Our Own Flesh And Blood

Two hands, lowered ever so lightly
Over my children's heads!
Two were given to me – precious gifts,
One for each hand.

But with both of them clutching fiercely,
Tight as I could only grasp,
The eldest I snatched from the darkness,
The youngest I could not save.

Marina Tzvetayeva, "Two Hands"

Livia walked out of the prison tent without a backward glance, into the fresh night air, away from Semra. Her own tent was just visible as an irregular shape in the darker distance of the camp-road, surrounded by tall fluttering standards. She headed towards it, her head raised slightly, her fists clenched on the sides of her cloak, scrunching the fabric. No eyes followed her this time; the camp was asleep. Every thump of boot on stone made her stomach heave, threatening to force it into her dry mouth, and her head rang like a shuddering bell. She felt drunk, but could not recall having had a single sip of wine. Maybe that was the problem. She reached for the wineskin at her belt, then changed her mind, resolving to have a proper drink the moment she was back in her own tent, well away from Semra's wild eyes and wilder stories. The woman was a liar, a traitor – nothing new there, she'd known it all along!

Still. There was one thing that Semra had not lied about, just one, and Livia did not know why she had not seen it for herself. She should have guessed a long time ago; the moment Ares had pulled away from her touch, his eyes riveted to the woman coming to him through the bacchanalia smoke.

Livia, Champion of Rome, was the daughter of the God of War.

Ares was her father.

"So now you know."

Livia whirled about and found herself facing him. Ares' head was tilted with unbearable smugness, regarding her like a pet. The faint blue aura around him faded into the night. Livia wished she could draw her sword and finish him.

"I told you you were mine." He tried to raise his hand to her cheek. Livia slammed it away, her other fist landing a hard punch into his gut, the force numbing her knuckles.

"Whoa!" Ares rocked back half a step but recovered at once, catching her hands. "Down, girl. I'm just here to offer a little moral support."

Livia tore her hands free. "Take your moral support to Semra, Dad. She's going to need it."

"So she didn't tell you."

Livia eased back reluctantly, regarding him with angry suspicion. "Tell me what?"

"Who she is."

The earth felt queasy under Livia's feet, like the deck of a badly laden ship. She opened her mouth on a question, then shook her head in annoyance. "She says she's my mother."

Ares leaned back and looked into her eyes. His own were hidden by the night. "And you believe her?"

Livia snorted, "Of course not! But if you're really—"

"You should. Because she is."

She stared at him incredulously.

Ares spread his hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I thought you'd have it figured out by now. You know," his lips curved slightly without becoming a smile, "You have her eyes."

Livia's eyes closed involuntarily. Then she saw it. The bacchanalia again. Semra's blue eyes over the veil, the smoke, her hand moving... Her hand. There had been a weapon, a curved blade. Livia followed the memory. Semra's hand had pressed against the metal and a trickle of blood had run along its edge to drip off it. Ruby droplets, rolling off oiled steel.

"The chakram," Livia whispered numbly, and opened her eyes. Ares was watching her inscrutably, in the darkness. Livia felt her skin turn to gooseflesh, the hairs standing up. "At the bacchanalia. I saw it in Semra's hands. Xena's legendary weapon."

Ares nodded slightly. "Yeah. Xena's weapon."

Livia felt she'd lost the capacity for surprise. "You're saying that Semra is ... Xena. Your Warrior Princess. The one who died over twenty years ago." She thought Ares flinched, but it was hard to be sure in the dark.

"No," he said, "the one who found a way to cheat death for a while, and forgot to let me in on the joke. Now she's back, not a day older, and," he paused, his eyes regaining their keenness, "she wants her little girl back."

Livia shook her head in disbelief. "Me?"

"That's right. You." There was sympathy in the line of his mouth. "You've heard the stories, Livia. You know what Xena did to her son. She took him away from the battlefield and gave him to the Centaurs to raise..."

"...So that he, at least, could know peace." Livia completed the old story. Unexpectedly, she felt the stirrings of life inside her, a warmth. "She came back for me," she said wonderingly. "They told me my mother was dead..."

"She came back to destroy you!" Ares' voice cracked the air, breaking the illusion of peace.

Livia tried to turn away, but Ares took hold of her shoulders. "Think about it. If Xena didn't want her son in battles, do you think she would want you here? Fighting for Rome?"

Livia scowled, but she had to concede his point: "Xena hated Rome. She destroyed Caesar and Pompey when they went up against the Amazons."

"Exactly." Ares released her finally. Her upper arms felt damp where his palms had been – but he couldn't be sweating, surely? Livia tried to make out the expression on his face: relief and something else, something harder. "She'll destroy you, too. Xena will take away your Empire, your dreams, everything you've worked for. She'll even take your name."

Livia forgot her uncertainty. If even half of this was true... Her eyes flashed darkly. "I won't let her."

"That's my girl!" Ares stood back in approval. "Xena can't accept it, but her days are long gone. The world awaits its new ruler. You. Win this war, Livia, and there will be nothing in your way. Or, you could do what Xena wants you to do, and leave it all to her Amazon friend. Gabrielle."

"The storyteller?!" Livia gaped in amazement. Connections slid into place, convincing her. "You're telling me that Jana is Gabrielle? Xena's peace-loving sidekick?" She began to laugh, feeling almost herself again. "Gabrielle!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Ares raised a hand to stop her laughter, "You don't want to underestimate her. Don't forget that she hung around Xena for years, and she's the one who brought that Amazon army to your doorstep."

Livia grinned. "And I'm grateful. She's saved me months of slogging through swamps, looking for her little tribes!"

For some reason, Ares did not laugh with her. "I'm warning you, Livia. Don't underestimate Xena, or her sidekick. Xena has already managed to shake the confidence of your men—"

Livia scowled, "Thanks to you! I would never have fallen for her lies if you hadn't backed her up! Why did you help her?"

