemen," he greeted without turning. "Or is it morning? I've never been clear on what you call this time of the night."

The two exhausted men exchanged a wary look then the head of the Vigiles, Trentus Arenus spoke. "Caesar, we have yet to contain the blaze," here he nodded to the emperor, "although all initial goals have been reached."

The leader of the Civil Defense, Vitus Antenorus concurred. "Currently the main residences to the north and south of the Forum are burning, as well as the Senate building and the Sibylline temple."

Nero laughed. "I wonder if those snooty bitches saw that coming."

The men stood stoic and silent. Antenorus consulted some figures on an ash-smudged scroll. "Caesar, the fire is far more pernicious and is spreading much faster than originally projected."

Arenus continued: "At this rate, the entire city from the Esquilline south to the river will be ash within three days." The man licked his lips. "With civil infrastructure strained and eroding at a rapid rate, widespread panic and death could cripple the city."

"Our fear, Caesar," Antenorus spoke with a steady timbre, "is that a crisis such as this in the Imperial City will spread as spiritual damage throughout the Empire. This sort of strike at our heart could have our enemies smelling blood; not to mention fueling inner dissention with a newfound strength."

Nero leaned against the balcony's simple marble railing. He nodded out toward the flames and smoke. "My friends, what you see before you is not a fire. It is not even a crisis as you have said. This is a sad view into human nature." He shook his head. "You see, such adversity and danger should provoke acts of the utmost heroism; should raise simple men into great leaders; should raise all of what is best about humanity out of the mire of the mundane up to profound new heights."

Nero turned, sighing for effect. "But what does it do instead? It brings out the basest, most vile in them. Right now they loot, they rape and beat each other-why?-out of fear.

"Fear has one beautiful quality, my friends." The emperor crossed his arms. "It makes it so much easier to control people.

"When people are afraid they want powerful leaders and easy answers-even if they are lies. They will give you anything if you just show them you are fearless; that you can guide them through the storm or flames to safety.

"I will do this for the city, for the empire. When the smoke clears, I will be standing there with a plan for a new Rome and with the criminals responsible for the disaster."

The men watched him, unmoving.

Nero's eyes gleamed with an unsettling spark. "Now, do what it is I've asked of you."

After the commanders had left, Nero threw himself onto a nearby couch and continued to watch the fire burn, his face contorting and twisting as wildly as unfettered flame.

**********

Through the first alarm bells, through the far-off gasps of explosions, Eve sleeps and dreams.

It is night in the forest though the heat of day still drapes itself through the trees. Eve steps quietly through the underbrush, over roots and the dry nettles of Roman pines. The low call of an owl echoes high above her.

She finds the woman in a small clearing, within earshot of the river. Pale and blonde, she stands thin in the moonlight, her dark eyes spotting Eve as she approaches. Eve remembers the woman from another dream. It is Callisto.

"So you recognize your Auntie Callisto, hm?" The woman grins.

Eve stops. "Yes."

"You're late, little one." She offers her hand, her expression darkening. "We must hurry."

They move through the woods, heading toward the river. Eve can hear its soft rush, its brush with the rocks and shore. "Where are we going?" she asks.

Callisto keeps moving. "Legitimate question." She turns and winks. "Not the right one, though."

Soon, they have stepped from the woods and move along a high embankment, tracing a path parallel to the river. Through it all, the woman holds Eve's hand. Eve blinks at her guide. "If that wasn't the right question, then what is?"

"Definitely not that one. That would be cheating." Callisto grinned. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Eve sighs. "Give me a hint?"

"Why should I?"

"Weren't you supposed to be turning over a new leaf or something?"

Callisto snorts. "Kinda hard when you're dead."

Eve rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Callisto stops and crosses her arms. "Okay. I'll give you a hint." She narrows her eyes. "You already have the answer."

"What?"

Jutting her chin out, Callisto takes on a haughty air. "You heard me."

"So, I already know the question?"

Callisto looks at her skeptically. "I guess maybe you didn't hear me." She brings her hands to her mouth, amplifying her voice. "I said you already have the answer." She laughs. "I didn't say you already have the question. Why would we be looking for the answer if we had it already?" She shakes her head. "Your mother was so much smarter."

Eve sighs, rolling her eyes. "Let's go. I'm sure it'll become apparent."

Callisto smiles slyly. "Attagirl."

They continue along the edge of the river. Eve watches the ripples lit by the light of the full moon, folding like stars across endless time. Soon, they can see a tall, arched Roman bridge that fords the water. Callisto quickens their pace, moving into the brush at the side of the road. She grins as they settle into a crouch. "Here's where it gets good-watch."

Eve looks out across the road and sees several figures crouched low in the grass. They are Roman soldiers, weapons drawn and ready for something that approaches. Eve tenses, but Callisto puts a hand on her shoulder. "Watch," the blonde woman says and points toward the other side of the river.

Two figures-two women-appear at the end of the bridge. Cautiously, they make their way across the brick and wood structure. Eve watches, feeling that the women are familiar. Suddenly, Eve stands. "Wait! Wait!"

Callisto grabs her wrist. "No one can hear you, silly girl." She pulls Eve back down into a crouch. "Besides, your question is coming up."

Eve watches wide-eyed as the women continue toward the Roman ambush. "But that's-"

"Yup."

"I know how this-"

"Yup." Callisto puts a finger up in front of her lips and grins. "Shhh."

They can hear the voices of the two women. Eve recognizes one of the voices as her own. "You shouldn't have come. I-it's too dangerous."

The other woman, Analea, whispers. "What's done is done."

In the brush, Eve trembles as she watches, knowing how it is to unfold. The soldiers rise. The first manages to subdue Analea, the second, smaller one, surprises Eve, grabbing her by the wrist and spinning her to face him. Without emotion he runs his blade into her belly, the sharp tip poking out the back of her robe. Analea screams and impossibly, everything goes still.

Callisto stands. "Come with me."

Eve doesn't move. "No."

Callisto holds out her hand and smiles benevolently. Eve sighs, takes the woman's hand and rises to her feet. They move past the static shapes of the other soldiers and onto the bridge.

Callisto strides over to Eve and the soldier, both of whom now appear to be one horrific, uniform being. She nods at them. "You already have the answer to this question, Eve."

"What question?" Eve stares without comprehension at the scene. She can see the contorted look of pain on her own face, see the spray of her own blood frozen upon the air. "What question?"

The blonde woman smiles sadly and steps closer to the soldier. She removes the helmet. Eve gasps. The soldier is Livia.

Callisto holds the helmet at her side. She indicates first Livia then Eve. "Who would you rather be?" she asks simply.

**********

There are fennel fields around the outskirts of Tripolis, spun like a halo in golds out and over the rolling hills. I watch Argo finally turn and gallop away through them, her flanks blending into the shimmering backdrops and I think-I am always saying goodbye. I am always sending them away from me.

Beyond the hills there are Persians, I can feel them massing in the gathering dusk. Thousands of them from across the mountains and the seas, the Great King's army brought to bear like a wide thumb upon a tiny ant.

And here I am, ready to save the day.

In a hut somewhere behind me Gabrielle is dying. The poison has spread rapidly, there is no available antidote and we can't leave. I suppose it is ironic that the one person I would never turn my back on is being taken away no matter what I have to say about it. Irony has never been something I could appreciate; irony is what old men call tragedy when it isn't happening to them.

Argo disappears over a hill and I turn back to the hut. There is much to prepare-weapons to be readied, Gabrielle's poultice to be changed, dinner to be cooked, and the other tasks that distract from that which there is absolutely no preparation.

The night was blue with mist and rain, bruised in streaks of orange flame and black smoke. In the park the air curtained, folding grays and indigos over the flowing dark. There was a light dispossessed, exiled upon the ether and gathered in weak clouds that illuminated with a ghostly nimbus.

Through it a horse galloped-fear-stricken yet noble-its steps silent somehow upon the wet earth. Unaware of their presence, its pale skin and mane shifted in the clotting light like the surface of pearls or broken shells. For a moment it found peace, slowed to a walk and soon to stillness. The night, the storm seemed to settle upon the mare's shoulders, to absorb the animal into its ambiguity. Lightning struck nearby and thunder was immediate, an oscillating crash that echoed long after the horse bolted over the sopping grass and off into the darkened quarters of the park.

Xena shifted beneath the cloak she kept tightly wrapped about herself, resting her head upon her knees. She blinked into the night before turning sadly toward Gabrielle. The blonde woman sat with her back to Xena, head tilted to one side. Her sobs had eventually faded and they had not spoken for some time now. Lips parting dryly, Xena moved to speak. "Gabrielle I-"

"It was Ares who brought you back, wasn't it?"

