Disclaimers & Warnings: See Part 1

For three weeks Gabrielle rode north. Now the land showed a harsher face; colder winds, tinged with the scent of snow, nibbled ice rimmed streams and puddles in forests dominated by fir, birch, and aspen. In the scattered settlements, farmers had gathered their grain, for the seasons had turned, and the nights were growing longer. She built bigger campfires for warmth at night and seldom shed her cloak. Even the bright afternoon sun no longer warmed her skin.

In a village on the Viadua River, Gabrielle bought a cape of bearskins, itchy woolen leggings, and gauntlets lined with rabbit fur. She topped this ensemble with a ludicrous cap made from a beaver pelt, with the head still attached. The locals informed her it should be worn facing forward, as if the animal were peering ahead from a nest in her hair. In this way, the tail could be tucked under the collar of her bearskin cape, warming the back of her neck. Then, with the beaver's legs tied under her chin, the cap protected her ears and could not be blown off even in a gale. It was very warm, though the warrior felt ridiculous.

As the days grew shorter, she followed a road west, towards the Albi River and the kingdoms of the Danes. In the nights she dreamed. In the mornings she arose troubled, for the dreams spoke of conflict, born from the ambitions of a god.

"Well, Xena, it's just as gray and cold as I remember it," she said as the ghost paced her horse through open woodland, the ground littered with patches of snow.

It's a miserable country for southern people, Gabrielle. At least you're dressed for the climate now. You're looking like a real barbarian. Xena was smiling at her and reached over to pat the beaver's head on her cap.

"Yeah, I'm sure I'd make a great Viking, huh?"

Absolutely! All ya gotta do is stop washing and develop a passion for mead and fighting. Getting the sooty, greasy look will take a little time, but I'm sure we can find a helmet with cow horns for you around here somewhere.

"Actually, I might need one of those. I've been dreaming some bad scenes of trouble further north…any idea what Odin's been up to recently?"

Not really. I haven't been to Valhalla since before I died. Odin wasn't happy with me after stealing his golden apples. I only have one friend there now, and Grinhilda would want me to join the banquet. It's not that I mind a good Smorgasbord, but those things go on forever and get unbearably dull.

"Really?" Gabrielle was nothing if not curious. It was one of her most basic traits.

Oh yeah. Ya heard one war story; you've heard 'em all. Up there, that's all ya hear. Braggarts, she thought to herself.

"You think constantly hearing that stuff could affect the way they think?"

I know so…it's self-perpetuating and self-reinforcing. Pretty soon everyone defines themselves by the lore they hear. Same as on earth.

"Oh great. So the mortal warriors probably still believe that fighting is an end in itself, and everyone in Valhalla justifies them when they get there. What about Grinhilda?"

She's just one person, trying to undo a couple generations of the poisoning I brought to their culture as a Valkyrie. It'll take time. Violence is so easy to embrace.

"Yes, it is," Gabrielle agreed, lapsing into silence to contemplate her soulmate's revelations. They certainly lent credence to what she'd seen in her dreams the few past nights. Though it was only early afternoon, she decided to make camp and spend some time thinking. "I guess I'll stop here for the day, Xena."

She was on a slight rise, under a denser growth of ancient trees that helped to block the wind. A small lake stood twenty yards to the south, giving way to the bog she'd been skirting most of the day. Gabrielle dismounted and began to strip the bags, saddle, and tack from her horse. Xena was checking some straight evergreen trees nearby. They were the outer fringes of the grove of enormous trees Gabrielle was setting up her camp under.

Ya know, these are yews. This wood make's a pretty decent bow.

"You think I need a bow, Xena? As I remember, I'm a fairly horrible shot. Besides, I've got the chakram now."

People up here will pay good money for this wood. A bowyer would give you a couple dinars apiece for staves to carve longbows from. There are at least two dozen here, and there's a bowyer in the next town ahead. Easy money, Gabrielle. Though not as easy as what you could make telling stories in their tavern, she thought.

"Well, maybe. First thing is some dinner though. I notice I'm hungrier these days…must be the cold."

A candlemark later, Gabrielle was finished setting up her camp. The fire was set, a pot of stew was simmering, and the horse had been brushed and watered. Xena had explained the process of making raw staves that the bowyer would season and eventually carve. Gabrielle ambled over to the stand of yews with the barbarian's axe and nodded to Xena. With a few strokes, the sharp axe easily chopped through the trunk. In a short time, she had ten lengths of trunks, each as long as she was tall and about six inches thick. Next, she gripped the axe close to the head and began stripping the few small branches away. She was beginning to work up a sweat. Finally she dragged the trunks to her campsite, setting them aside until after her supper. It was getting too dark to work away from the fire.

"Xena, this is more work than it seemed like. A dinar apiece, huh?"

At least. A good bow sells for about 60 dinars here, and the labor to carve them right is really an art. Anyway, I think these trunks will make good staves…no big knots, splits, or rot. Ask for four dinars each, but be willing to accept 60 for the two dozen.

"Ok, after I eat, I'll strip the bark and quarter them. You know, I used to clear 30 dinars on a really good night telling our stories."

Yeah, but that was years ago. Before Mt. Amorro and the Ides of March, Xena thought as she disappeared.

Had it really been that long, Gabrielle asked herself. Yes, she concluded, she hadn't performed since before their deaths on the crosses at Caesar's command. After their rebirths there had been too many demands and too much upheaval. It had been at least twenty-eight years since she had held an audience captive with her words. It was a part of her that had passed away when she had finally embraced the necessity of fighting. Before she had become an archangel, and before she had chosen to follow the Way of the Warrior.

As she so often did these days, she ate her supper alone, staring into her fire. After cleaning up, she stripped the bark from the yew logs, making a pile of long bark strips to pad the ground beneath her bedroll. She took each trunk and split it down its length into four staves, discarding a few that split unevenly. She bound the staves in a bundle with the strongest bark strips, then lay down and pulled her bedding around herself, finally dozing off as the fire died down to a bed of coals.


Before her a siege was mounted. Among harsh outcroppings of granite, defenders stood at bay. Surrounding them, an army awaited the order to attack. The defenders scanned their enemies, and they scanned the skies. Among their company were some of Odin's most noble warriors, yet now they had defied their god. At the front stood a scarred man and a beautiful woman, he in rough and worn armor, leaning on a heavy axe, she in the trappings of a Valkyrie, a renegade. At her side, her enchanted horse snorted and shook its head. Aid was coming, but would it arrive in time? So much stood at stake, resting on the battle ahead. As for their allies…well, there was history between them.

In the sky to the north, four figures rode down from the clouds; Valkyrie still loyal to Odin and sent to martial the assault. The voices of the warriors laying siege rose in a cheer that gave way to a battle cry. They raised their weapons, shaking their axes overhead and clashing spears against their shields. They could feel victory within their grasp, now that Odin's elite had joined them for the attack. They outnumbered the defenders four to one. The Valkyrie flew lower, their horses galloping over the treetops, preparing to land.