"I knew you could beat her." Ares shifted uncomfortably

"But that's not why you helped her." Livia's mouth thinned in thought, then curved into a wicked smile. "It was because of Fortuna, wasn't it? You never liked that Rome followed me because of their false goddess, so you helped Xena steal Fortuna away from me. Well, don't worry. I don't mind. I don't need Fortuna anymore, now that I know that my father is the God of War."

"You got me there," Ares said with a short laugh. "It was all about Fortuna."

"Tomorrow, Ares. When I'm addressing the troops, I want you at my side. They won't doubt me again."

Ares' eyes softened very slightly at her defiant stare. "I'm looking forward to this battle, Livia. With you leading Rome's armies, it will be – magnificent."

"Oh, it will be." Livia felt his words fill her with delicious power that tingled through her body, to the tips of her trembling fingers. She snatched the wineskin from her belt and took a long draught, then grinned back at Ares. "But what if I happen to kill Sem... Xena? The heat of battle, you know... You've been protecting her ever since the start of this campaign. I hope you wouldn't ruin it all for me by flying to her rescue."

The sarcasm was rather spoiled by the splatter of wine when Ares grabbed the wineskin from her hand.

"Go easy on that stuff, would you? Makes you lose your focus." He looked at the leather bag in distaste before tossing it aside; it bled cheap red wine over the moonlit dirt of the road. Before Livia could vocalise her annoyance, Ares put his hands over her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "Xena doesn't matter. Reclaim your destiny, Livia. Win Rome."

He was gone before she could reply.

Livia looked at her wineskin in the dust, blinking away the brightness of aether. Xena. Her mother was Xena. Semra the traitor was Xena. Her mother... Was it really possible, or was it just one of Ares' tricks? Her father... She brushed aside the cobwebs of confusion. One thing at a time. Ares was right; she was losing her focus. This war was more important now than ever before. It would win her the Empire, and the world. Once she had it, all these peculiar longings would go away. The Champion of Rome needed no mother. And no father, either.

Livia was barely fifty paces from her tent when she heard the voice of one of Semra's guards behind her. "General!"

She turned slowly and glared at the glistening face of the Picentine, his thick chin and nose distorted by the leaping shadows from the torch in his hand. "What is it, Lepidus?"

"It's the Amazon." He nodded back the way he had come. "Says she has something that belongs to you."

Livia yawned conspicuously. "Tell her to keep whatever it is. A gift for her services."

Lepidus looked startled. "But, General, it's no use to her! It's – she says it..." He shrugged. "She says it's your Amazon right of caste. She says you're meant to be their queen."

Livia froze mid-yawn, then carefully lowered her hand. "Their queen."

"That's what she says."

"Really." Without warning, Livia snatched the torch from the guard's hand; the man gave a short cry of surprise and flinched back as though afraid that she would burn him. She shoved past and headed back to the distant shadow of the prison tent.

* * *

"So it was Ares' war all along. He wanted you to fight Livia?"

Varia tugged at her gauntlet in discomfort, scanning the command tent as though in search of something to draw her eyes from Gabrielle's. The leather walls of were mostly in shadow, tasselled hangings forming patterns of grey on grey. The only brightly lit spot was the map-table with its lamp; Gabrielle could feel its light at her back, like a warning.

"Ares never told me about Livia, just Rome," Varia said at last. "I thought he was right; that this war would be good for us, make us strong. Like in the old days. Marga didn't like the idea, but I thought if I could only convince the Council that there was a threat..." she trailed off.

"They would make you queen in Marga's place," Gabrielle completed for her.

Varia nodded miserably, "Yeah. But there was a price. Ares wanted me to get ambrosia for him, the stuff we kept for sacrifices."

Gabrielle's eyes widened. "You didn't..."

"I did." Varia gave a short, self-mocking laugh. "It didn't seem like a big deal, if I could have his support."

Gabrielle silenced the self-righteous little whisper in her mind. Who was she to criticise Varia's theft, after she herself had stolen the right of caste pendant from Marcus? "Didn't you wonder why a god needed ambrosia?"

"Sure. I even thought about keeping it for myself, but then Ares was there. He took it, and just... disappeared. I never saw him again." Fear danced in Varia's eyes. "Do you think he gave it to Livia? What if she's immortal?"

"She's not." Gabrielle knew her reply came too hastily, unconvincingly. She tried to smile, "If Livia was immortal, we wouldn't still be here." The smile died. "He must've wanted it for Xena – but she'd never take it."

She saw the relief plain in Varia's face, and wished she could share it. Instead, she shook her head. "Livia may be mortal, but she's still ..." She nearly said 'the daughter of the God of War', but caught herself just in time, "Still a formidable opponent."

"She must be," Varia agreed thoughtfully, "if even Xena could do nothing about her in all this time."

Gabrielle discovered she didn't want to talk about it anymore. She needed to think. "Varia," she said as calmly as she could, "Thank you for telling me. It was brave of you."

Varia shrugged a little. "It was stupid of me. I wasn't ready to lead us against Rome, I know that now." She looked at Gabrielle with unexpected seriousness. "Thank you." Then she turned around and strode out of the tent. The strings of beads at the entrance clinked and swayed after her. For a few moments Gabrielle stood there, watching them. Then, when she was sure that Varia was gone, she blew out the lamp, plunging the tent into darkness, and went outside.

One of the five corners of the command tent was supported by the trunk of a smooth-barked tree, the tallest in the camp. Gabrielle looked up into its rustling crown, black leaves hiding and revealing the moon. It was as close to an escape as she could hope for. She set her hands on the lowest branch, swung her body back and forth to gain momentum then vaulted up, landing hard on both feet with a small grunt. The branch swayed under her. She climbed up a little way up and sat on the next branch, letting her legs swing free. She'd been right: up here, there was a slight breeze, and the claustrophobia of the tent gave way before the expanse of the night. Gabrielle wrapped her arm around the trunk and leaned her cheek against the cool bark.