Xena sighed, her head bowing. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes." She thought about it, searching for the wavering memory. "He wasn't the only one though."

"Aphrodite." Gabrielle turned slightly so she sat facing the same direction. "I spoke with her. She told me you were alive; not in so many words, of course."

"Of course."

"I-I guess a part of me knew…even…even when-"

"Even when we fought in Caesar's temple." Xena finished the thought.

"When you caught the chakram, I knew." Gabrielle bowed her head. "But I wouldn't-I couldn't-admit it to myself until she told me." She looked away. "A part of me still can't."

"It's hard to believe." Xena turned to her. "But it's true."

Gabrielle nodded. "It is."

Xena smiled wistfully. "Admitting things wasn't as easy for me."

"No…"

"It was like moving through quicksand toward the surface. Every time I remembered who I was, I was pulled back down into darkness."

Gabrielle watched her, hands held at her sides. "What did you remember?"

"You, mostly." Xena turned, smiling warmly. "So that when I finally saw your face-"

"It made things real."

"Yes." Xena pushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes. "After that it was only a matter of time. The memories seemed to be tied to emotions-that's probably where Aphrodite comes in."

"Why would Ares take such a risk, though? If enlisting Aphrodite's help meant possibly losing control of you?"

With a sigh, Xena bowed back toward the night. "Ares had tried on his own many times before this. For some reason he couldn't do it without Aphrodite's help."

"Which she gave him."

"I don't think she wanted any part of it-of any of this."

"Then why do it at all?"

"Loyalty?" Xena shrugged. "He's her brother and the only other Olympian." She contemplated this. "Their bond must have strengthened given that they're the only family they have left."

Gabrielle sneered. "Maybe he's forcing her somehow?"

"I don't think so. She's not happy about whatever is going on, but from what I remember she isn't being forced to do any of this."

"You… 'remember'?" Gabrielle turned. "What-what else can you remember?"

The wind blew strands of Xena's hair across her face. "I remember nothing, really." She pushed the damp locks from her eyes. "And I remember everything. The person who I was-who I am-is here now but…but my memories they're-" She searched for words. "It's as though they're separate from me and they come and go as they please."

"And you don't keep them when they do?" Gabrielle asked her voice cracking.

"No."

With a faint nod, Gabrielle looked away. She cleared her throat. "Do-do you think that Ares is keeping your memories from you for a reason?"

"It's crossed my mind," Xena said. "Although, most of my memories as Nemesis are still intact and it would make more sense to hide those."

Gabrielle faced her now. "Is there anything about Ares' plans in your memories?" She became reticent. "Anything? Anything I-that we-can use?"

"He was never specific." Xena narrowed her eyes. "Unless he wanted something done."

Gabrielle shifted on her cold haunches. She averted her eyes. "What if regaining your memories is part of his plans?"

"I thought of that, too." Xena darkened. "I can't really say I've regained my memories yet." She focused again. "Any way you look at it, it still doesn't make what Ares is doing any clearer."

"He definitely seems to wants Nero out of the way."

Xena smiled wearily. "And we're caught in the middle."

"Along with the rest of the world," Gabrielle nodded solemnly. She turned and added, with a smile, "Familiar territory."

Xena returned the smile but blinked uncertainly. At this, Gabrielle withdrew as though she had been struck in the face. Xena quickly moved forward, stopping suddenly at the invisible and un-negotiated border between them.

"Gabrielle, I-" Her hand remained held open, neither retracted nor advanced. "I don't need my memories to know that I love you."

Their eyes met then, for what seemed like the first time. Through shadows, through mists, through smoke and flames-through lifetimes and years too many to number they looked at one another. Xena's lip began to quirk itself into a gentle grin.

Gabrielle wrenched herself away, facing back out into the night. "I-I can't… Not-not now."

Just beyond their now silent forms, the wind strengthened, moaning through the low park, while the rain continued to fall in heavy droplets that smoothed over the pockets of earth where the horse had galloped past and into the night.

**********

Joshua would always remember the smell Rome made as it burned. Beneath the almost benign aroma of burning wood lurked other more sinister odors, ones that made sweat bead in the small of his back. As he trudged through the rain, through the increasingly muddy streets, the boy did his best to push these thoughts from his mind.

Descending the Viminal Hill, he had to avoid the steady exodus of fleeing Romans and their animals, their tired, soot smudged faces passing shocked and scared as he moved by. Some carried possessions as big as couches between them, or hefted as much as they could in sacks upon their backs. Groups of men in uniforms that were not quite like those worn by soldiers poured water or dirt on tiny fires that erupted on buildings. Joshua reasoned that these were Vigiles, the Roman fire fighters.

He cut through the crowds into empty alleys, all the while moving toward the growing lights of the blaze. Occasionally he had to stop, his breathing labored from inhaling fumes, his chest heaving until he coughed violently. He placed a hand against a wall to hold himself up. His eyes watered as embers fell all about him glowing like tiny sprites in the coarse shadows. It was almost beautiful.

From the smoke cluttered alley, he burst onto the streets, picking up pace as he felt himself nearing the first lines of the fire. More refugees cluttered the streets and he had to push through. Suddenly, he felt a hand grab the back of his tunic. A stern-faced Vigile spun him around. "What are you thinking, boy?" he yelled. "This way."

The man led him with the flow of the crowd to a nearby square where people were gathering. "You'll be safe here," the man said, softening somewhat. "If that's indeed what you want." He smiled before he turned back to his duties and jogged out from the square.

Joshua looked around at the large collection of Roman refugees, clustered in ragged groups getting soaked by the rain. Healers moved around the wounded and the dying, doing their best to ease suffering. A woman with frantic eyes flittered about from person to person yelling: "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!" Joshua wrapped his arms around himself, trying to find warmth though his drenched clothes.

A flash of light followed by a loud boom shook the square. Joshua turned to see a large fireball lift into the night's sky from the area where he had been running to. Screams and gasps of surprise erupted in its wake. Over the outbursts and the ringing in his ears, Joshua heard the frantic woman scream out once again: "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!"

Joshua darted for the alley entrance to the square, hoping to head toward the explosion, but soon fast-moving crowds of those fleeing the fireball prevented him. They wore masks of fear or carried wounded in their arms. Joshua got caught up in the current of people and found himself back near the center of the square. He spun about, dizzy from fumes, from a lack of food and water; blood, charred flesh, terrified faces all assaulted his senses.

"Boy!" A physician grabbed at his arm. "I need your help. Now!"

Turning, Joshua saw that the man was lifting a badly wounded Vigile from a litter. The boy knelt down and secured the injured man's legs-one of which had been severely crushed. Carefully, Joshua and the physician were able to lower the man to the ground. The physician looked to Joshua. "Stay with him, I'll be back." Then he was gone, absorbed by the chaos around them.

Looking down at the Vigile, Joshua gained a full appreciation for the man's injuries. Along with his irreparably mangled right leg, several large and jagged pieces of metal had somehow pierced his ribs. To compound these injuries, the man was burned quite badly on the arms and upper torso. As Joshua moved to assist the man he grunted in a way that sounded-as impossible as it seemed-like a laugh. "I-I told you…you'd be safe here."

Squinting down at the Vigile, Joshua could see that it was the same man who had forced him to safety only minutes earlier. The boy knelt closer, trying to figure out anything he might do to help the man. "What…what happened?"

"B-building in the Boarium exploded." The man winced. "Just my luck…I was… I was right beside it…" He coughed painfully and indicated the shards of metal. "That's… p-probably all that's left of the place…" Joshua took the Vigile's hand. The man squeezed back weakly.

Soon the physician returned with a basin of water and some cloth. He began to clean some of the man's wounds. He looked to Joshua. "More and more are coming in from the explosion." His eyes were frantic. Behind him the woman screamed her litany: I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby! The physician turned and yelled at her to shut up. He looked at Joshua. "Can you stay with him? Clean some of his wounds; give him some water?"

"O-okay," Joshua nodded, somewhat slack-jawed. Without responding, the physician darted back into the frenzy.

The Vigile coughed again. "G-guess I'm not g-going…not going to make it."

Joshua tried to focus, he took a damp cloth and dabbed at some caked blood around a gash in the man's shoulder. "Don't be silly."

"He's…he's not coming back." The man nodded; weak though sure. "He left me with… with a boy… How does it seem to…to you?"

Joshua continued to wash the man's wounds, revealing more and more trauma. Around him, voices, shouts, screams sounded, punctuated by disembodied cries of "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!"

The physician never returned.

**********

"What happens now?"

Xena got to her feet, the red cloak sliding off the bench. She stood, her back to Gabrielle, and placed a hand on one of the pergola's marble pillars. She watched the rain fall in the spare light of the park.