Around her the woods were dense, but she knew they teemed with warriors, the pride of the Danes. They had been waiting in silence, cut off from the defenders by the siege army that outnumbered both the defenders and reinforcements combined. Now she saw the Valkyrie overhead, just moments from landing. She knew that her next act would bring down the wrath of a god, but when had that ever stopped her or her soulmate. I love you, Xena, she whispered, as she launched the chakram into the sky.

¤

When Gabrielle awoke she remembered the dream. She remembered the outcropping of granite, and she knew the treasure guarded there. For a long time she sat, still wrapped in her bedroll, staring into the embers and pondering the dream's meaning. It felt more literal than symbolic to her, like a stolen glance at the future in the Fates' mirror.

Are you brooding, Gabrielle? Xena asked, appearing beside her campfire and checking the bundle of yew staves.

"Brooding used to be your department, but I guess I have to fill in this morning." The blonde told her, more distracted than crabby. She gave the ghost a quick glance.

Well, ya seem to be doing an admirable job of it. Wanna talk about it? The ghost stifled a chuckle, realizing their roles had become reversed this morning.

"Gods, Xena, that used to be my line!" Gabrielle exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. "I guess I'm supposed to say, 'not really', 'it's nothing', or 'it's something from a long time ago'. Right?"

Right. Then I say, 'ya know, you'll feel a lot better if ya talk about it'.

"Well, actually I will feel better if I talk about it. It is something from a long time ago, and yes, I guess I am brooding." Gabrielle finally smiled, "and good morning, Xena."

There, I can see you feel better already. The ghost returned a broad smile.

"Uhhh, there's a lot more. Remember what we were talking about last night? About Odin and the Norsemen?"

Yes. I told ya it would take time before they stopped embracing the glory of battle for its own sake. But I really believe that Grinhilda will set them on the right path, starting with Odin himself. I think she'll rekindle his love, the ghost said with a sly wink.

"Xena, I think things may not be going so well up there. In my dream, she was fighting against the other Valkyrie, and they were going to lead Odin's army to take the Rheingold."

WHAT??? You saw this? Last night in your dream? Shit, Eli, you weren't kidding were you, she thought. She was reeling at the implications.

"I don't know when it will happen, but it can't be too far in the future, because Beowulf, Wicglaf, Hrothgar, and I were also there, and none of us looked much older than we are now."

For a long while, neither spoke. Xena was thinking it through. She didn't doubt the dream a bit, and she was worried about what her soulmate was walking into. She hadn't looked in on the Vikings since Gabrielle had been in Indus with Eve. Obviously things had gotten worse. There'd been rumors of Odin and Grinhilda arguing back then, but they'd still been lovers. She knew the arguments had been over the aid that Grinhilda had given her. In the end, Xena concluded that she was responsible for the strife between the god and the Valkyrie…again. And as it had so often before, acknowledging responsibility for her actions was followed by the familiar feeling of guilt. She maintained a brooding silence.

Gabrielle had come to a similar conclusion. She felt sorry for Grinhilda, sorry for the Norsemen, even sorry for Odin. But most of all she felt sorry for Xena. The Norselands would be embattled, and Xena's legacy still lived. 37 years before, her soulmate had infected both a god and a culture with her ambition, battle lust, and heartlessness. The Norsemen had already been warlike and inflaming them had been all too easy. When Xena had undone the curse of the ring and returned Grinhilda to her place among the Valkyrie, she had thought that Valhalla and the Norselands could finally heal. When she had returned the Rheingold to the Rhein Maidens, she had thought she had undone her past evil and set things right. She had been wrong.

Xena had placed her faith in Grinhilda's ability to thaw Odin's frozen heart, and by renewing his love, make the Rheingold useless to him. But only months later, she had required Grinhilda's aid in securing Odin's golden apples, needing them to reinvest Ares and Aphrodite with their lost divinity. Grinhilda had helped Xena get into Valhalla, among other things. The aid Grinhilda provided had felt like a betrayal to Odin and his subsequent defeat by the Warrior Princess had injured his pride. The treachery he perceived had reversed the tentative thawing of his heart. Again, Odin had forsaken love, and now he had renewed his lust for the Rheingold.

Gabrielle sat chewing on her lower lip and wondering how Xena would handle this new source of guilt, now that she was dead and couldn't do anything to make it right. No good deed goes unpunished, she remembered her beloved saying, as Xena had recalled the words of the God of War. She felt like destiny was squatting on her back like a harpy.

"I have to find Beowulf, Xena," she finally declared with a sigh, "it looks like I'm going to be involved in this…already am I guess. I wondered why I felt like I had to go north all this time, and now it seems I have to help make things right."

Xena met her eyes, her face a mask of sadness. Back in the bottle, she remembered Eli had said. She feared that after all this time, Gabrielle would end up dying for her past mistakes anyway. Her soulmate's words from weeks before came back to her. The world is sweet with a bitter core, she remembered Gabrielle had said, the reward of service is death and heartbreak. And her own words in return slammed into her mind, you can run, but you can't hide from your destiny, beloved. Destiny was bitter…she'd never trusted it. All she could offer was a nod of agreement.

"Don't worry, Xena, I'll be ok," Gabrielle tried to reassure her soulmate, "sometimes it is the destiny of one to repair the injuries the destiny of a beloved leaves behind."

I will always be with you, Gabrielle, she promised. Yet even in this, she would fail.

Gabrielle broke camp and loaded her horse. She rigged the bundle of staves to drag behind her mount, on a travois built from the rejected staves. The ride was slow.

In the village two candlemarks north, Ugluf, the bowyer, was happy to have the yew staves, once he'd checked the reddish wood for its grain and straightness. He offered the warrior 60 dinars outright, and she accepted without haggling. She also accepted his company for the noon meal at the village tavern; having learned that accompanying a local sometimes assured better treatment. Her interest was in gathering news from the north, his in finding the place where she'd cut the wood. Throughout the meal, Xena sat groaning at Ugluf's persistence. Towards the end of the meal Gabrielle questioned their lunch fare.

"Ugluf, what is this we're eating?" Gabrielle asked as she lifted a dripping hunk of honeycombed tissue from her broth.

Believe me you don't want to know, Xena said with a wink.

"That one's the tripes," Ugluf declared between swallows, "the kitchen must like you. You must be lucky, to get the tripes and find such good yews."

"The tripes?"

It's the stomach lining from a cow, Gabrielle.

"Yah. That being one of the cow's cud chambers," he explained as Gabrielle stifled a gag. He winked at her, "surely better than your camp fare, wherever it was you camped last night, hmmm?"

"Uhhh huh. Thanks so much for the information." She let the morsel sink back into the broth and started on her bread before changing the subject. "I'm heading north from here. Have you heard of any trouble brewing up there?"