For a little while she just sat there, staring into the distance beyond the whispering foliage, trying to gather her thoughts into some semblance of order. The ground below sloped down through the Amazon camp, jutted up sharply into the wall of fortifications then continued into the marshland that was all that lay between her Amazons and Rome – and between her and Xena. Gabrielle sighed. From this high vantage point the valley looked serene, the swamps visible only as a thin layer of mist that swirled white under the moonlight, as though stirred with a giant's unseen hand. Off to one side, the mist disappeared, and the blackness of the bare ground there merged with the sky.

Lately, everything had seemed much like that black ground; surrounded by ever-shifting mist that revealed some truth only to conceal it again in the next moment, leaving behind confusion and a heavy, numbing isolation. Gabrielle tried to picture Xena right now, in that frightening Roman uniform, perhaps looking over this same mist from the other side, wondering why her best friend had hurt her again. Why she had brought the Amazons west instead of east. Why she had cut short the time Xena had to bond with Livia and reach her daughter inside that hardened Roman shell.

Why she had chosen the Amazons over Eve.

Only none of this had been her choice, Gabrielle thought desperately. If Varia was telling the truth about having been Ares' champion – and why would she confess to treason she didn't commit? – then it had been Ares' doing: everything, from the time the Amazons had united into a nation, long before she and Xena had even awakened in that cave. Gabrielle felt her cheek grow hot against the tree. Even her own failure to convince the Amazons to retreat into the forests, that was Ares' fault, too!

He had known that her peacemaking attempt would be doomed from the start, that the Amazon nation would want war. That must have been why he dumped Varia so unceremoniously: he had meant to turn Xena's deal to his own advantage, using Gabrielle as a pawn, forcing to fight for the Amazons while he had Xena to himself.

Damn him! Gabrielle thought viciously. Damn him for separating her from Xena, for scheming to pit his own daughter against the Amazons, for trying to make Xena immortal and take her away while Gabrielle would be forced to fight war after bloody war for the Amazon nation...

Except that it didn't make sense.

Gabrielle sat up abruptly, bracing her knees on the branch, suddenly dizzy with a vertigo that had nothing to do with the precarious height of her perch. She counted back in frantic disbelief: Ares had asked for the Amazons' ambrosia at dawn after the last full moon... Before Xena had discovered Livia's plans for the Amazons! And thus, before she had asked for his help.

Unbelievable. Ares had actually, actually, abandoned this war – or at least one side of it, at least for a while. Just to get a piece of ambrosia for Xena.

Gabrielle lifted her hands slowly and rubbed at the imprints of bark on her palms. The idea that Ares could abandon a war, any war, let alone one of this magnitude, seemed even crazier than her previous certainty that he had trapped her into leading it. Only crazy as it was, she believed it. She wished suddenly that she didn't; it would have been easier to think that Gabrielle-the-Amazon-Queen had been a helpless puppet in another of Ares' games. But that would have been like blaming Xena for the darkness that had taken over her own soul after Hope's birth, and the hurt and betrayals that followed. She had let Xena take the blame then, and she could let Ares take the blame now. It would be so easy. After all, he was the God of War; he'd probably be flattered. Only this wasn't about Ares. It was about her, and this time, she would not shy away from the truth. The God of War may not have lifted a finger to avert this conflict, but it hadn't been Ares who had sent the Am azons against his daughter and Xena. It had been Gabrielle of Potadeia.

It was a relief to admit it. Gabrielle managed a sad half-smile at herself. She had made bad decisions perhaps, but at least they had been hers. And if she could get herself into this mess, she could get herself out of it.

There had been a little girl in Potadeia who believed in the goodness inside all people, even ones with a knife to your throat. Of course, that had been before she'd had a knife to her throat... But it was that little girl who had stopped a war once, when the Horde had terrorised Athens. Tending to a prisoner, she'd realised that the barbarian warriors dying on the battlefield were calling for water, and she'd crawled through the mud and bodies and blood to give a drink to the wounded and dying. The Horde had taken that for a truce. Understanding the other side, Xena had said then. That was how little Gabrielle had ended the war: she had talked to the other side. It was time the Amazon Queen took a few lessons from that village girl.

For the first time since she had heard the scouts report sighting the Roman forces, Gabrielle felt some sense of control returning. It wasn't too late. She just had to talk to the other side, to Xena, to Livia, to Rome. And if Ares had been willing to forgo this war before...

Gabrielle leapt to her feet, balancing easily on the branch, and called, "Ares!"

Dimly, she was aware of how comfortable she had become with this, with climbing trees and wearing armour. She pushed that worrying thought aside and repeated, "Ares, I need to ask you something." When no reply came, she softened her tone. "Please."

She strained her awareness, listening with her entire body to the night, to the small sounds of insects in the grass below, to the whisperings of the leaves around her. She wasn't even sure what she was listening for. Xena did this somehow, but Gabrielle had no idea what would alert her to Ares' presence. It didn't matter, she decided. She didn't have to see him. She just hoped he was listening.

"Ares," she said softly, "I know about Varia. And the Amazon nation. And I know you were going to make the Amazons fight Rome, before you gave up the idea. For Xena."

"Oh, really."

Gabrielle was ready for him. She turned slowly, keeping a tight rein on her sudden hopefulness, trying to look calm and unruffled. Ares stood on the tapering end of the same branch a couple of paces away; it sprang and bent slightly under his weight. He looked ... strange. Not the looming dark god with burning eyes who had taunted her earlier – more like a man tormented by visions, enraged because he would not show his fear. Gabrielle caught the movement as he schooled his face into an expression of bored scepticism.

"Perhaps you haven't heard: I don't make a habit of giving up without a fight." He motioned in the direction of the Roman camp. "And that's where you come in. I think I'll enjoy this battle."

"I think not."

Ares actually stared at her. Gabrielle felt her spirits rise a little more. He didn't look particularly godly or frightening right now, stunned as he was at her audacity. Maybe that was how Xena saw him: not as the God of War, but just as a man with exasperating habits and a bad job, who could be badgered into having some decency. And there was a bit of decency inside him, if only a very little. At least he had told her about Xena, that she was all right 'for now'.... Whatever 'for now' meant.

Gabrielle swallowed a little. "I wanted to, uh... thank you. For what you did earlier. For telling me about Xena." She paused, steeling herself. "Why did you?"