Gabrielle lifted her head. The silhouette of the woman, its familiarity, made her stop before speaking. She swallowed hard, flushing the quick nausea, pain, fear from her throat, saving only the words. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"What do we do now?" Xena did not turn around. "About Rome? About Nero? About Ares?"

"Oh."

"You need to bring me up to speed on everything you know."

"I will." Gabrielle straightened, clearing her throat. "But you should sleep first." She rubbed at her temples "We both should sleep first. We'll need to head back to the Senator's mansion to regroup."

"Senator?" Xena turned her head slightly. "A Roman senator?"

"Yes. One's helping us…well more than one, really. It's something we can explain later."

Xena arched her eyebrow. "And you trust him?"

"Well, Virgil does."

"Okay." The rain continued to fall heavily, collecting in deep puddles now. Xena wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. "You said 'we can explain later.' Who's 'we'?"

Gabrielle smiled. "'We' is Virgil and Eve and-" She stopped as Xena turned, eyes wide in recognition. "Yes, Eve is here." Gabrielle smiled. "She's grown into a wise and powerful woman, Xena."

Xena rubbed at her eyes. She sighed. "It's hard to hold onto the memories of her right now."

Gabrielle leaned forward; she reached out a hand, remaining seated. "Xena?"

"It's okay. I'm okay." Xena leaned against the pillar. "Go on."

"She's older than the two of us, now, you know? So's Virgil." The blonde warrior nodded. "The only young one is Mira."

"Mira?"

"Yes… she's uhm… she's my…" Gabrielle rubbed at the damp hair at the back of her head. "She's my sidekick."

Xena crossed her arms and even in the uncertain light, her light-hearted grin was easily seen. "Your sidekick?"

"Yes." Gabrielle cleared her throat, averting her eyes. "My sidekick."

With a sigh, Xena stood and looked at her friend, the smile on her face changing slowly, softening at the edges, fading. Gabrielle smiled wistfully. Xena nodded. "She's a lucky girl. She's got a better teacher than you ever did."

"Xena…"

Turning, Xena looked out into the night again. Without a word, she stepped into the rain, walking several steps beyond the pergola. She raised her face up into the downpour. Gabrielle watched her, the red-cloaked woman getting drenched in the rain. Xena's shoulders began to shake. Gabrielle got to her feet.

"Xena? What?"

With a flourish, Xena spun. She was laughing and opened her arms wide. "I've missed this," she whooped. Smiling with soft joy, she turned her face up into the night again.

Gabrielle watched her friend. She put a hand to her mouth as small sobs rose from her. As Xena stopped turning, Gabrielle masked the tears with coughing.

"So this Senator's place," Xena stepped out of the rain. "It got a good bath?"

Gabrielle grinned, wiping her nose. "It does, actually." She got to her feet. "Sure you need one after that?"

"Well." Xena winked. "I literally can't remember the last time I had one."

They laughed. For a moment, their gazes met in the darkness and Gabrielle felt her skin thread and warm. But soon, she straightened and nodded to the north. "We should go."

Xena smiled. "Lead the way."

They moved off into the rain, each supporting the other. Covered in puddles of water, the grass sloshed beneath their weary footsteps. The sounds of the smoldering city soon enveloped them as they exited the park, heading to the north toward the Quirinal Hill and their friends.

**********

Outside, the rain beats against the shutters in waves. Alarm bells and horns sound in the darkness, echoing from the streets surrounding the forum, up to the mansions upon the Quirinal Hill. Still oblivious, Eve continues to dream.

"Well?" Callisto grinned. "Which is it going to be?" She pointed to Eve's pierced form, "The Good?" Then to Livia. "The Bad?" Finally, she crouched beside the static spray of blood erupting from Eve's wound. "Or the Ugly?" She giggled and flicked at a fat, frozen droplet of blood; it drifted on the air and soon came to a stop.

Eve watched the drop with a bleak expression. "Not much of a choice," she said. "On the surface."

Callisto tilted her head. "Really? I thought it would have been obvious."

"Well, it is." Eve smiled. "I'm not Livia."

Scrunching up her nose, Callisto blinked at the acolyte. "Huh? Now I'm confused." She looked away. "And a little bored, to be honest, but that's not your concern."

"All I'm saying is that the choice is an easy one and," Eve winked at the woman, "You were right."

Callisto knotted her fingers together. "Uh, still confused here."

Eve straightened. "I did have the answer all along."

"Then you've made your choice?"

"I have."

Callisto's bearing shifted. She stood taller, held her hands gracefully at her sides, and smiled serenely. "I knew you would, kitten." She looked away, sadly. "It's time."

Eve shook her head. "For what?"

"Time to toughen up, kiddo." Callisto stepped up to her and brushed a hand against her cheek. "That's what this is all about."

Tingling flowed through Eve's cheek as white light engulfed her. She opened her eyes.

It is night; she is on a bridge somewhere. Analea is beside her. Eve told the girl not to follow when she had decided to return. Decided, she laughs at herself. She has had no choice, not after everything she has finally realized, she has finally understood. How can she have been so…

She turns to Analea.

"You shouldn't have come." Knowing what she knows, Eve has trouble continuing. "I-it's too dangerous."

Analea whispers, "What's done is done," and smiles.

Eve only has time to smile sadly at the girl, then it happens. A Roman soldier surprises her, darting from the trees on the other side of the bridge. There are several of them in hiding there. Sword in hand, he charges, threatening. Analea screams. Without emotion, the soldier drives the sword into Eve's abdomen. A small cry escapes her, a shiver of air pushed free of her lungs. She feels the blade break the skin of her back, a flicker of pain that dulls fast.

She feels the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine. The soldier pulls the sword free and sniffs, satisfied, as though he has finished constructing a wooden table or planting a garden. Off to the left, Analea is thrown to the ground and she screams again. The soldier grabs Eve by the scruff of her neck and throws her off the bridge toward the rushing water below.

There is a splash. She doesn't hear it, but she knows it is there, above her now at the surface. She sinks slowly into the river's soft indigo, a small, resigned smile daubing the corners of her lips.

A light, small at first, blooms in the deep beneath her. It grows in size, in intensity. Eve watches tiny animals float by illuminated in its soft blue glow. There is a shape at its center, a person-a woman wrapped in flowing robes. She floats up to meet Eve, arms open. Eve continues to sink, unable to move. She doesn't struggle.

In the blue glow, Eve can finally see the approaching woman's face-it is her mother, smiling up at her.

Eve smiles back.

Xena opens her arms wide, enfolding Eve, pulling her close, pulling her to the light.

**********

Through the rain's vertical oppression are the faces. They never stop. Bleak, hopeless, in shock, soot pooling in the creases and crevices of skin, blood running down a forehead or cheek. They carry children, or possessions, or the wounded in their arms, maundering past the injured and dying who scream up at them. No one looks to the sky, to the heavy halo pulled over the buildings and the square-the fire's progress.

Joshua blinks through the downpour, hair plastered to his cheeks. The smells and the vertigo around him have churned his stomach, making him nauseous. His coughs disappear into the crowded air around him. A litter goes by, a woman, her arm badly burned, moans as two Vigiles carry her past. His guts turn again, forcing him to spit onto the wet ground.

"St-stay with me, boy." It is the injured man, the Vigile who saved his life. He lies pale and shivering on his mat, squinting up. Joshua kneels beside him and the man gives a weak nod. "Try not to look…if…if you don't have to."

Behind them they hear the crazed woman; her cries of: "I could only save my baby," trail off, though are never fully lost beneath the chaos. There are more explosions, distant rumbles different than the roar of thunder. Joshua clenches his jaw. The man coughs, although it could be a laugh. "The… the gods are punishing us."

"What?"

The man has a bitter sneer pulled across his lips. "Rome has… has become too… too corrupt… so the gods punish us with…with this devastation." He shudders with hacking.

Joshua thinks about Ares, about the god's indifference-what he said about Nero and the fire. He puts his hand on the man's shoulder to steady him and soon, the coughing subsides. The boy shakes his head. "If what you say is true, why is it the innocent and poor who suffer?"

"They…always suffer, boy… that's nothing new." The man laughs. "The difference now is that others…more deserving of pain…join…join them."

Joshua shakes his head. "What sort of gods would do this to people who worship them?"

The man grabs his hand and holds it. For a moment, an emotion other than pain or fear settles upon his face. "Truth is… I… I haven't-" He looks away, turning his head to the side.

Joshua adjusts his position, kneeling closer. "What is it?"

The man looks ashamed; his hoarse voice shrivels into a whisper. "I… I haven't believed in the gods… or… anything for… for some time now." He began to weep in slow, silent sobs.