"Always there being trouble among those crazy Norsemen, yah. Always a war, or a feud, or a raiding party. In fact, I am having an order to fill for 50 bows, from a Norse general, Teuboldt. Maybe you should be staying here a while? Enjoying the mead and the stories? We could be harvesting more staves…together, so you don't have to do all such work."

"An order for 50 bows? Isn't that a lot for one order?"

"Oh yah, yah. Perhaps the general is going to make a war? We, being neighbors, would be hearing of it when it starts. Further north they don't have such trees as made the staves you bring me. Even here, such a stand of yews as you found is not being a common thing."

I'm guessing 50 bows will take every seasoned stave he has in his shop. Might as well tell him where they came from, Gabrielle. I bet a few bowyers and fletchers nearby have gotten similar orders, too. Yep, a war's coming.

Gabrielle nodded to Xena in agreement. She'd heard all she needed to know. The war would be coming soon, but hadn't started yet. Men were arming, but there had been no word of fighting from the north. Maybe it would start in the spring.

"I haven't seen any others in my travels here either. The place I cut these is two candlemarks south on a walking horse, near a small lake at the north end of a large bog. They came from the fringes of a grove of ancient trees, growing on a slight rise where I camped. You know the place?"

"Know it well from song, yah, though my eyes have never seen it. It being a sacred grove of the forest gods, and haunted, yah. The bards sing it's guarded by fierce ghosts of warriors past, but maybe they let you camp, warrior? And cut their trees, yah? But maybe they'll be killing me if I try?" He shuddered at the thought.

"I didn't see anything." She said, winking at Xena's ghost.

Me either…another folk tale, Gabrielle. And maybe having your own personal warrior ghost doesn't hurt either, Xena added with a chuckle. Looks like you're done with the soup. Wanna get back on the road?

"Well, Ugluf, I should go. Good luck if you go to cut more staves." Gabrielle said, rising from the bench and offering her arm.

Ugluf stood and grasped her forearm with his, warmly wishing her luck on the road. When she reached the door, Xena nudged her. She looked back at the table to see Ugluf lifting the tripes from her bowl and stuffing it in his mouth.

For two more weeks, Gabrielle rode north through the lands of the Danes. Only once had she come to a village with an inn…really just a couple rooms above the boisterous tavern. At least she had been able to take a bath. That had been five days ago.

Now she searched for campsites in the lee of boulders or trees, and gathered large amounts of firewood. After the first morning that she'd awakened to find snow dusting her camp, she made sure to leave time to build a lean-to if the evening skies were gray. She was perpetually chilled despite her heavier clothes. Only beside the fire at night was she comfortably warm. Winter came early in the Norselands, and though the equinox had barely passed, already the wind carried the constant scent of snow.

She broke camp on a morning of heavy, low hanging clouds, with the air feeling colder than it had on any day so far. Overnight the teething wind had grown a bite, and it blew steadily from the north. While she packed, a sprinkling of snowflakes was being driven against her face. She blew on her fingers to warm them, then slipped them back inside the gauntlets that rarely left her hands. Mounting her horse, she set a walking pace through the folded hilly land. Before mid-morning the snow was falling harder, and the wind drove it, stinging against any exposed skin. Now the beaver skin cap was a blessing. Gabrielle finally dismounted, leading her horse on foot. She slowed further when the trail became icy in spots, the soil frozen by the same wind that scoured away the blanket of snow.

Gabrielle reckoned noon by her hunger, for the sun was nowhere to be seen. She stopped in the windbreak behind an outcropping, choosing one large enough to shield her horse. The warrior felt a nervousness, aside from the worsening weather, that had been steadily growing for the last candlemark. After eating, she donned her weapons. So far the Danes she'd met had been civil, treating her with more respect than she had often encountered in Greece. Still, the tingling of her senses hinted at danger ahead, and she'd learned not to ignore such warnings. In the next couple of candlemarks the snow seemed to taper off a bit, but the temperature began dropping with the passing of the day. Her sense of danger was growing stronger all the time.

From somewhere ahead Gabrielle thought she heard sounds. She stopped and stood still, listening with her whole being, as Xena had taught her. It was just the ghost of an echo from among the hills, dancing to her ears on the wind, but she knew what she heard. She quickened her pace, pulling the horse's reigns and making her way up a hill. The sounds had become clearer on the high ground, but the distance was tricky to judge in that undulating landscape. An empty hollow in the land opened before her. The trail that she followed traversed it, then climbed to disappear over the far lip. Now, above the wind, she could hear battle cries and the clash of arms. Just over the next rise, her senses told her, mortal combat was being fought. She rushed downhill, leaving her horse in the more protected lowland, and then hastened to the crest of the hill.

For a moment, she gazed into the valley below. There men fought and died. The frozen ground was littered with the bodies of fallen warriors. The blood-speckled snow was trampled into slush beneath their boots. She could see the fighters' breath forming jets of steam as they exhaled, swinging their axes and swords.

A small contingent had been trapped in that valley and was surrounded by a much larger company. The defense was doomed by the disparity in numbers. Only six remained standing against almost twenty attackers. Their impending defeat by attrition was only a matter of time. It would not be much longer now. The defenders were tiring; the failing strength of their sword arms making their strokes slower and weaker. One of them looked up from the fighting, and for a moment his eyes met hers…familiar, proud, and bold. In that moment she saw a smile of recognition grace his face. His glance cost him a slash on the arm. For some reason it made her heart lurch. Yet seeing her seemed to renew his strength, and he hewed the legs from under his attacker with his axe.

Before she had chosen the Way of the Warrior, she had chosen the Way of Friendship, and loyalty was still a strong motivation. She snatched the chakram from her belt, and launched it into the press of enemies. Then with a yell, she drew her sword and charged. She practically flew downhill, half-sliding, half-running, the cold forgotten. With one eye she watched the chakram divide, before the halves began to ricochet among the attackers. Then she was on the valley floor and she was swinging the katana, laying the blessed blade into the armor and weapons her foes.

In her previous trip north, she hadn't fought anyone who still lived, and only one of the Norsemen had seen her in combat. That had been before Helicon and before Japa. Now her fighting style was different; much different from theirs, different even from Xena's. Gabrielle had learned the sword from Kenji. She never made a flourish or wasted a move anymore. Each stroke had a purpose, she never stopped, and her blade moved blindingly fast. Even as she reached out to snag the returning chakram, she cleaved an attacker's axe shaft and then stepped forward, driving the kashira, the katana's pommel, into his face. It could as easily have been the blade, but she still didn't like to kill.

Seeing her charge renewed the hearts of the defenders, and with a yell they fought with reborn fury. The fighting didn't last long after that. When half the attackers lay on the icy ground, the remaining warriors fled, dragging away a few of their wounded. The surviving defenders gave a shout of victory, and then most dropped their weapons and collapsed, panting and trying to catch their breath. They had expected to be dead.

The one warrior who had remained standing slowly walked toward her and she closed the distance, happy, yet surprised to have found him in such a dire situation. They embraced with warmth as they had on their last parting. Their joy at meeting seemed misplaced amid the death surrounding them, and the other survivors whispered among themselves.