Ares gave her a withering look, but Gabrielle thought she caught a glimpse of discomfort in it. "I told you nothing. And I intend to keep it that way, so if that's all you were going to ask—" He stepped back as if to disappear.

"Not all," Gabrielle interrupted, and felt quite pleased with herself. She could do this. "Ares, about this war..."

"It's all yours, blondie," he scowled. "It's a bit too late to back out."

Gabrielle felt herself getting angry. "Too late for whom? For Xena, for your daughter? Ares, if you let this happen, it will be too late. For all of you."

Ares' mouth thinned in exasperation. "Save the dramatics, Gabrielle. You have an army of fifty thousand waiting for your orders. Most warriors in your shoes would be calling the God of War for advice right about now. Unless you're one of them, I suggest you stop wasting my time."

Gabrielle stilled her tongue with an effort, saying nothing, just looking up at Ares' face in the night.

"What?" he barked, and Gabrielle realised with a jolt that she was getting to him. Another surge of hopefulness sent her breath aflutter. Perhaps there was a chance...

"You're a coward," she said with icy composure. She wondered where it had come from, but it was just a passing curiosity, she felt borne away by her conviction. "You're afraid of me."

Ares gave an incredulous laugh. "Please tell me you're joking."

"You are. You're so scared of the truth, you can't even meet my eyes." Ares jerked his eyes to hers deliberately, but Gabrielle did not pause. "But I know, Ares. You were going to give up this war. You even brought me here, knowing I would try to stop it. Only the war happened anyway and you didn't have the guts to tell Xena – because then you would've had to tell her about Varia, too, about your plan to pit the Amazons and Livia against each other. Xena would've blamed you, and she was already furious with you because of Eve—"

"First I'm scared of the 'truth', now it's Xena?"

"Fine then." Gabrielle narrowed her eyes at him; Ares looked like he'd been going to cross his arms, then decided against it, meeting her stare. "So tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you weren't scared. Tell me you gave Xena my message."

He did cross his arms. Like a defiant child, Gabrielle thought, and the ridiculousness of that image nearly made her laugh; next to him, she was the one who should have felt like a child. She waited. When he continued to say nothing, she sighed.

"Ares... You don't have to do this. You were going to stop this war once before. So what's changed? Xena has seen the Amazons now; she must know about the tribes uniting anyway. Maybe she is furious with you, but look – this is your chance." She gave Ares a tense smile, but his face remained impassive in the dappled shadows of the tree. "Take me to her. I'll tell Xena the truth; she'll know this wasn't your doing. Come on." She hesitated a moment, then stretched out her arm and touched his hand. His skin was surprisingly warm. "Please. Let me talk to her."

Ares gripped her hand painfully and flung it aside. "Poor girl."

His voice dropped so deep it was almost soundless, like a bass string, vibrating with power. Gabrielle's words snagged in her throat at the rage that came into his face. All her courage fled; she backed into the tree trunk, wondering it this was how it would end, if he would kill her here.

"You presume to know why a god does something? Let me enlighten you, Gabrielle." He took a step forward on the branch. "I made this war. I twisted your miserable little life and all the little maggots around you, and Livia, and Xena – because I'm the God of War, and I will not be dictated to by a mortal! And now, you're going to fight, and you're going to give me the greatest war in centuries." His voice rose abruptly, "I can feel it! The pulse of battle in my veins, the blood, the glory, the death... Ohh, what a blast!"

Gabrielle had backed hard against the tree, her nails digging into the bark behind her, her heart racing with terror. Ares leaned in to her and smiled, horribly. "You are nothing, Gabrielle. You can't change a thing; not you, not any of you!" His eyes lifted to the lacing of black sky in the treetop and in that moment Gabrielle wondered if he had lost his mind; then his gaze returned to her, wide and dark, "Get it? Nothing! There is only this war, and thousands of other wars for centuries, for millennia, forever! You think you can stop it? You can't stop it, Gabrielle. Not you, not Livia, not even Xena!" There was white in the corners of his mouth.

"I don't believe that!" Gabrielle heard her own voice, and could not believe she had spoken. Apparently neither could Ares, because he froze where he stood.

"You're lying!" Gabrielle repeated, to her own mounting horror. "You didn't make this war. But you'd like to believe it, wouldn't you – that you can manipulate us all like little pieces in your games, that we're just beetles you can torment for your sport. Xena said that once, remember?"

There was no movement in Ares' face, but Gabrielle stood straighter, peeling away from the tree. "I didn't understand her then, but I did later. You know when, Ares? When I saw people, real living people, herded like cattle to Dahak's holy ground to drench it in their blood. You were his lackey then, his little slave."

The muscles tensed in Ares' jaw and Gabrielle knew she had hit her mark. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Felt good, didn't it, God of War? To have your will taken from you, to be jerked about to do Dahak's bidding, like a puppet or a leashed dog! So why don't you keep going. Sacrifice the Amazons, Romans, Eve, Xena... Go on. Maybe it'll feel just as good. Maybe it will be worth it." She felt the power fall from her words, as though she had run a very long way. Quietly, she finished, "Maybe you can be Dahak."

And then she turned away, because her heart was sick and she wanted to cry and she didn't want Ares to see it. The bark was smooth and cold against her burning cheek. There was a flash of blue, but Gabrielle barely noticed it, caught in her own memories. The agony of Hope's birth, and the greater agony of her life, of knowing that something ugly and powerful beyond reason was using her, and she was unable to stop it.

She felt suddenly stupid, and very young. A pointless gesture, screaming at a god. Like cursing the wind. She of all people should have remembered that.

Gabrielle dried her tears with a sharp, angry motion. Then carefully, she climbed down again.

* * *

Ares pressed his back into a silver shield on a wall. The icy metal chilled his skin even through the thick leather of his vest. The Halls of War seemed to ring and shudder with noise, grating echoes that bounced endlessly from one wall to the next, from sword to shield, like a hundred bards all chattering wildly at him over the top of each other. Maybe it will be worth it... Maybe you can be Dahak. Like the rustle of leaves in the dark. Dahak-Dahak-Dahak...