"But-"

"I'm afraid."

"I know-"

"You don't understand." He coughs, still shuddering after it has left his lungs. "I-I'm afraid there's nothing… nothing after…"

Joshua blinks at the wounded Vigile, unable to speak. Somehow, as irrational and impossible as the man's fear sounded, the boy taps into it and understands it, even if only for a brief second, but it is enough to unravel the tenuous threads of his courage. He tumbles back onto his haunches, his eyes unfocused.

Around him, the sounds, the dying continues. Joshua feels himself fading into it, being devoured, drowning. There is nothing for him to hold onto, not a hope or a task or the smallest speck of valor. He is going into shock.

Then there is the memory-Eve healing Analea in the Roman dungeon-and he clings to it. It is as impossible as the thought of Nothingness and it appears to help him because of that. He kneels again, beside the now delirious Vigile and places his palm upon the man's forehead. Closing his eyes, Joshua tries to still his mind, tries to let what vitality he has in his body trickle down his arms, through his fingers into the dying man.

What's supposed to happen now?

The Elians always talk about "doing nothing" or "becoming Love." Joshua tries to still his thoughts, to ignore his surroundings, as hard as that is. He tries to ignore the man's cold hand in his, tries to push all feelings from him. He tries to open himself to something, though he knows not what.

Screams, frantic action, whimpering continue around him, but Joshua keeps his eyes closed, his mind as empty as possible. Does he feel something? Is there a sense of something moving through him?

"I could only save my baby!"

Joshua opens his eyes and meets the gaze of the crazed woman, her bundle nestled tightly against her. She stares unblinking at him. He looks down to the man, to his hand, his face, both of which are still and lifeless.

"No." Joshua moves to the man's head, touches his skin, searches for signs of life-there are none. "No." The Vigile's eyes remain open, widened with a quiet fear, his lips contorted in soft dread. Joshua shakes his head, closes his eyes. He falls back, off balance, onto his side, tears welling.

"I could only save my-"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Enraged, Joshua springs to his feet. "What are you going on about?" He grabs the startled woman and shakes her roughly.

She appears to think on his question. "Our home it…it burned so quickly. My husband, my boy…they were trapped….I had to choose between saving them…or…or my baby…I…I thought they could escape on their own…" She gave a soft sigh. "I could only save my baby…" She held the bundle out to him.

Joshua leans in to the soot stained swaddling. Nestled within is the smudged husk of an infant, its eyes closed, its body still. He steps back from the woman. "But it's-" The woman's eyes deflect truth, sense. Joshua stumbles back. He takes one last look down at the Vigile and runs off through the crowded square.

**********

The sound of fat droplets of rain against tile and brick and earth, pooling in puddles and urns, was usually one that Mira found soothing. Tonight, from just inside one of the balconies at Gallus' mansion, it only served to darken what lay across her soul. She watched the sheeting rain and looked to the sky over the city. The orange glow, the haze of smoke throbbed as the storm continued. Over the thunder, she could hear shouting, the alarm bells, the trumpets. There was still no sign of Gabrielle.

"I can take care of myself. I wish you would see that." She knew Gabrielle was skeptical, but understood-at least somewhere inside herself. "Didn't you have the same problem with…uh…before?"

"There were things I didn't know I needed protection from." The warrior became somber, serious. "Things I never want you to experience."

"But-"

"Things that you're too innocent to understand-and I'd like it to stay that way."

A dog whined somewhere on the street below. Mira sighed.

And now I understand, Gabrielle.

She wiped at her eyes.

The soldier-Brunus, Brunus was his name-wouldn't let her find Gabrielle. He wouldn't let her go down to Gabrielle, who must have been… And then he wasn't paying attention, and she had to move then because there wasn't going to be another chance, and Gabrielle was down there and there wasn't time. So she jumped at him and tried to punch him and kick him and choke him and she bit him and she wanted to kill him, Gods, she wanted to kill him somehow, anyhow, but he was strong. "Stop it!" he yelled. "I don't want to hurt you." And she knew he didn't want to hurt her but he wouldn't let go of her or stop trying to grab her when she pulled away. Then she remembered the slash, the slice Gabrielle had given him earlier, her sword cutting down into flesh as through a curtain of linen; she remembered the slash and grabbed for it wanting to feel flesh and blood on her fingers, his flesh and blood because he wouldn't let her down to Gabrielle and then he screamed so high in pain and he was scared, was angry but he stepped back and fell off the balcony, fell away so fast and disappeared into darkness and she felt that, with him she too fell into the dark like that and disappeared now. And when he died, when the sound came-Gods, the sound-she felt as though she just kept falling, falling forever into darkness and her stomach roiled that way and still did.

She took a sip of water, her mouth immediately drying after the liquid passed down her throat. With a muted growl, she threw the silver goblet at the wall then collapsed into a nearby chair. Mira covered her eyes and began to sob.

"Mira?"

It was Virgil. When she raised her head, suitably embarrassed, he was approaching her with tentative steps. He squinted in the gloom of the oil lamp light. "Are you okay?"

She cleared her throat. "Gabrielle is still out there."

He gave a bleak nod to the balcony, the rain, the blaze. "I'm sure she'll be okay." Mira began to sob again. Virgil embraced her, rubbing her back. "It's okay. Gabrielle will be fine. She'll be here soon."

"Virgil I…" She shook her head. "I killed someone."

For a brief moment, the rubbing stopped and Virgil stiffened. "Oh, Mira, I…" He held her closer and rubbed her back again. "You poor, poor child."

"I-I didn't mean to."

"No one would ever think that you could." He held her closer now.

"I thought he k-killed Gabrielle."

"Shh, shh. It's okay."

"It's not, because a p-part of me…" Mira sniffled. "A part of me wanted to kill him." She sobbed against the poet.

Virgil sighed. "It's okay."

From the lower entrance, the sound of doors opening, people moving. Virgil and Mira raised their heads to the sounds. Mira wiped her eyes. "Gabrielle."

They ran down the stairs, Mira taking them two at once and rounded into the torch-lit entrance hall. Standing there, looking wet and hurt but still healthy was Gabrielle. Slumped against her stood a dark-haired figure wrapped in red who straightened, as though recovering from an intense pain. Mira saw the figure's-the woman's-face. She froze.

"N-no."

Gabrielle turned to the girl quickly. "Mira, wait."

Mira backed away, tripping onto the stairs. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

The priest of Ares, skewered into the ceiling, wide eyes unblinking, thick torrents of blood dripping down upon her. And then the woman, the assassin in the red cloak coming for her with the black sword trembling and then her voice, her terrible, calm voice…

-This is the end, little one.

"N-no." she whispered again, breath taken from her.

Not noticing, Virgil stepped forward moving closer to the woman in the red cloak, his body shaking. "Xe-Xena?"

Xena? Mira blinked at Virgil then the woman. The woman tilted her head, blue eyes confused for a moment then softening and smiling. "Virgil."

Gabrielle smiled strangely. "It's amazing who you can run into in this town."

"Gods, Xena, it is you!" Virgil took two quick strides to the woman and embraced her fiercely. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." His voice cracked as he spoke.

Mira watched the woman embrace Virgil, her eyes holding a sad cast. The eyes were not filled with the same dark intensity that had possessed Nemesis the night in the Temple of Ares.

Gabrielle moved toward her. "It's okay Mira." She smiled.

"Gabrielle… I…" Mira got up.

"It's okay."

Mira stepped forward and hugged the warrior who grunted. "Heh, not so hard, my ribs…"

Virgil was still sobbing and laughing simultaneously. "But you must be hungry. I'm sure we can round something up for you both." He began guiding Xena toward the dining area.

Gabrielle ran a hand through Mira's hair, but her attention followed Xena and the poet. She slid from Mira's arms and began to follow then stopped. "You coming?" She smiled and Mira could not remember ever seeing the warrior smile this way before.

"Yes." She nodded, her feet pointing together. "In a moment."

"Okay."

The warrior strode off toward the dining room. Mira sighed and moved back up the stairs. She came to the balcony again and leaned against its doorframe. Outside the rain fell with its loud pattering, filling gutters and creating streams of runoff that fell from the roof. Mira watched it all wondering if there would ever be a time when its sounds would not remind her of this night.

**********

Joshua ran blindly down darkened alleys through the rain. His feet sloshed in the mud, spraying the backs of his legs. It wasn't until he entered a familiar looking square that he realized where it was he approached. Down a side-street was the place he had called home for the last few months. As he neared, he could see smoke and flames rising above the buildings.