"Gabrielle. You are more welcome than a Valkyrie! Never had I thought to see you again in this world." His smile and the fire in his eyes expressed his sincerity more clearly than his words.

"I can't believe the timing myself, Beowulf." She replied, still amazed at finding him in the battle. "I've been drawn north for months, but it looks like I arrived just in time."

"Truly a friend's help unlooked for at need is thrice blessed." He said, draping an arm across her shoulders and turning her towards his men.

"My friends," he called out loudly, "this is Gabrielle, the soulmate of Xena, the Warrior Princess, and once, the Ring-Maiden within the Ring of Fire! You have all heard the stories sung. Welcome her among us."

The men rose to their feet, and Gabrielle noted with amusement that they seemed too tired to shove each other aside while trying to be the first to clasp her arm in a warrior's greeting. Eventually they couldn't contain their curiosity and started asking questions, vying with each other for answers in increasingly louder voices. Eventually Beowulf smiled at her and silenced them.

"Are we to wait here for renewed numbers of our enemy?" He shouted at them, "Shall we not return to our camp? The questions can wait. She didn't save our lives to see us freeze or stand around waiting to be slaughtered."

Every one of them looked as if his first impulse was to argue; then, one by one, they gathered themselves and started up the hill opposite where Gabrielle had descended. She could hear them grumbling halfway up the slope.

"I too have many questions, but I'll heed my own advice," Beowulf said. "We should be leaving, Gabrielle. Come, join us. Even if your mission gives you little time, surely you can share a hot meal and some mead with us."

"Of course I'll join you, Beowulf," the blonde told him, "but I have to fetch my horse. I'll only be a moment, she probably hasn't strayed far."

The camp that Beowulf led her to was little more than a wooden shack, around which his men had erected a hastily built palisade of earth and logs. The wind whistled through cracks in the walls, but Gabrielle was thankful to be there. For the first time in weeks she truly felt warm. The building was amply heated by a generous blaze of logs in a stone hearth, over which an iron caldron of beef stew simmered. A dozen ragged warriors relaxed inside, seated at crude tables and benches, enjoying mead poured from a keg near the door. Among these were the warriors she had first met, and they were already composing boasts about their deeds in the battle. Beowulf and Gabrielle took seats at a table, relaxing with food and drink. Outside, another half-dozen men kept watch along the palisade.

Well, this is cozy, Xena commented, while taking a seat next to Beowulf, and across the table from her soulmate. After saving their hides I'm glad to see they're feeding you…it's hero's pay, but I know you'll get your worth from their pot.

Gabrielle grinned back at her over the rim of her mug.

Half a candlemark later, Beowulf watched in fascination as Gabrielle began her third bowl of stew. She was also working on a second mug of mead, and she was warm, red-faced, and happily getting full. They had been chatting almost constantly. Having noticed that Gabrielle possessed the chakram, Beowulf had asked about Xena's absence. After hearing her story he had sat with his head bowed, silent for some time.

Gabrielle next told Beowulf of her dreams. She found him easily convinced of Odin's goals, for there had been an increase in warfare in Norway. Many battles had been fought. For the first time in his memory, rather than both sides dedicating themselves to Odin, now three armies sought to conquer and rule in his name. This, Beowulf said, was unheard of.

"Norsemen have always looked to Odin to kindle valor in their hearts and grant renown in battle. But always, they fought for their chieftains, their families, or their own honor. Now these armies fight for Odin, taking him as their chieftain. I stand among those who oppose them. I came here seeking arms and maybe an alliance, but now, Gabrielle, I find I am hunted by the king of the Danes."

"So," Gabrielle asked, "if Odin is taking territory as well as seeking the ring…?"

"Then perhaps he seeks to rule a mortal realm of his own, with his power against other gods insured by the ring." Beowulf guessed. "Perhaps he seeks to wield an army of Norsemen against those in other lands. The idea of raiding neighbors will appeal to many in the Norselands who have tired of feuding with each other."

Finally they spoke about the skirmishes the Norsemen had found themselves embroiled in, having sailed from Norway to Denmark, originally to buy arms. Unfortunately, King Hrothgar was unhappy to learn that his once friend, and the perceived usurper of his wife's heart had returned, after escaping with the amnesiac Warrior Princess several years before. The Norsemen's characteristic long memory for slights had prevailed, and now Beowulf and his men were being hunted as enemies in a serious feud.

Sorry I've caused so much trouble for Beowulf. He's a good man.

"Beowulf, I'm sure Xena would be sorry to hear of the trouble she's caused you with Hrothgar." She relayed to the Norseman.

"It was the right thing to do, Gabrielle," he replied with a sad smile, "and there was no other choice for my heart. You needed each other for your destiny to run its course. Hrothgar's heart has changed in the years I've known him. At least his sister's motives and ours ran together."

Too bad this feud is dividing the Norsemen, Gabrielle. I've got a hunch they'll need to be together to stop Odin.

"Maybe there's a way to stop this, Beowulf. How do you conclude a feud around here?"

"It is customary for one party to be slain by the other in combat, in a way that satisfies the aggrieved. In some cases restitution can be paid, but that must be approved by the Thing, the local council. Unfortunately, Gabrielle, Hrothgar is head of the Thing."

My how these things work out.

"So, I guess you can't pay Hrothgar a bride price for Xena?"

"He found her, Gabrielle, and she brought no dowry, but since they had been already joined, I doubt it would be acceptable. Allowing him to name one now would be inviting robbery. I'd be paying for his pride, not his bride."

"So what other options are there?"

"Long ago, before the Thing, back when we were uncivil," he said with a grin, "such disputes would be sometimes settled by duels."

I'd give Beowulf 5 to 3 odds of beating Hrothgar in a duel.

"Do you think you could beat Hrothgar in a duel?"

"Perhaps, Gabrielle, but this situation is more complex. Hrothgar is not a common warrior; he is the rightful king of many Danes. If I were to challenge and prevail over him, his peoples' temperament would demand they seek my head for regicide."

Well, so much for that idea, Xena groaned, somehow it seemed too easy.

"What if he challenged you, Beowulf?"

"Why should he? We are stranded here. His victory is only a matter of time."

Some thanks this is for saving him from married life with the demon that poisoned the whole country and then returned from the dead, Xena sarcastically joked, anyway, he married Walthea, and she's gone.

"Hmmmmmmm." Gabrielle mused into her mug, "let me think about this, Beowulf, there may be a way out of this situation without bloodshed."

"I hope an idea comes to you, my friend. Already I owe you my thanks for your aid this afternoon. I never thought to see you again, but seeing you here gives me hope. Often before, you and Xena found victory unlooked for in the face of defeat. I believe in you, Gabrielle. Now it's dusk, and I must go and make sure the watchmen are alert and then hear the scouts' reports."