"Shut up!" Ares yelled at them, turning around furiously. "SHUT UP!"

The echoed fled, but he could still feel them, scrabbling under the surface of his mind. He paused for breath, his chest rising and falling quickly. He didn't have to put up with this. He didn't even know why he'd talked to the blonde, why he'd let her say all those things. He should never have allowed Varia to live, should have known that she'd spill the beans eventually. He didn't know how Gabrielle had figured out that he'd meant to withdraw from this war earlier, didn't care. It didn't matter. Not now that he was back in business, not now that Xena was nothing to him. Xena thought he'd set up this whole war, and maybe he had! Who was the blonde to question him? Nothing, Ares reminded himself. They were all nothing. And he was the God of War.

Resolutely, he walked to the back of the hall, to the tiered dais that held his throne. One foot over the first step, he paused in sudden distaste. This hall. It had been years, he'd all but forgotten, but the bard's wild ranting had brought back memories. Hope's cocoon, its slimy translucent bulk wedged disgustingly into his throne like it belonged there; Dahak's voice scalding his mind with demands... Felt good, didn't it, God of War? To have your will taken from you, to be jerked about to do Dahak's bidding, like a puppet or a leashed dog!.. And Hope's insistent hands snaking cold and intimate around his body, her touch freezing him even as Dahak's taunts burned him inside, humiliating him.

Trapped. That was what he'd felt then, and the shame was still hot even after all this time. He had been manipulated, a pawn in a game completely beyond his control. Was this how mortals felt?

Ares refused the memories. He mounted the high dais steps with all the ease he could summon, seating himself in the supple leather of his throne. He leaned back. The echoes ceased; black marble columns stood tall and silent around the hall, just as they always had. He was overreacting. Dahak was gone and his evil brat was dead, and none of it had anything to do with him. It was all in the past. He was just about to congratulate himself for regaining control, when the thought returned defiantly, as though Gabrielle's raving accusations had found a new home in his mind. Maybe you can be Dahak.

It couldn't be true. He wasn't anything like Dahak! Dahak had been something unnatural, not even a deity but a thing.

And that thing had found the deepest crevices of his mind and taunted him with weaknesses he'd never suspected he had. Ares shifted nervously in his seat. He couldn't let it get to him; it was Xena's own fault if she wouldn't take his help! He was moving on to better things, claiming his daughter, doing his job – that's right, it was his job. If Xena wanted to be beaten to a pulp in a filthy Roman tent, then it was her own doing, she couldn't blame him for it...

You're a coward, insisted a wormy little thought that sounded suspiciously like Gabrielle. Then his own voice joined in, mocking him. You are nothing, Ares.

* * *

Xena crouched on the dirt floor, her body shivering thinly under the blanket they'd finally thrown her. She guessed it was fever. It wasn't cold really, except where the spreading numbness from the lash-cuts on her back was eating into muscle. The broken skin felt infected, hot and stretched too tight. Her teeth were chattering, making small noises in the stinking darkness. She knew she should move, restore some feeling to her legs, but the blood-sodden ropes at her ankles and wrists had stiffened and movement made them chafe raw skin. She wanted water.

She wondered how long it had been since Livia had come into the tent, clutching the Amazon pendant she had sent with the guard. A last resort, that. But there had been no choice, not anymore. So Xena had summoned all the strength left in her voice and told the guard impatiently where to look for it, and that his general would not be happy if he did not deliver the pendant at once. There was a twisted kind of relief in seeing the man obey his prisoner's order. Her confidence had been a bluff, a commander's trick, something she had learned from Caesar. Perhaps it was important, that she was recognising Caesar's footprints inside her now. More likely it was just thirst clouding her mind.

She had watched the crack of moonlight in the doorflap after that, counting anxious minutes until she could see her daughter again, until she could have another chance to tell her everything. Everything, this time. No Semra, not anymore. Finally the doorway had opened to a blinding hot glare, letting in Livia, fully armed, carrying a torch. Xena's heart gave a jolt. Curiosity had brought her daughter back when nothing else could. Livia stabbed the torch into the ground, so that the room writhed orange on black and filled immediately with the reek of hot tar. Xena coughed. A moment later Livia was swinging the right of caste pendant before her face.

"So now I'm an Amazon queen." The derision in her tone could not entirely mask the spark of curiosity.

"Not yet." Xena looked up past the pendant, trying to see her daughter's eyes, but could not tell what the heavy kohl hid inside them.

"Meaning what?"

"It's a long story."

"You told Lepidus that this thing," Livia tossed the pendant into the air, catching it deftly in her palm, "can make me an Amazon queen. I'm not interested in stories. A simple answer will do."

"The simplest answer is the long story."

Xena paused, her head tilted up awkwardly. That was when she noticed that something had changed in Livia's stance since she'd stormed outside earlier. There was a new confidence to her bearing, an almost jovial air. As though she'd already won. Xena understood then, wordlessly. She was too late. Ares had spoken to their daughter.

"What did he tell you?" she asked softly.

"Everything you didn't. Your name. Gabrielle's."

That last came as a swift kick, hard. Xena turned her head to hide the pain. "I see."

"The pendant?" Livia's slender fingers were toying with it possessively.

"Sit down," Xena said, not to Livia but to her daughter. "I'll tell you the rest. I promise." Then she stopped trying to find her eyes, and added, "It involves Marcus."

Livia's hand clenched on the pendant.

The torch hissed and spluttered, and for a long time there were no other sounds. The fire glinted off the patterns of bronze on Livia's armour, the rising hot air billowing her scarlet cloak. Then Livia sat.

"All right." A faint odour of wine rode over the heavy stench of tar from the torch. She wrapped her cloak about herself. "I want to know."

Xena shifted painfully into a half-turn to face her daughter beside her. "I'm going to tell you the truth," she warned. "Everything."

Livia nodded. "I want to know." She sat back, her hands dropping into her lap, and Xena thought back to a bedroom in Dyrrachium. This time, she would not hold back.