"No," he gasped, quickening his pace. "Dad…"

Groups of Vigiles and Praetorians had the area cordoned off and residents, some he recognized, clogged the streets. Wide-eyed, he surveyed the smudged and hopeless faces. There was no sign of his father.

A Praetorian grabbed him, the man's face obscured by his helmet's nose-guard. "What is it, boy?" The soldier's breath smelled sour and empty-stomached.

"My father." Joshua squirmed. "I need to find him."

The man let him go. "If he's not in the crowd then I wouldn't hold to much of a hope, son."

Joshua stepped back, his eyes unfocused. "No."

"I'm sorry." The soldier turned back to his duties.

Joshua maundered off to the side, tripping into the mud. He put his hands to his face. The voices, the screams around him began to fade in his hearing. He began to sob.

"You're looking for your father, you said?"

It was a woman's voice. Joshua raised his face to it. Standing above him was a younger woman, wrapped in soaked pink robes, a white cowl over her hair. He nodded. "That's right."

She smiled. "About this tall? Beard? Nice face?"

He nodded. "Y-yes."

Her grin widened. She had beautiful teeth. "Name's Josepus?"

"That's him!" Joshua got to his feet. "Do you know where he is?" He grabbed pleadingly at her robes.

"Uh…no." She cleared her throat, trying to back away. "Well, that is, I know he's alive, just not where he is right now."

Joshua's arms fell to his sides. "Oh."

"Hey. He's alive, that's something, isn't it?"

"Sure. I guess."

The woman adjusted her dripping robes. "He went with the first wave of evacuees-the ones that left before the soldiers came. Said he was worried about his son-which is you-but said he somehow knew you were okay." She winked. "Guess he was right, huh?"

Joshua sighed looking at the chaos around him. "What was I thinking?"

The woman in pink blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"I thought I could help," Joshua muttered sadly. "I really thought I could help."

"Help? Help what?"

He shook his head. "I thought I could do something, help Rome, the people. I thought I could because I was friends with people that could-that do."

"Well, that's not so far-fetched, is it?"

"I've only made things worse."

"I think you may be exaggerating a bit."

"I thought I could heal people." Joshua laughed in contempt. "What was I thinking?" He shook his head again. "If I want to help, I should just throw myself into the fire."

"Hey!" The woman grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Stop talking silly." She looked into his eyes. She had beautiful eyes. "Your father is alive. Your friends are alive. How would they feel if you went off and got yourself roasted somewhere?"

Joshua blinked at her. "I'm useless. I'm a scared little boy."

"You know you're not useless." She turned her attention to the fire. "And everyone is scared." The woman met his gaze again. "Can I ask you a question?"

Joshua nodded.

"How did you find your way here?"

"I-I'm not sure. I just ran."

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"You followed your heart." The woman nodded. "It led you to the right place." Joshua blinked at her as he pondered this. She smiled. "There's a lesson in there, if you care to learn it."

Joshua took a deep breath and raised his head. He smiled at the woman. "I didn't get your name."

"Let's just call me a friend, for now."

"Okay." He nodded. "Thank you, friend." Joshua moved off back in the direction of the Forum, disappearing down a shadowed alley.

Stepping back from the street, the woman's already beautiful features softened, her stature changing as the water from her clothes pooled off in waves. Aphrodite watched the boy go. "Such a cutie," she said, before disappearing with a giggle in a shimmer of light.

**********

Eve opens her eyes. It is still dark outside the shutters, though a strange glow can be discerned. The rain hisses and smacks across the roof of the mansion. She stretches, blinking up at the vague features of the ceiling.

Voices had disturbed her sleep.

Training her hearing, she hears voices, dogs barking just down the hill-all over the surrounding area. Far off, to the east, she hears the fat bleat of an alarm horn. Eve rubs at her eyes.

My dream…

Eve sighs and turns onto her side.

Doesn't get any easier…watching your own death-knowing how it is to happen.

There are more voices. They emanate from inside the mansion. She can recognize Virgil's. The others are muffled.

"Gabrielle?"

Eve sits up, slips her feet into sandals, rises and leaves the room. Quickly she pads down the halls following the voices, familiar yet still unknown. She descends the stairs and moves toward one of the kitchens. She steps to the entrance, the light coming from just inside.

In the doorway, she stops and gasps.

Mira is leaning against a counter, arms crossed. At the table sits Virgil, Gabrielle-and her mother, who now stands.

That morning it had rained, the drops falling so heavy their impact shattered them to mist. Obscuring the nearby city, the cloud sat low along the docks at Ostia, causing the sailors, the soldiers, the travelers to fade in and out of view. Eve covered her head with her shawl-the Indian silk still clinging to the faint perfumes of jasmine, orchid, cardamom. The water soaked through her clothes, chilling her skin but she was numb to it already.

She had sent word of her return from a small outpost along the Tigris, telling her mother, telling Gabrielle to send reply to her in Rhodes-to send her their whereabouts. The response to her message had come from Virgil. In the shadow of the Colossus she had read the poet's letter, its sparse request for her to meet him in Ostia.

After that she had never questioned what news she would receive, only why she had no prescience of it. On the ship to Ostia (where Eli had been killed; the irony not escaping her) she had stopped dreaming altogether. Abandoned again, she thought.

On the dock, she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders, taking a breath of the sour sea air. From out of the mist Virgil appeared, his face a wan mask slick with rain. All he had to tell her was visible in his eyes. With a sad smile, she stepped toward him.

"Eve?"

Eve brings her hand to her mouth; the trembling fingers brush her lips. "M-mother?" Her voice is cracking and she begins to cry. She staggers forward as a wave of dizziness sweeps over her. A sigh escapes from her and she lets go, falling now.

She is caught in strong arms, her mother's arms. Eve begins to sob.

"Shh. It's okay." Xena whispers.

"H-how?"

"Never mind that now."

Eve raises her face to her mother's, puts a hand on her cheek. The eyes are the right eyes, although she seems troubled, distant. Gabrielle is beside them now, smiling, helping them to the table. Eve wipes her eyes and sits down.

"Well, that solves how we were going to tell her," Virgil says with a chuckle. They all laugh. He wipes at his eyes and gets to his feet. "I-I'll let you have some time to yourselves." He smiles warmly at them all and heads for the door.

Mira nods ambivalently. "Yeah, me too." With a heavy-footed shuffle, the girl follows the poet out the door.

Gabrielle winces as she straightens. She is favoring her ribs. Eve notices bruises on the warrior's cheek and reaches out. "Gabrielle?"

"It's nothing." Gabrielle smiles warmly as she avoids the acolyte's fingers. She nods. "I'll leave you two for a bit."

Eve turns to her mother. Xena slumps slightly, her eyes unfocused. She seems beyond weary. Eve leans forward. "Mother?"

"It's…" Xena smiles. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear you say that word to me…even though…" Her gaze saddens, seems to search in vain. She sighs.

Watching her mother struggle, Eve's chest tightened as she finished the thought. "Even though you have trouble remembering me."

"Yes." Xena's brows knit sadly together.

Eve watches her. She watches the vein pulse gently in her mother's neck. She watches the repeated rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath. Watches the blink of her eyelids.

Alive.

Eve watches her hands tremble.

But my dream?

She inhales deeply, feeling her mood slacken, relax. She looks to her mother again. "You don't remember anything at all?"

"My memories are like words on one of Gabrielle's scrolls-stories, impressions-not as though I've lived them."

Eve ponders this. "Well, what do you remember?"

"You left for India." Xena tilts her head in curiosity. "Did you like it?"

How to explain? The journey to India was not something to like or loathe, it simply was, as seasons change, as stars are. I could not avoid the time spent there, the knowledge I gained. It would be like avoiding my own breathing or the beating of my heart. Is it the same with what has happened tonight?

"I was in India for four years." Eve nods. "It's a very spiritual place. Many… many of my beliefs deepened, grew stronger there." She looks sadly to her mother. "When I returned, you were dead, Gabrielle was gone."

"There was no way to send word to you…" Xena was visibly pained by this. "And then… finally…we… we decided to…" She looked into Eve's eyes. "I needed peace; I needed rest."

"Virgil told me." Eve put her hand on Xena's. "Together we worried for Gabrielle's life." Eve held her eyes closed for a moment. "I searched most of Egypt for her."

"She's been through so much. When I look into her eyes, I-I see it." Xena looked at the table's surface. "All of it."

Eve squeezes her mother's hand. They sit in silence for some time. She has an idea. "I can help you."

Xena raises her eyes to Eve's. "What?"

"There is a divide-a wound-between you and your memories." Eve nods reassuringly. "I can heal it."

"How?"

Eve raises an eyebrow. "I have many skills." They laugh and Eve moves around the table. She stands behind her mother and places her fingers upon Xena's temples. She whispers: "Relax. Let me in."