Warm, full, and with a glow from the mead, Gabrielle found a space near the hearth to curl up in her blankets and think. Around her the night fell and the watches changed. Xena's ghost observed her, unseen, wondering if she'd ever go to sleep. This isn't like her at all, the ghost thought, she's always had a need for sleep and she's never been one to miss it. The blonde seemed captivated by her thoughts, staring unblinking into the fire. A couple times during the night Beowulf brought her fresh mugs of mead, and reassured her that no enemies had been seen. The candlemarks of darkness crept slowly by, and sometime before dawn broke, Gabrielle left the warmth and walked out into the peaceful chill under the last of the starlight.

Gabrielle found a place on a slight rise near the palisade, where the wind was blocked by the wall of logs, and no branches obscured her view of the sky. High above her the gossamer curtains of the aurora borealis shimmered among the stars. Outside the camp nothing moved save that which was animated by the breath of the wind. The only sounds were the soft shifting of the sentries at their posts, her own breathing, and the moaning of the dying breeze.

She hadn't made a point of awaiting the dawn since she'd awakened in Germania near the abandoned homestead. The attack that had followed had tainted her feelings about this time of day. Somehow today was different. On this morning she felt again the peace, as the stars lost their brilliance above her. It seemed that within her an old wonder was rekindled, while the sky above shed its velvet black for a depth that hinted of cobalt. Her breath created softly rising wisps of steam, while the rest of the world held its breath. In the east she sensed the unseen brightening, as of Eos' stealthy climb from the underworld, to light yet another morn. Today was a new day. And as she had on that first morning in Macedonia, she felt that nothing was prejudged or preordained…that anything was possible. In those fleeting moments she didn't think, didn't plan, didn't worry. For those blessed heartbeats there was no Beowulf or Hrothgar, no Odin, no Xena or Gabrielle. For a moment she ceased all thought, lost all desire, and had no purpose. She gave herself up to an experience beyond her senses. Perhaps for only the second time in her life, Gabrielle was completely alone, completely still…completely empty.

She felt the dawn before she saw it and a heartbeat before the first glow arose in the east, she knew where on the horizon it would bloom. At a distance, she was aware of the shifting of her horse's hooves in its stall and the approach of someone behind her. She didn't turn. She watched the dawn end her tranquility, returning time to the world.

"Good morning, Xena."

For a moment you held eternity in your empty hands.

"I've never felt anything quite like that before."

Remember that feeling, Gabrielle. It's what you have to feel to become a vessel for the power Lao Ma always spoke of. It was a long time before I first felt that.

"It was like listening for the sounds behind the sounds, but it was different. It was even different from the silence I once felt with Eli."

It's the difference between seeing a sunrise and hearing it described. When you listen, you concentrate and try to hear behind the normal sounds. Where you were just now, the sounds come to you…because your senses aren't in the way.

"Eli said that one must be empty to become a vessel for pure love."

Love is one face of the power of the universe…with this; you get the whole thing.

Two days later, Gabrielle came to Herot, the castle and mead hall where Hrothgar held court. She carried her sais and the chakram well hidden, but had left the katana in the care of Beowulf. One thing had made her mission easier. In these lands, populated by a high percentage of blondes, disguising her appearance wasn't necessary. Her height made her unremarkable, and her apparent lack of armament kept her from drawing attention as a warrior. For the present, she was not a warrior, but rather a travelling bard.

To the king's steward, Gabrielle introduced herself as Becca, a wandering weaver of tales, and begged to perform for the entertainment of the king and his household. He was impressed by her recitation of the labors of Hercules, a name known from the legends of the Suevians to the south, but infrequently heard in Denmark. Her performance would be a welcome respite from the monotony of the same old tales, he thought. He sent her to the kitchen for a meal, and told her to be ready to present herself that evening. The cook told her to wash her face and hands, and clean her boots. Don't bother trying to get their attention, the matronly cook advised, they'll listen if they want to, but don't expect too much, they're real business is getting drunk.

In the eighth candlemark past noon, she strode onto a platform at the end of the hall and looked out at the high table with the king's seat. Hrothgar, Gabrielle noted, was a bearish man with an air of willfulness, and the manners of a pig. He bolted his food like a dog, washed it down with mead from a comically large mug, chewed with his mouth agape, and wiped his greasy hands on the backs of his hounds. Beside him sat his sister, Hildegyth, looking mildly disgusted and horribly bored. The king's advisors and favored knights sat around them, feasting and drinking with abandon, as though they lived for it and thought themselves already in Valhalla. At the other tables, the scene was repeated. The members of the king's household gorging, drinking, and talking over each other with full mouths. The air was thick with woodsmoke, the scent of unwashed bodies, and the stench of rancid fat. It was worse than any tavern she had ever performed in. She stifled a sigh and cleared her throat.

"Hrothgar, noble king of the Danes, and all you gathered lords and ladies of renown," she began, evincing not a trace of sarcasm, "hear now the tale of the corruption of the Valkyrie, and the hardening of the heart of Odin, King of the Norse gods."

Hrothgar looked up at her briefly from a gristly lump of mutton and belched. His sister groaned. The others at the table didn't even glance up from their plates.

"She came from the east, from a land she called Chin, but we called, 'the land which sent us a demon'. Among the tall firs of Norway, she came upon the figure of a man, cruelly treated and left to the elements, bound to a trunk. She scoffed at his despair, taunting him in his misery, as she was wont to do, adding her derision when this sad figure admitted to being none other than Odin himself. Then, with her words of challenge, she inflamed him, rekindling within him the spirit and strength to embrace combat with the world. Odin returned to Asgard, to preside over the struggles of mortals, and in thanks, he made Xena, the Destroyer of Nations, a Valkyrie."

At the mention of Xena's name, Hrothgar gagged on his mead, Hildegyth fixed a calculating gaze on the bard, and the others in the room continued feasting. From that point on, she had at least the attention of the royals. She proceeded with the story of the Rheingold, the ring Xena forged from it, the doom of Grinhilda, and the creation of the monster. Of these things they had known mostly rumors and boasts. The next parts, Gabrielle knew, would be tricky.

"Then, into the Southlands beyond the nations of the Suevians came the noble warrior, Beowulf, seeking the Warrior Princess, and bearing a token and grave tidings…."

"Speak not the name of that traitor in my halls!" Hrothgar roared, pounding on the table and making the roasted boar carcass jump from its platter. Gabrielle flinched.

"But my lord," she squeaked, sounding convincingly meek, "all in the Southlands know he came on your errand, doing your bidding for the salvation of your people. When the lands were later purged of the monster, all souls praised your foresight in sending him to fetch Xena. They thought you justified in demanding that she perform this labor of compensation on behalf of your subjects. You are known as the Protector of the Danes."

Though Hildegyth rolled her eyes, the king was calmed. Gabrielle could see him weighing the heat of his feud against the warmth of her praise. None of the Danes traveled much in the south then, though eventually they would. Hrothgar found himself quite impressed by his own reputation in foreign lands. He winked at his sister.