The words came haltingly at first, like the splitting of a dam, a mere trickle then faster and surer, a flood. She started with her own name, because she wanted to say it to her daughter. She told her about Gabrielle, how she'd once risked her life trying to save an Amazon princess and how the woman had then given Gabrielle her own right of caste – the same one that now rested in the palm of Livia's hand. She told her daughter about her birth, the joy she'd felt then, and about her initiation into Gabrielle's tribe. And finally, she told her about the land of Ch'in, about the tyrant whose defeat had come at a devastating price, stealing so many years of their lives, and this child whose life meant more to Xena than her own.

"You were wearing this pendant when Marcus found you on the beach," Xena finished. "He told Gabrielle that he'd meant to return it to you."

"Then I'm an Amazon." There was no feeling in Livia's voice. Xena understood that.

"Yes. With this, you can talk to their council as one of them. Negotiate the treaty you wanted. You can do it, without spilling blood. You can win this, Eve."

"Livia," her daughter said roughly, and Xena was shocked by dark raw hurt in the eyes that met her own. "And you're right. I can win. I will."

Xena's heart gave a dull thud. "If you go to war, the only one who wins will be Ares. There is a better way, you're holding it in your hand! Come on. You're too smart to let it go."

Slowly, Livia shook her head, her eyes always on Xena's. Then she shouted over her shoulder – "Guard!"

Lepidus was inside in an instant, drawing his dagger. Xena tried to get up, but Livia pushed her back down with the heel of one hand and swung herself to her feet. She pulled the torch from the ground and flicked her head at Lepidus. "See that she gets a blanket. And something to eat."

"Yes, General." He remained where he was. "Is that all?"

"No."

Xena watched her daughter stand still with the heavy hot torch, her face all in shadow. Livia was weighing up some decision, Xena could see it in the odd slowness of her movements as she turned back to the guard, in the flicker of the torch flame. Livia threw the edge of her cloak over her shoulder smoothly, but Xena caught the quick tremor of her hand.

"Send for Rufus immediately. Tell him the scouts have a message for the Amazons. And tell him..."

Xena waited, so tense she had stopped breathing.

"Tell him, no weapons," Livia said at last. "I want a parley."

Relief flooded Xena's senses. The torchlight turned to a watery gold curtain in front of her eyes, it was difficult to see out. She blinked, several times, but by then her daughter had gone from the tent, and she was alone again. She could not help a smile, through the tears, through the pains in her body. A parley. Her daughter had gone to talk to the Amazons. Xena knew well what courage it took to stand before an army ready for battle and talk peace instead. She hoped her daughter would know it, too.

That had been many hours ago. At least it seemed that way. It was difficult to tell how deep the night was now, except that occasionally, Xena thought she could hear the chirrup of a bird somewhere outside, and knew that dawn was not far away. She huddled into the blanket, cursing her body for burning with fever, for shaking, for letting her down. She was so close. So very close. She didn't dare even to think about what was going on outside now, about the scouts who would have reached the Amazons, about Gabrielle... It was too fragile, it could all fall apart at the slightest touch of her mind.

"Traitor. You awake?"

Xena raised her head. The burly guard, Lepidus, stood at the doorway. He had drawn his sword and was holding it defensively, Xena noticed with fever-bright amusement. She wondered if he thought she could run in this state, or if the weapon was meant to make him more threatening. Then she noticed the bucket in his other hand. She moved her swollen tongue with difficulty, slurring the words, "Better be... water."

"Here." He set the bucket at her feet. It sloshed over her bare knees, making her shudder, and soaked into the ground. "Damn lucky, you are. General says she needs you alive."

"Then... I'm luckier than most of you." Xena wondered how much he knew. "At least I won't be... fighting Amazons."

Lepidus gave her a bitter look. "A real smart one, aren't you. But you picked the wrong man to try your wiles on, 'cause I know what you're doing, Semra. You won't be finding out the General's plans, not from me."

Xena shrugged, trying to hide the disappointment she felt. She hoped desperately that she would not succumb to the fever for a while longer, long enough to know that everything would be all right, that Gabrielle was safe, and Eve had her treaty...

"You going to drink or not?" He gave the bucket a light tap with the toe of his boot, just hard enough to spill some more into Xena's lap. Her parched throat closed at the waste of water.

"Soon as you untie my hands." She moved her shoulders, knowing it was hopeless. Lepidus snorted.

"Sure, and show you the way out. Drink like that." Then he turned and walked outside, resealing the doorway behind him.

Xena groaned, kneeing her way closer to the bucket, ignoring the now-wet earth muddying her legs, the tremors racking her body. She dropped her face into the cool water, drinking thirstily like an animal, ignoring everything but the blessed coolness running over her lips, down her throat, over her hot skin. She closed her eyes, letting her face float in the water for a while, not breathing, not thinking. Then she sat back, gasping hard. Her hair ran wet down her face like seagrass. She thought she could smell the sea, salt air, the peculiar dampness inside a spiral seashell. Gabrielle had given her a shell like that once, and told her to listen. The sea rushed inside it, Xena had heard it then. She could hear it now, pounding in her ears. She shouldn't have chilled her fever like that, all at once. Stupid thing to do, she thought through the rush of waves on the shore. Now she wouldn't be able to stay awake...

And then she was back in the sea, lying on her back as the waves melted in the sand, and Gabrielle was there beside her. She knew they had just escaped from Illusia and everything was going to be okay now, and they laughed and laughed.

It's What I Do

But over the tower the night raised its flag,
Its own true colour, its banner of black;
Three armies have gathered for carnage at night,
Three sources of nightmares, three ghoulish dreams,
Three sources of three black rivers of Hell,
What use against them was only one man?
Let's gather in the place where his house had stood,
Where the grass grows high over coals of wood
And we'll bury our joy in those blackened old coals
In the place where he perished – the last man on Earth.

Nautilus Pompilius, "The Last Man on Earth"

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle, wake up!"