Eve begins her visualization and the healing litany. Her mother's thoughts and memories writhe and crash like waves on the surface, but soon she pushes through to the deeper essence. Here, the consciousness is calm, the currents gentle and Eve moves easily. In the distance she can see a form, slack, almost lifeless, floating in the deep. It is her mother. Eve smiles. Closing her eyes, she lets light flow from her, illuminating her body, the darkness around her. She moves toward her mother, her arms open wide.

**********

Virgil walked into a dim lounge area away from the kitchen. Even in the absence of reliable light, Gabrielle could see his body tremble. Stepping up behind him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned, smiling. "Quite a day." His eyes twinkled with moisture. "Gabrielle, I-"

"Get some rest."

"But-"

"She's not going anywhere."

The poet smiled and gave a nod. He moved from the room, pausing before Mira and taking time to squeeze her shoulder as he left. Mira's gaze remained on Gabrielle, her eyes sharp points in the darkness. The warrior watched her for a moment then trained her ears toward the kitchen. Mira sighed loudly. Gabrielle turned to her. "What is it?"

The girl scowled. "It figures you would have to ask."

"A lot's happened tonight."

Mira stepped forward. "I'm the last person you have to remind about that."

"I know, Mira, but-"

"But what?"

Gabrielle sighed. She opened her hands then closed them into fists. "Things have changed in my life tonight, too."

Mira straightened. She shook her head. "Did you ever stop and ask yourself if this was a trap?"

"What?"

"You said Ares created Nemesis; maybe he's using the way she looks-the way she acts-against you."

Gabrielle moved forward quickly, pointing to the other room. "That's Xena in there." She composed herself. "I have no doubts."

"How could you?" Mira stepped closer, her teeth bared. "That's the point."

"Aphrodite told me-"

"Oh, and of course there's no possibility that she's in on all of this?"

"Mira, stop-"

"Stop what? Making sense?"

"No, I-"

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

"Shut up!"

It had been a whisper, but sharp enough to end the tension. Mira's body sagged as she sighed. Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair. She stepped toward the girl. "I…"

Mira didn't raise her head. "Do you know which scrolls of yours I've been reading lately?"

The warrior averted her eyes. She shook her head. "Which?"

"The ones dealing with your first trip to Britannia and all that happened because of it."

Gabrielle stepped back, her head bowed. "Mira, I'm sorry, I-"

"I can't believe you've turned your back on the fact that I've killed someone. I thought that 'blood innocence' was important to you?" The girl raised her face, her eyes tired and sad looking. "Or were those just words in a story?"

"But-"

"And what hurts the most is that everything I'm saying right now is just a distraction, is just taking your attention away from where it really wants to be."

"That's not true!"

"Please don't." Mira shook her head, a sneer upon her lips. "No more lying. I'm sick enough already." A cry escaped her as she tore at her hair. "Can't you see-can't you know how much this is tearing me up? I feel like throwing up or screaming or tossing myself off a bridge." She turned to Gabrielle, her face twisted with anguish. "Every face I see is his face."

Gabrielle stepped closer. "Oh, Mira." She reached a hand out, stroking the girl's hair.

Mira sighed, not moving. She let her shoulders slide forward. "The saddest part is that I-I did it for you."

Gabrielle felt her body grow cold and a dark feeling settle in the hollows of her guts. And there is no one less deserving of your love or protection. She put her forehead against Mira's. "Gods."

Just then, a scream echoed from the direction of the kitchen. Gabrielle spun. "Xena?" She paused, turning to Mira. The girl sniffed and motioned for Gabrielle to lead the way. They ran through the halls to the kitchen.

On the floor, Xena was sprawled, her limbs convulsing, her pale face cycling through several conflicting emotions. Above her, Eve knelt, her hand caressing her mother's head.

Gabrielle stepped forward. "What's going on?"

Eve nodded calmly. "Her memories are returning."

"Which ones?"

The acolyte spoke calmly. "All of them."

**********

Just before sunrise, Nero returned to his chambers in the Domus Aurea. The wide doors to his balcony were open, the breeze and rain blowing the curtains in sweeping arcs of cloth. A thin haze of smoke rested near the high ceiling, bringing with it the smell of the burning city. And in his ornate bed, quite incongruous to the room's splendors and decadence lay Octavia, her back resting upon a cluster of pillows.

The bodyguard's expression was tight and pained, though her eyes when she met his were clear and without fever. Her arm, recently dressed by the Imperial Surgeon, lay limp at her side. Nero scrutinized the bandages, the small drop of blood that had soaked through, as he sat on the bed beside her.

"Did Taran not cauterize the wound?" he asked.

She nodded, then spoke through obvious pain. "He said it will still bleed a little."

"My poor, sweet, Octavia." Nero touched her thigh. "You will be rewarded many times over for your sacrifice."

She shook her head. "It is my duty, Caesar."

"That may be, that may be." He smiled, moving his hand toward her wound then pausing over it. "But I have several presents planned for you." He returned his hand to her thigh. "The least of which is resolving Rome's current crisis in a succinct and pleasing manner, yes?"

Something in her gaze shifted, surfacing out of the pain. "Your plan."

"Yes." He nodded at her. "My plan."

Nero looked at the slowly widening stain of blood soaking through Octavia's bandage. His eye twitched then he looked quickly away.

She watched him. Shifting slightly onto her hip, she gestured toward the wound. "Do it."

He raised his chin, unsure.

"I want you to," she said.

They exchanged a glance then Nero took her wounded hand in his. Octavia winced in pain. They watched each other, eyes narrow and flickering. He slowly waved his fingers over the wound, not touching it, watching her reaction, her anticipation. With gentle touches he caressed the blood drops, the bandages and she sighed in pain, in pleasure.

"Yes," she hissed through clenched teeth.

The pace, the pressure intensified, while the teasing continued. Octavia writhed under the sheets, sweat forming on her skin and glistening in the firelight. Their eyes remained fixed. Finally, she could wait no longer.

"Now."

Nero pressed his thumb against the bloody piece of cloth and she groaned with the ecstatic pain; her back arching. He watched the contortions of her face without emotion. She collapsed back onto the pillow and lost consciousness.

With a sigh, Nero rested Octavia's arm gently back on the bed. He raised his thumb to his lips, droplets of blood coating his tongue. All the while he watched her.

"Sleep," he whispered to her. "Soon, we shall crush them all." He smiled with a growing malevolence. "And it begins with the one-god worshipping heathens."

***********

Outside the mansion, on the street that twists down the Quirinal Hill to the Forum, I can hear two people nervously jog by. Their feet scrape and slosh over the cobbles in the rain. They speak; their voices punching through the air in nervous barks.

-Will the fire continue in this rain?

-The Forum is in ruins.

-Someone must have set this.

Distant are the sounds of the alarms, the horns, the bells.

Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again. In my arms, you shudder, twitch-another remembrance surfaces; your voice is lost sounding, as though from out of a dream.

-Caesar…Caesar tells me that you are an assassin…Is this true?

Your eyes stare blank and distant up at me, as I push a strand of hair from your face. I smile. How many times have we sat like this? I try not to answer my own question. More mumbling, you've been roiling this way, swept under and up again for over a candlemark now. While I am not there with you, I am still subject to what you are reliving. Although I suffer it all in my own particular way.

-You think that love is worth dying for…Th-that's not exactly the path of an assassin…

Then you are lost again. But I remain in the memory; a memory that, save for its place in our minds, never truly existed. A broken thread, lost to the universe, except us. Yet in this lifetime, I proved your sentiments, did I not? The path of the assassin is no place for one who would die for love. And here I am, alive…

Thunder shivers above, loud enough that I can hear one of Gallus' servants scream in surprise, fear, somewhere near the kitchen, two floors below us.

Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again.

In my arms again and I feel-what?

Of all the ways I had imagined this moment, of all the hundreds of ways, I had never imagined myself feeling anything other than joy. Yet what is this inside me now?

What was it Aphrodite had said? After I had accused her of succeeding where the other Olympians had failed; that love had killed you in the end.

In her temple, I was hysterical; the thought that you might be alive and out there and not with me, made me froth like a poisoned dog. I took my anger with myself out on her.

"If she hadn't turned her back on him…she would still be…"

Her gaze had sharpened. "Would she?"

"It was you! You let her feel things…you let her feel… Without you, without love she wouldn't have felt guilt…for anything…"

"But that's not what you believe, Gabrielle. Is it?"

And she was right. But so was I. Your path would have been so much easier, wouldn't it?

You shudder, as with sobbing.

-Solan!

Your eyes open, wide with sad realization.

-No…

Your path would have been so much easier without love, wouldn't it?