"Very well then," he proclaimed around a mouthful of mutton rind, "on with your tale."

"Thank you, my lord," Gabrielle said, bowing her head. She continued the story, telling of how Xena had donned the ring and lost her memory. She then related how the amnesiac Warrior Princess had been found and taken in by the king. How he had wooed her and married her, at which point she was again interrupted.

"Now bard, you come to the heart of the feud I hold against Beowulf, for by his treachery I was robbed of my wife, whether she be named Xena, or Walthea, for I discovered them together in her chamber. I was betrayed by two I had trusted."

"My lord?" Gabrielle asked, appearing astounded and clearly confused. "Surely it must be as you say, and yet in other lands the facts are remembered much differently. As I have always heard the tale told, Beowulf tracked Xena after the loss of her memory, and finding her at Herot, made known her true identity to you after the wedding ceremony. He could not arrive sooner, for he was engaged in the hopeless attempt to save Lord Erick from the monster. Then, horrified that you had unknowingly married the demon woman, yet knowing the good deed that must still be done, you renounced her hand in favor of the duty you perceived she still owed your people. You then ordered her to Norway with Beowulf, and he, still serving you, took her to fight the monster."

"Brother, tale weavers should not be entrusted with history, and foreign memory is apt to be a faulty thing," Hildegyth advised with scorn. Gabrielle could tell that the kiing had barely heard her words.

"Bard, in truth, this is how these events are remembered in other lands?" Hrothgar's question was driven more by hope than disbelief.

"In all other lands, my lord king," Gabrielle reassured him, noting the look of derision his sister conveyed in her sidelong glance at him, "all believe you made a painful decision based on the Greater Good and the needs of all Norsemen, not just the Danes. My lord, you are thought of as having an admirable moral fiber, as well as a strong hand in battle."

"Ahhhh," the king mused, "but if it were so, then how do you explain the feud between Beowulf and myself?"

"King Hrothgar, I am amazed. In truth, this is the first I have heard of this feud. It defies all reasons known beyond these lands. Where I have traveled, Beowulf's service to you is sung as an example of that which a liege owes his lord. He is thought of as esteeming both you and his duty highly enough to even tell you that the wife you had come to love was an imposter, knowing it would weigh heavy on your heart. My lord, I don't know what to say."

"And knowing of this feud now," Hrothgar asked, "what will you tell in your tales when you travel to foreign lands?"

"My lord, through a bard's tales, real events become known to the people of the world. I would have to tell the truth as I find it…though the story as I know it seems a better tale."

"A better tale perhaps," Hrothgar mused between swallows of mead, "but lacking in truth."

"If it is truly as you say, then I would suppose Beowulf took the destruction of Grendel as a mission on his own, Xena's sense of duty drove her once she knew of the monster's escape, and Beowulf's actions thereafter were driven by the Greater Good. It would leave your part in the tale as that of a discarded lover, ill-treated by fate. The feud would then be driven by vengeance alone, and would serve only to drive a wedge in the solidarity of the Norsemen."

Hrothgar regarded her with his mouth agape while his sister chuckled. Gabrielle swallowed nervously, wondering if she'd gone too far. Finally, Hrothgar took another swallow of his mead, put down his cup, and stared into it in concentration.

"Bard, it is I who am amazed." The king finally said. "Somehow you make me see two opposing truths equally…a neat trick. Though I would have my heart avenged, I would also have the Norsemen stand undivided. Finish the tale as you have heard it."

Gabrielle told the remainder of the story. Grinhilda was returned to the Valkyrie, the Rheingold was returned to the Rhein Maidens, and Xena died in a faraway battle later that year. She told of love lost and found, and finally lost again. She told of the renewal of Odin's lust for the ring. She ended with a prediction.

"The future of the Norselands hangs on the unity of its warriors, and in the days to come, they will be forced to contest with a god for their cherished freedom. I see a king and a warrior seeking victory for their people, but the seed of their failure can grow from their differences."

Before her, the king and his sister regarded her in silence. The rest of the room was filled with the sounds of feasting, the yapping of dogs fighting over bones, and the painful attempts of drunken warriors trying to sing. The three of them existed in a separate world. Hrothgar spoke to her at last; a bit bleary from all the mead he'd consumed.

"Bard, your story is the truth as it should be, and it is better than what is. Tell it in the future as you have in the past. Tonight I will lay aside my feud with Beowulf and welcome him again as a brother. I will send men to inform him tomorrow."

The king's sister rose and stalked away from the table.

"My lord," Gabrielle said, relieved, "your decision is wise and will be a benefit to your kingdom. You are a good king at heart, and a protector of your people."

As Gabrielle made her way along a corridor, returning from the kitchen with her bags, a shadow stepped out of a doorway and confronted her.

"You may fool my brother as Walthea once did, but you cannot fool me so easily," Hildegyth informed her. "You are more than you claim to be; though 'bard' is certainly a believable part of it. In truth, I have seldom heard one weave such a spell with words."

"My lady, I spoke only for the good of the people."

"Ahhhh, at least you don't claim to have spoken only the truth." Hildegyth said with a sly smile. "Who are you, and what do you really want, I wonder."

"My lady, I would have the Norsemen stand together against Odin's desire to enslave them. He has forsaken love again and seeks the Rheingold. With the power of the ring he will be corrupted, and sooner or later he will seek to dominate your people rather than inspire them. The feud between your brother and Beowulf would weaken them."

"I never trusted that Walthea, and I helped Beowulf arrange her removal from Herot. The feud was an undesirable byproduct, but I felt it the lesser of the evils I foresaw. I am glad to have it end, make no mistake about that. It brought unnecessary fighting. For ending it you have my thanks. Now, who are you? I will have an answer."

Gabrielle sighed. She could easily knock out Hrothgar's sister and escape, but that act would cause problems of its own. Finally she decided to trust the woman, as Beowulf once had.

"My name is Gabrielle. I was Xena's soulmate. I have come to undo the damage that she caused which still lingers in the Norselands."

"I know of you. You're a friend of Beowulf's as well." The woman was squinting at the blonde in concentration, regarding her like a cut of meat or a head of livestock. "Why are you here? What do you care of the Norselands? Why should I trust you?"

"Because I would see my friends free of Odin's darkness. Because I seek to amend the events Xena brought about, for the sake of our love, and because in the end, we are on the same side."

"Hmmm, and you would face Odin's wrath for us?"

"My lady, I have fought gods, spirits, and demons. My soulmate fought Odin many times and I have some history with him myself. I don't fear him anymore."

"I see." Hildegyth weighed the warrior's words for long moments before finally agreeing. "Alright then, I am satisfied for now. Go in peace, Gabrielle. Good fortune in battle."