"Stop shaking me..." Gabrielle buried her face deeper in her arms, trying to pull her mind back into sleep, back into comfortable darkness. She had been dreaming; warm, peaceful dreams where she was with Xena, and the forest smelled like summer around them, and the trees nodded thoughtfully to her words. She had been telling a story, and Xena had listened with that look of fond amusement she used to have, before... All this. The dreams shifted now, ignoring Gabrielle's resistance, forcing her back to the surface of awareness.

"I'm awake," she said, and opened her eyes. Her head hurt. She must have fallen asleep at her map-table when she returned after the confrontation with Ares; a glance at the pale light between the open doorflaps told her it was dawn, the start of a cloudy, soggy day. Shivers of wind passed over the tent, making the leather creak. Gabrielle sat up, every muscle in her body cramping indignantly. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. "Varia?"

Varia took her hand from her shoulder. She looked dishevelled, as though she too had been roused from sleep without warning. Her hair was swept back into a loose plait, her eyes heavy with dark circles. She was holding a piece of parchment with a death grip.

"A message from the Romans," she said tersely. "With Livia's seal."

Gabrielle was awake at once, dreams forgotten. She snatched the parchment, fumbling with the string that tied it.

"When did it come?" she asked – then looked up with a frown. "It's broken. The seal." The wax clinked apart into two halves in her hand.

Varia looked unhappy, but defiant. "I read it. The messengers are still here, waiting for the answer." She prodded at the scroll in Gabrielle's palm, "Read it."

Gabrielle unrolled the scroll and scanned the message, reading more and more slowly as its meaning sank in. Blood rushed to her face, pulsing in her temples like fear.

She looked up at Varia, biting her lip. "Livia is asking for a parley. Maybe ... she wants peace." She was dismayed by the uncertainty in her own voice.

"Yeah, right," Varia scoffed. "She came here with four legions looking for peace?"

"It's possible she's changed her mind. She had Xena beside her all this time; Xena can be very persuasive. There may be more to Livia than anyone knows."

Varia regarded her for a moment. "You don't believe it, do you? You say it, but you know she's lying. She's like us: she wants to fight! She doesn't want a treaty."

Gabrielle flushed and looked away. "It doesn't matter what I believe. Right now we have to talk to those messengers."

"I agree. We better find out what Livia is playing at."

Gabrielle didn't trust herself to answer. Wasn't this exactly what she'd hoped for, a chance to talk to the other side? So why couldn't she be happier about it?

She held up the message. "Have the others seen this? The council?"

"They're with the Romans now. We better hurry."

Gabrielle poured some water from a clay jug into her hand, splashed her face, then drank the rest in long gulps. It was lukewarm, but she felt a shudder in her hands anyway. She rose, picking up the amulet of beaten silver that distinguished her as a council member and slipping it over her head, then motioned for Varia to precede her. "Where are they?"

"Central west watchtower."

Varia was already at the door. Gabrielle hurried after her, and the two of them cut straight across the awakening camp, past rows of earth-covered coals from last night's cooking fires. Several women came out of their tents at the racket, halfway through arming themselves. Gabrielle caught their puzzled looks as she ran with Varia, faces turning to follow them. She was acutely aware that the commanders of an army should not be hurtling across the camp like children in a schoolyard, but even more acutely, she was aware of the message scroll in her hand. Had Xena seen it? Could it be true, that Livia knew of her Amazon heritage, that she wanted to talk? Had Xena succeeded? It seemed possible, and yet it was so hard to believe... Gabrielle squeezed the parchment tighter, as though it was Xena's hand. She stumbled, regained her footing, tried not to think of Xena at all. It would be all right. But before she could convince herself of that, they had reached the tower.

The watchtower was an elevated walled platform, supported by thick crossbeams at its base that served also as the camp gate. To either side of it, the earthen camp-wall was banked to twice Gabrielle's height. Its digging had left a wide ditch outside to run the length of the wall, continuing past the gate; at the moment was spanned there by a makeshift wooden bridge, guarded by four Amazon warriors armed with spears.

Another detachment of guards was arranged in a circle about fifty paces back from the gate, facing inwards with their spears crossed. The area around them had been cleared, forming something like a marching ground two hundred paces across, overlooked by archers in the watchtower above.

"There," Varia pointed out to Gabrielle as they crossed the clearing and approached the Amazons gathered there. "Livia's messengers."

Two guards moved their spears apart to let Gabrielle and Varia pass into the circle. The Romans stood in its centre. There were three of them, on foot, an absurdly small group. All three wore full armour and ostentatiously plumed helmets, but their scabbards were empty, and there were no daggers at their belts. Gabrielle recognised one of the Romans as Rufus, the young tribune who had quizzed her about Amazon warfare. She wondered if he recognised her in her Amazon attire. If he did, he gave no sign.

Prothoë, Cyane and several other council members were already present; they stood around the Romans in a semicircle, each queen in her proper accustomed place. Gabrielle was surprised to see Marga among them, wearing the half-moon amulet of a former queen instead of the full circle that was now Gabrielle's. So she was calling in her right to speak at the council. Gabrielle nodded to her uneasily.

There were two gaps in the semicircle. "Sisters," she greeted the others, taking her place. To her left, she saw Varia do the same.

"What's going on, Gabrielle?" demanded Prothoë, sweeping aside all formalities. She tucked a red curl behind her ear impatiently and came forward. "Why does Livia have your right of caste?"

"Because your own queen gave it to her; see!"

All heads turned at the sound of Rufus' voice. There was no mistaking the leather pendant that hung from his fingers, dancing in the morning breeze. He thrust his hand higher into the air, "Here!"

Gabrielle felt herself coiling, as if preparing for a jump.

"So she stole it!" Varia broke in. She came forward to stand small and dark opposite Prothoë, and gave Gabrielle a tense smile of support. "It means nothing. That thing is a worthless trinket unless it's given with the proper rites, in the Amazon lands. All of you know that!"

"That's true – if it was stolen."