-No… No, you lied to me… m-my son is dead-because of you…

Your path would have been so much easier without love. Mine, too…

Love showed me how, when all had been resolved in Illusia, you blamed yourself and not me for Solan's death. Love twisted me darkly when I felt betrayed by you when you saved Eve from darkness, where Hope had been destroyed. Love was a slow pain unfurled, connected as a stray thread to your ghost, torn from me each waking moment-then pulled into infinity upon your passing. I have hated love for so long. I do not feel the part of me that once ran over with its liquors; it is dry, it is perhaps gone.

I run a hand through your hair. My fingers lost in the black there before I realize what it is I am doing.

-It's not about me… It's about these people… That's why we're here. It's the Greater Good-remember that.

I smile. The last time I encountered those words was in my scrolls. It was years ago, when I still cared to read them, to write them. I realized that I had never, and probably would never, put something so important into such simple words.

-Go on, now. I'll be here when you get back.

That was the first time you died, wasn't it? At least, of the times I know of. I remember it hurt so much, but before it truly settled, you returned to life. Soon after, it was my turn to return the favor-in Thessaly.

And we just kept dying and dying, until…

-If I only had thirty seconds to live-this is how I'd want to live them-looking into your eyes…

I am trapped between laughter and tears when you speak of Jappa, when you remember the exact moment that I do. But it is here where our roads will diverge before arriving at the same destination. For you, it is a straight path, as you've said before; the Greater Good. For me, it was a winding footpath leading down to revelation. And after it all, I never once tried to attempt what has now been done. Never to upset your rest, or my own guilt in it all. I thought it was what you wanted.

But now you are here, in my arms. I have hated love for so long. But now…

I pull you closer, hide my face against you and lose myself- everything- in your breathing. I know not for how long. I don't care for how long. You continue to quake, to remember. Happily, there are joyous times among them. Still I long for oblivion against you, in the texture of your skin, the scent of your hair.

Until…

-Gabrielle?

You move to sit up.

-Xena?

-Yes… I…

-You remember?

Your tired smile is my answer. Then you try to stand.

I hold you down.

-Shh…Rest now.

I know you want to protest, but then you settle against me. Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again. And for a moment, I relax against you.

**********

The child had died within reach of its mother. Perhaps this had been comfort enough. Joshua stood in the smoky streets to the south of the Forum, he looked down upon a scattering of bodies pushed aside by the waves of Vigiles, of Praetorians who fought the blaze. Specifically, he looked upon the bodies of a woman and her young daughter, arms stretched toward each other, never touching.

Perhaps they were not related. Perhaps their proximity, their posture were both coincidence. Regardless, their blackened fingers outstretched for one another, never touching, gripped Joshua. He rubbed at his eyes.

"That's some tough stuff, kid." Ares appeared at Joshua's side, indicating the bodies. "Sure you can handle it?"

"Of course I can't handle it." While slightly startled by the god's sudden appearance, Joshua didn't turn. "I don't ever want to handle it."

The God of War crossed his arms. "Having strength doesn't mean you lose humanity, you know? If anything, that's when you humans are at your best." He sneered. "Not when you're crawling around on your hands and knees scared of death."

"I'm not afraid of death." Joshua shook his head. "I hate when it happens needlessly, without reason."

Ares snorted. "Oh, there's a reason for all of this death."

"And what is that?"

The God of War raised his chin. "Why? What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." Joshua kneeled between the two curled, dead hands. He reached his hand out then pulled back. "I'm just tired of all the evil in this place."

"Like I told you before, it's not so much the place as the guy running it."

"Nero?"

"Go figure. Biggest empire the world has ever known and the guy at the top is a complete freak-job."

"He really is insane?"

"Totally nuts and pure evil." Ares shook his head. "Not a good combination."

Joshua got to his feet and wandered toward the god. "Why don't they get rid of him?"

"It seems so easy, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Ares smiled. "That's because it is."

"Then why?"

"Look, it's going to sound all diviner-than-thou coming from me." Ares put his hand on Joshua's shoulder. "It's because humans, for the most part, are scared little animals."

"My friends aren't."

"Maybe they aren't." Ares walked with Joshua to the street. "But they're focusing their attention in the wrong places. Someone needs to step up and take care of the real problem."

Joshua stopped. "You can't just walk up and kill the Emperor of Rome."

"No? Why not?"

"How?" Joshua blinked.

"I can think of a bunch of different ways." Ares smiled. "Most of them involve doing what's least expected. Surprise is usually the best way to take out these sorts." Joshua became pensive. Ares watched him then shrugged his shoulders. "But hey, that's just my opinion. Maybe someone can think of way to love him to death or maybe someone stronger and crazier and more evil can come along and take the throne for themselves, y'know?"

Joshua knotted his hands together. He watched the scared faces of the survivors moving in lines through the smoking streets. He looked at the night sky, flames still rising over the city. He shook his head. "He needs to be stopped."

"Look kid, no offense, but you should just find your friends and let them handle it." Ares smirked. "If they're still alive." The God of War disappeared into the night.

Pushing his soaked hair from his eyes, Joshua glowered at the space of air where Ares had once stood. Through the drops of rain, the falling cinders, he made out the faint shadows of the bodies at the side of the street. With a determined stride he moved out to the street, walking against the flow of Romans, heading toward the center of the blaze and the Esquiline Hill.

**********

At the grove, in the middle of the night, Gabrielle woke from soft dreams. The campfire still flickered, casting a soft orange daze upon the bark, the leaves of the tree above them. With a blink, the bard made the shocked realization that she shared a bedroll with Xena. And really shared it. She was naked-they both were naked-under the cloth. She flushed at the thought, the memories. With a tiny purr, she nuzzled back against Xena's warm body. The warrior's strong arms pulled her close. Gabrielle sighed with contentment.

Around them, crickets chirped softly, lazily and occasionally Argo snorted or stirred but otherwise their surroundings remained peaceful. Strangely so, or at least that's how Gabrielle felt about it. The two of them had been sleeping outdoors a lot lately and that meant sleeping restlessly, cautiously, with one eye and one ear open, waiting for any strange sound or movement. They were rarely bothered, and when they were, the trouble (usually from the most haggard of bandits) was easily dispatched, but the threat always remained and it wore on them over the course of time. But here, in this valley, Gabrielle felt safe.

Maybe it was because Xena did, too. The warrior hadn't spoken, or yelled, or cried in her sleep as she often did. She hadn't got to her feet and walked a perimeter watch in the middle of the night, or fed or combed Argo. She was sleeping-just sleeping.

Gabrielle smiled. The moon was plump in the sky, offering much light. Looking around, Gabrielle pondered some of the features in the valley. Where they lay would be a great place for a table to eat dinners outside in the summer evenings. The tree would provide a wonderful shade and would catch their laughter in its leaves. The bard's grin spread dreamily. If you had a table and a meal, you would definitely need a small cottage nearby, where you could cook and sleep. Gabrielle remembered a great spot just up the hill-Xena would probably complain that it wouldn't be sheltered from the elements, but Gabrielle knew that valleys were often spared Nature's worst weather. There were goats in the hills where they could get milk, sheep for wool, fish for food-the pond for bathing! And for swimming! And for…other fun activities…

Gabrielle sighed softly. She looked at the bouquet of flowers Xena had brought her, tied at the stems and lying nearby. There were none growing in the valley. While the thought of Xena having to journey out of the valley to prove her love to the bard was appealing, Gabrielle couldn't agree to it in good conscience. They would need to plant some of them, in the hills maybe, so that their rolling green would turn golden in the summers. Otherwise, the valley was perfect. Gabrielle closed her eyes and began to drift back into sleep.

Not for the first time that day, the bard wished they could stay where they were forever.

Gabrielle blinked up at the ceiling. She sighed.

The flowers, she thought. I left them behind, didn't I?

Beside her Xena breathed evenly, quiet now, lost in sleep. Gabrielle turned on her side; her ribs ached sharply but soon the pain faded. She looked at the silhouette next to her, the steady rise and fall of its breathing. They had just fallen into bed together and into sleep. It had been so easy; the only time that night things had been so. Exhaustion erased the questions, the awkwardness-the other emotions.

It feels strange to be beside her like this. It feels strange because it feels familiar and nothing has, not for so long.

Beyond the shutters of the room, she could hear Rome writhing, could hear the alarms, the howls of dogs, panicked voices rushing by. No escaping it. Soon, they would wake and have to deal with whatever consequences this night had created. Life moving past, carrying them away as it always had.

In the same way it had carried them away from the grove, the flowers, her dreams of a quiet life.

She rubbed at her aching ribs. Stupid dreams. Childish dreams. She growled quietly to herself. Reawakened dreams.