Hildegyth turned and walked away down the hall, and Gabrielle looked back at her briefly before continuing to the outer door and departing into the night's chill. She crossed the courtyard, walked to the stables and found her horse, then saddled it and rode out of Herot. At the foot of the castle hill there stood a sizable village, and in it Gabrielle found a room at an inn. She ate a late supper in the common room, and then went upstairs to fall fast asleep on a crude bed of rushes and straw.

Well done, my love. Your first performance as a bard in almost thirty years and you didn't make a dinar. Still, thinking back over their years together, there were few of the blonde's performances that Xena's ghost had been prouder of. Hrothgar…I still can't believe I married him. Funny how a little brain damage can affect a person's judgement.


She stood unseen in a city beyond her wildest imaginings. Broad avenues stretched towards a high domed building on a hill. All around her, massive buildings stood, larger than the Parthenon, and constructed in so many styles that it boggled her mind. Some resembled the temples of Rome or Athens, but others…. The wide avenues were lined with throngs of people, dressed in bizarre costumes. She noticed that none carried weapons, not even a staff or a dagger. But the most amazing thing, the thing that almost made her flee through the crowds, were the carts that moved without horses. It was impossible.

As Gabrielle watched, the procession continued. Then came the only thing she'd expected. The soldiers were marching in numbers that even the Romans would have had trouble matching. They were clothed in a dismal olive green, all identical in their gear. On their heads were smoothly rounded helmets. On their shoulders they supported strangely carved short staves, each with a black bladed dagger affixed to its end. The tramping of their boots on the pavement was an endless thundering staccato. Then came an indescribable column of armored carts, loud, clanking, traveling on endlessly turning segmented metal ribbons that scarred the pavement. From the upper part of each, a tube pointed skyward. Next came even larger tubes mounted on, or drawn behind, the self-propelled carts. It must be an army, but its weapons made no sense at all.

In the following moment, her fright turned to terror. Overhead there came a formation of screaming metal birds, huge, faster than any hawk, their wings emblazoned with a white star in a blue circle, and the crowd cheered for them. More and more overflew them in an endless stream of formations. Gabrielle covered her ears and cowered.

Finally there came an honor guard, bearing flags. The centermost banner displayed thirteen red and white stripes, and in one corner, a field of blue. On that field she counted six rows, each with ten white stars. Gabrielle was about to turn away and find a quiet place to hide, when her eyes were drawn to the flag on the right of the central banner. It was blood red, and in its center, in bold black, it bore the Sigil of War. She stared at it in horror and felt ice creeping up her spine. She was in the United States of America, and the country's borders stretched from the far arctic to the Isthmus of Panama. It was a country at war, and its army marched under the banner of Ares. Somehow she understood that it was September 2, 1945, V-J Day, and V-E Day had never been.


Gabrielle woke from the dream in the chill darkness of her room. She rose and opened a window, gazing out at the night sky. By the position of the moon, she discerned that dawn was near. Even as she sat, shivering in the cold night air, she felt a sense of peace replacing her disquiet, calming the acid that churned in stomach, left over from the dream. She inhaled deeply and then watched as her breath condensed when she exhaled. She didn't notice that she had stopped shivering.

In the state of empty serenity that had descended upon her, she contemplated the dream. She had always known that war would follow mankind down through the ages, growing more deadly in each passing century. That was little surprise. There was no doubt that the images she had been shown depicted a future army, and that too, Gabrielle could accept. What she didn't accept was the evidence that, in spite of the Twilight, in spite of the dominion of the One God of Eli, Ares would openly proclaim himself. If he had anonymously inspired men to battle, she could have accepted it. That he was worshipped in the future time, this just seemed wrong. She could imagine him gleefully driving nations to conquest, bartering his favor for the service of incalculably powerful leaders, and achieving his long coveted dominion over the world's peoples.

The battles she and Xena had fought would have been for naught. The bloodlust her soulmate had lived in was but a foreshadowing of the brutality of the centuries ahead. The loss of life in battle that she had known seemed but a pale foreshadowing of what mass destruction must someday come. And the loss of freedom evinced within Rome's conquered territories, but a hint of the subjugation awaiting those generations to come.

She could feel for those millions yet unborn, cry for those generations crushed in a world yet to be, and she didn't have any idea what she could do about it…yet. The future grew out of the present. The choices made today shaped tomorrow. She had lived this wisdom, on a shorter scale, for years. In the state of clarity she felt before the dawn, she realized that this was no different, only the scope of time was greater. Therefore she had more time to plan. Someday, she promised herself, she would find a way to change the future she had seen, or die trying.

Outside her room the stars were no longer quite so starkly etched in the vaults of night. The teasing hint of future possibilities, revealed in each day's genesis, lay only moments beyond her vision. The time of emptiness was upon her. Gabrielle's thoughts of the dream faded with the stars and the slip of a crescent moon, leaving her the vessel that the will of the universe adored. She barely breathed. Her eyes were drawn upwards, to a single point of twinkling light, fading in the east. A whisper came unbidden to her mind's ear, her soulmate's voice…anything is possible.

The star went nova without a sound; its light magnified a hundredfold even as it dimmed with the dawn. Gabrielle had no reason to believe that she had caused the phenomenon, and she couldn't have understood that it had occurred a million years before she'd been born. In no way did she equate it with destruction. What she saw was something unlooked for and wondrous beyond reason. The mystery within the mystery was why her eyes had been drawn to it, before it had happened.

Even as the village awoke around her and a woman nagged, a cock crowed, and a donkey brayed over the creaking wheels of its cart, Gabrielle felt a residual contentment. She felt more at ease than she had in a long time. The feeling stayed with her through her ride back to Beowulf's camp that afternoon. Night had fallen again before she realized that all day long she hadn't heard a word from Xena.




Did ya see her Eli? She did a great job convincing Hrothgar to give up his feud with Beowulf. She can still tell a story, huh? I'm very proud of her.

"Xena, we are all very proud of Gabrielle. Each time she succeeds without bloodshed we rejoice. She has saved many lives, promoted peace, and opened the way for the thwarting of Odin's ambitions."

Not only that, but I think she's regained a bit of her old self. I always wanted her to go back to telling stories because it brought her so much joy.

"What would you think if I told you that storytelling for pleasure is no longer a part of Gabrielle's way?"

Huh? Of course it's a part of her way. It's part of her. Writing and telling stories was always close to her heart.

"I think Gabrielle has changed more than you have, Xena, in spite of your being dead."

Whadda ya mean, Eli?

"Gabrielle is no longer a bard. She hasn't been for some time. Her skill at storytelling is a tool for her now, not a source of recreation. It is no different than your abilities with a sword."

You're saying that her storytelling is now a weapon? I don't believe it. What about her happiness?

"Storytelling is most certainly a weapon, Xena. Her happiness comes from different sources now, though she hasn't really come to understand it since you died. She has to find sources of happiness independent of those you cultivated together. She has moved on in some ways."

Now wait a moment there….