Gabrielle blinked at the sleeping woman. A strand of Xena's hair curled at its end, arcing black and wild into the still air above her shoulder. Gabrielle reached out for it then stopped. Her outstretched fingers twisted inward, withered at the tips, she removed her hand and turned onto her back again. She ground her knuckles into her eye sockets.

Just as the singing of the first birds could be heard beyond the closed shutters, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**********

Along the Via Cassia, children play. Awake before the sun they have journeyed with their fathers to the fields and scattered now into the dark. They hide from each other in the thin fringes of the woods, in the ditches along the edge of the road. Some hide beneath a tall bridge, leaning back against rocks to avoid the pull of the yawning drop to the river below. They titter at each other in the shadows there.

Above, there is a dull sound, growing in volume, intensity. Soon, pebbles dislodge and roll past the hiding children, falling into the black mouth beneath them. The bridge trembles beneath the steady pounding that finally drives the children from their coveys and up to the side of the road. They stop, standing still in the low ditch at the Cassia's side.

Dust rises from the road as hundreds of armored men march in perfect, straight rows. Some hold ornate standards gilded with the eagle of Rome. Others march beside large horse-driven carts pulling strange and terrifying machinery. Stern, tan-faced men ride to the sides of the ranks, flowing robes over their armor, the polish evident even in the poor light of the early morning.

For almost a half candlemark the children watch as thousands of men and their equipment advance. Later, with the armies' dust still hanging over the fields, the children return to their fathers. They do not need the wisdom of the men, who speak in tense whispers over bread and dried fruit, to know the soldiers' destination. All their lives they have known the terminus of all journeys, of all roads. Before returning to their crops, the men all agree that the armies would arrive at Rome by the middle of the afternoon.

**********

Above the clouds, sunrise begins at one's feet. Rays of light fill the mists with radiance, then break through and stab into the dying night. The stars fade, pebbles swept under morning's tide. And finally, the sun breaks, swollen and burning into the sky.

A coral glow falls upon the empty pathways of Olympus. It casts long shadows, remembrances of night, behind the temples, behind the statues and fountains and towers. The holy marble and granite, the divine steel and metals swell in the new light, as if alive and drawing a lone, triumphant breath.

To the east, at the far end of the Olympic Plateau, stands the Temple of the Sun. Here, reflected through the great Glass of Helios, the first rays of morning are honed into a single beam, a fine shaft of light that streaks without sound through the air. Pale and dangerous, it falls in a gentle arc for a few short moments only into the dark opening of the Great Pyre. In a roar of flame, the torch bursts to life, lighting the interior of the temple, casting a powerful glow across the silent peaks of Olympus and down upon sleeping Hellas below.

Trumpets, the Goddess thinks, as she watches. There used to be trumpets.

The distant and echoing sound of a hammer striking steel dissipates into the morning air.

Awakened by the sound, by the eruption of flame in the temple, the white doves of Hera take to the air circling once around the ivy-covered buildings and then on into the morning. The wild birds return not out of loyalty to some long-forgotten mistress, but rather out of instinct and the traditions of their forebears. Within the Temple of the Sun, the light illuminates the statue of Helios upon his flaming chariot, such as it is. One arm has crumbled at the elbow, the hand clinging still to the reins.

Draped in coral cloak and cowl, the Goddess strolls across the warming marble footpaths. The rays of morning caress her shoulders, her back, and she smiles, despite her mood. Her footfalls pad softly, echoing low in the silence. Soon, she is upon the Forum of the Gods; the main stretch flanked with the myriad temples and towers of Olympus.

Home, sweet home, she sighs.

There are countless statues here, upon pedestals, sunken in trenches for dramatic effect, and cast upon the level ground, so that one might look eye-to-eye with the likenesses of Perseus, or Atalanta, or Hercules. The Goddess strolls through here in silence, her robes lightly brushing the effigies. Debris lays on the ground, here a weapon, there a collection of fingers strewn upon the marble and she sidesteps these. The hammer sounds once again, hollow against the close leaning sky.

Within the Halls of War, there are torches burning and she can smell incense and the acrid odor of metal upon flame. Weapons line the walls here, from the first sharpened stick, to the finest blade. The lamps and flames glint off of iron and bronze, upon silver and heavier metals; upon spear and cestus, armor and bone. The sound of the hammer blow is loudest here, it swells into the dome above her head.

Entering the long space of the great hall, she finds her brother rummaging through a stone chest of unknown origin, a cluster of scrolls strewn behind him. At his feet is a hammer and the ruins of an ancient metal lock. "What are you doing here?" Ares says, without turning.

"Wanna do brunch?"

Ares continues to rummage, scrutinizing a scroll briefly before tossing it aside with the other castoffs. "Beat it, sis." The tone is curt, though not confrontational or mean. "I'm busy."

"That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about." Aphrodite ambles around the chest to stand face-to-face with her brother. His face is tensed in concentration. She smiles sadly at him. "I know we've gone over this before, but is all of this really necessary?"

Ares unfurls a scroll and squints at its writing. Nodding to himself, he rolls it up, stands, and without a word to his sister begins to leave the room. Not missing a beat, Aphrodite follows.

"I know you think you have to do what you have to do." She pulls alongside of him. "But are things really this desperate?"

The God of War turns to face her now, his eyes dark. "Yes," he growled. "They are." He grabs her by the arm and marches to a balcony that overlooks the empty Forum. He points across the scarred marble to the gnarled and rusted remains of a large metal cage. "Remember that?"

"The hydra's cage."

Ares nods. "Discord brought that thing home when it was still in an egg. And what did Mom say?"

Aphrodite smirks as she approximates her mother's voice, including the booming echo. "'Discord, you put that back where you found it this instant!'"

"But Dad told Dis' to keep it, just to tick Mom off."

"He was so good at that."

"Then what happened? It hatched and everyone loved it for awhile."

The Goddess grins, wrinkling her nose a little. "It did have that whole ugly-cute thing going on!"

Ares doesn't change his gaze or tone. "But soon, it got big, it got ugly, it got mean; and the time came for something to be done about it."

"Didn't it eat Artemis' belt or something?"

"And what did I say? I told Discord to take care of it and what did she do? She went to Dad. And what did he do?"

"Nothing?"

"Exactly." Ares pushes an angry exhale from his chest. "Oh, he built a cage, but look at it-even you could bend the bars on that thing."

Aphrodite crosses her arms. "Go on."

"After that 'pet' got out and went on a rampage around here, who had to deal with it?" He turns to her. "Me, that's who. I had to boot it off the cliff and it still survived." He rolls his eyes. "I had to get Hercules and his stupid sidekick to take care of it."

"The point?"

"The point is when it was all done, Dad decided to leave the cage where it was. As a reminder, he said, that we can't help our natures. That it was Discord's nature to create, well, discord. That it was mine to fight the battle." The God of War turns to the window once more. "At first I thought it was a load of crap, but then I realized that in a way, he was telling the truth. Through the whole ordeal, he had shown his true nature as well."

Aphrodite turns to her brother. "Which was?"

"To cause trouble then sit back on his throne and not lift a finger about it until it's too late." Ares points out to the grounds beyond the window. "Look out there," he yells. "That's what happens when you stay up here and do nothing when the dirty work needs to be done. That's what happens when you think that just because you're immortal you're somehow above life and death." He looks at her now, much of his ire dissipating. "That's what happened to them, sis, and I'm not going to let it happen to us." He turns to the scroll for a moment then looks into her eyes. "It's a fight for our survival." He sighs with a shrug. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Aphrodite touches his cheek softly and smiles. "Oh, Ar'."

He smiles. They both turn back out to the balcony. "You know, none of us were ever really built to understand one another. That's why we fought so much." He grins almost self-consciously. "Because of our natures."

She shrugs. "Didn't help that Mom and Dad played us against each other all the time."

He turns to her. "But you were the only one, sis, the only one that knew what made us tick; the only one with any kind of empathy."

She grins widely. "Well, I did create it, after all."

Ares grows somber again. "That's why I know you won't try to stop me-not directly, anyway." He nods to her. "You know it's what I have to do-what I'm born to do."

She bows her head sadly, the coral hood covering her eyes. Before he disappears, Ares gently touches her cheek.

Now the entire plateau is silent. The Goddess steps away from the balcony and walks through the Halls of War. She looks to the walls, at the weapons, crude and sublime, imagining the wounds inflicted, the lives smote out by each and every one. The countless men and women and children smothered in tides of blood and mountains of bone all through the arc of history into the dim and distant past.

With sadness she notes how blunt every one seems in the face of the cruel weapons in Love's arsenal.

* * *