"No, Xena, think about what you said earlier. You, '…wanted her to go back to telling stories…', and you hope '…she's regained a bit of her old self'. Don't you see, Xena? You are asking her to go backwards to what she was with you, but she can't do that. She has to move forward. Living in the past, even a beautiful past, will kill her spirit."

Eli, I just wanted her to be happy…Xena's lower lip was trembling as she looked at her friend. She was starting to feel a growing sense of doubt. Eli had revealed that her best intentions were very bad for her soulmate.

"Then you have to be willing to let her go in some ways. I know this must be very, very hard. It's always been a question of her letting go of you, hasn't it? Of her not letting her memories and her desire for your love imprison her in a lost past. You can't hold her either, Xena. You are to be partners in all things, even this."

But I promised her I'd always be with her, Xena said, feeling very uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. I told her that even in death I'd never leave her. I can't, Eli.

"There's a difference between being there for her, and constantly haunting her and holding her future hostage. She'll never be able to heal enough to move on. And what's worse is that you will never heal either. You may be dead, but you have just as much to deal with as she does. In some ways, giving her those promises that you made was the worst thing you could have done. You're both trapped by your oaths, Xena."

I can't abandon her, Eli. She still needs me.

"No, Xena. She needs to learn how to not need you, and you need to learn how to not need her. Only then can you both truly love each other, rather than using each other to fill in the missing parts of your souls. That's not what soulmates are meant to do. Completing each other shouldn't happen because you are incomplete alone. It should happen because you are complete alone."

Damn it, Eli…I don't understand. She fills what's always been missing in me. She's my light. I gave her strength to believe in herself. I protected her. We love each other.

"Xena, a soul must be complete in and of itself. Only then can it truly take the next step and be something more than is possible for one alone…or two together. Only then can you each reach beyond yourselves. You are each willing to give and take, but are you each willing to withhold? Can you look beyond what you think is best for each other, and not help when that is what is needed? On those occasions when that was required, it caused trauma to you both."

But….

"No buts, Xena. How did you feel when Gabrielle dragged Hope into the pit of Dahak? How did she feel when you had to stay dead in Japa?"

I was frantic. I would have done anything, given anything, tried anything to bring her back, even just to see her again to tell her how much I loved her. I think we know how she felt about Japa.

"And now Gabrielle is finally beginning to feel the call of deeds she must achieve without you. She is finally beginning to live her own life after all these months. Helping Beowulf and the Norsemen is what will bring her happiness; it's what she needs to do to grow and live again. It is the first step towards her destiny."

Oh yeah, that. You said she has to stop Odin and head off the destruction in the future. Put him back in the bottle, right? I guess she'll be able to do that in a couple months. She's well on her way, huh?

"Xena, this trouble with Odin is just a way for her to regain her purpose in life. It's a way for her to move towards starting a family. It's part of her healing. It is in no way the aim of her destiny."

Then I have to warn her, Eli. She'll think that once this business with Odin is finished, that she's home free. She won't be expecting anything more. She needs to know she's expected to accomplish something harder.

"That's exactly what is not going to happen. You are not going to fill her future with some unknown threat. She may not bother to live because she'll just be waiting for the trouble to come. Besides, she's got the dreams. No, Xena, you are not going to warn Gabrielle. You are going to learn how to let her go. You aren't going anywhere."


On the second day after Gabrielle's performance at Herot, the messengers from Hrothgar's court came to Beowulf's camp. Though there were a few tense moments at first, when they announced their business the wave of relief on both sides was palpable. Beowulf invited the messengers into the camp. In no time, they were drinking mead with his men, eating stew from their caldron, and comparing boasts about the battles they'd fought while trying to kill each other. Gabrielle was amused that these previously mortal enemies were now acting like the best of friends.

"At least they're united now," she whispered, hoping Xena's ghost would hear her and appear, "and they stand a much better chance against Odin." When she got no answer, she took a look around. There was no sign of Xena's ghost anywhere. "Guess you're busy with ghost business, huh?" She sighed. "Ok, I love you Xena. I'll see you later."

Beowulf arranged for his men to have safe passage to the nearest port. From there they would sail their ship back to Norway. On the way to the port, he would visit Herot and pay his respects to King Hrothgar, while his party would purchase the arms they had originally sought. He was happier than he had been since arriving in Denmark.

"Gabrielle, I thought it a blessing when you first appeared in battle, but now, no words of thanks will ever be great enough for ending this feud." He was speaking from across their table as they consumed more of the stew and mead. Gabrielle doubted that she'd ever seen so broad a smile on his face, and it made her happy. Beowulf's eyes held sincerity, admiration touched with a bit of awe, and something more. "You amaze me, Gabrielle, for your power with words matches your prowess with weapons, and your beauty surpasses both."

The words of praise made her blush, but also warmed her heart. "I'm glad to help, Beowulf. I feel it's my part to aid you in the conflict with Odin that I've foreseen. I'll be beside you through this struggle."

In fact, Hrothgar's men had been very surprised to see the bard at Beowulf's camp. They had been even more surprised to see the katana strapped to her back, and the chakram at her side. She had received many curious glances. They had also noted that Beowulf and Gabrielle spent most of their time in each other's company, often speaking in low tones together. Next to boasting about their deeds in battle, their favorite pastime was rumor mongering and speculation. Talk shows and buzzards had nothing on them.

If Hrothgar's men had been surprised to see the bard bearing weapons, then Hrothgar and Hildegyth were shocked. When Beowulf came to Herot to greet his old friends, Gabrielle stood with him, armed with sword, sais, and chakram. Hildegyth wore a mysterious smile as she appraised the bard, while Hrothgar couldn't decide whether he had been tricked or not. In what he thought was a brilliant strategy, he demanded that Gabrielle tell another story, hoping to discover if she were truly a bard or not. She comfortably mounted the platform and captivated her audience with a Xena story she'd told only once before.

"Lords and ladies of Herot, most renowned mead hall in the land of the Danes," she began, "hear now the tale of Yodoshi, the Eater of Souls, and his defeat in the realm of the dead, by the Warrior Princess."

For the next two candlemarks the silent hall rang with her words. The king and his sister, and all their gathered household sat spellbound by the tale; a tale which matched in deeds and glory, any known among the Norsemen. Long before she finished, Hrothgar fixed his eyes on the sword at Gabrielle's back, for he deemed it enchanted. Hildegyth found herself beset with questions. Beowulf found his heart breaking for the sorrow of his friends. And Gabrielle felt a long borne weight lightening as she spoke. Telling the story of far off Japa felt much different now than when she had related those same events to Eve in Indus. The immediacy of her pain and longing became a bit less like a dagger in her heart, and more like the throb of a healing wound in the summer's heat. As she finished the tale, she realized that she could go on, that her spirit would survive Xena's death, and that she still had much to do before she could rejoin her soulmate at her life's end. Gabrielle finally accepted that she could live.

"I have never heard such a tale of bravery and warrior spirit," Hrothgar declared, when Gabrielle had fallen silent. "Would that I had known this Xena, rather than Walthea."