Marga's calm voice pre-empted Gabrielle's reply. Her dark, wide-set eyes measured Gabrielle. "That pendant was given to Xena's daughter when she stayed with our tribe, to receive your right of caste. You told us she was dead, Gabrielle."

Her voice was accusation and question at the same time. Gabrielle knew Marga was giving her an opening, a chance to explain. Why hadn't she told them about this?

The gathering had grown very still, waiting for her answer. Gabrielle thought she must look like a tousle-headed child, slightly dazed from a too-sudden awakening. Doggedly, she focused her mind on a single thought: there was only one person who could have told Livia about the pendant's significance, Xena. And Xena wouldn't have done it if she wasn't sure of her daughter. Livia wants peace, Gabrielle told herself firmly. Livia is not like Hope, she can change. Livia had already changed. She had to believe it.

Cyane's brows furrowed in thought; she glanced back to the waiting Romans. "Could someone have taken the pendant from Eve's body? Perhaps Livia bought it..."

"No." Gabrielle clipped the word sharply. She refused to look away from the faces turned to her. It was time to stop lying. "Livia is Eve."

There was a long silence – then everything fell apart. Amazons yelled over one another, demanding answers, crowding her. Gabrielle tried to fend them off, but could find no voice to silence them. Marga did it for her, motioning at the guards to lead the Romans out of earshot. Rufus and the others followed the guards reluctantly, stopping when they were well away.

"How can this be?" Marga asked, frowning at Gabrielle. "You said Eve was not buried in the mountain with you, but was killed in a fall..."

"She survived. The Romans found her."

The cries rose again; Gabrielle caught Varia's stunned look, but could offer no more explanations, not now. She wished she was a better person. She wished she didn't resent Xena for having saved her daughter.

"When did you plan on telling us, sister?" Prothoë's voice sliced through the din, forcing the cries to quieten. "What other secrets do you have from us?"

"I'm sorry." To Gabrielle's surprise, her voice did not sound helpless but almost reasonable, controlled. "I misled you only in this, nothing else. The truth is, I didn't..." She paused. "I didn't believe that Livia could be changed. But Xena did. That's why she stayed beside her, to try to ... make her understand."

"So Livia is Xena's daughter," one of the Southern queens said at last, as though coming to terms with the idea. Someone made a sound of disbelief, other shook their heads.

"She is." Gabrielle glanced up and saw that Marga had signalled the guards to bring the Roman messengers back; the three of them were now walking back briskly, surrounded by Amazon spears.

"Is that why Xena could not stop her?" asked Cyane. "Because Livia is her own child?"

Gabrielle saw no malice in Cyane's keen eyes, only an honest question. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Xena trusted Livia with the pendant. Trust Xena.

"Xena did stop her," she said. "She gave her daughter that pendant for a reason. With her right of caste, Eve can negotiate with us without losing face in front of her men. We can make an alliance with Rome to benefit us all, instead of destroying each other in this war."

"Ally ourselves with Rome?" Varia, beside her, all but choked out the words. "That's insane!"

Gabrielle felt a slap of heat on her face; coming from Varia, the words hurt much worse than all of Prothoë's accusations. She had grown used to relying on Varia's support.

"Is that such a foolish notion?" one of the Romans spoke up.

Gabrielle started at the familiar voice, then her mouth went dry. "Livia?.."

Livia removed her helmet and shook out her long dark curls, clearly enjoying the scattered gasps of the Amazons. Rufus and the other man stepped back deferentially. The tension in the ring of guards went up a notch; they edged their spears closer. Livia held out her hands to show that she was unarmed – and that she had the right of caste pendant. She slipped it around her neck.

"Your queen speaks sense." Her voice was faultlessly polite, crisp. "I came here myself as a gesture of trust. It would be a pity to waste our people's lives when we can work together."

"Not a pity to waste yours!" yelled one of the Amazons, and Prothoë agreed calmly, "We could kill you where you stand, Roman. The archers in that tower never miss."

Livia spared her a tolerant look. "You could. I stand unarmed in your camp. It would be – easy."

Gabrielle felt her own cheeks colouring, even as she saw the same response in the other Amazons: embarrassment at the dishonourable threat, and grudging admiration of Livia's bravery. That was how she'd built her following, Gabrielle realised. That was how the baby in Xena's arms had become Rome's Champion: she acted as though she could be nothing less.

Livia looked at her. For a moment, Gabrielle forgot to breathe. Those were Xena's eyes, piercing right through her soul, but with none of Xena's warmth or forgiveness. See, they seemed to say, Xena doesn't need you. Her daughter is here to speak of peace – not because of you, Gabrielle, but despite you. Gabrielle suppressed a shudder. When had Livia become Xena's Hope in her mind? When had she decided that Livia could not change?

"Queen Gabrielle," Livia acknowledged her. "I believe we've already met."

Gabrielle nodded uneasily. "We have."

"Only then you were a spy in my army."

"I wasn't a spy!" Gabrielle protested, then realised how silly that sounded. What else had 'Jana' been? "I was your mother's friend," she finished lamely.

"Of course," Livia agreed too easily, then looked past her, to address the rest of the council. "I appreciate your acceptance of my messengers, but I would like to negotiate with you fairly, as one of your own. As an Amazon."

"You want a seat on the council?" Marga asked incredulously. "But that's impossible. Gabrielle is queen of your tribe."

"Yes, she is," Livia said. "For now."

Gabrielle felt as if she had been struck with a staff, her legs cracked under her. Livia went on, "By Amazon law, I can take her place, if –" she looked directly at Gabrielle – "I challenge her."

The world seemed to be spinning; all Gabrielle could see was Livia's triumphant stare and the blur of Amazon faces around her, soundless, caught, hemmed in. She'd feared a Roman attack, but Livia had found a much easier way to destroy the Amazons, one they could not refuse without denying their laws, denying themselves.

No queen could refuse a rightful challenge. Livia had the right of caste. She had the right to challenge.

Marga turned to Gabrielle with fury and sadness in her face, and Gabrielle wanted suddenly to thank her for it, for this quiet dignity she gave her.

"She has the right to do this," Marga said with dark regret. "She has your right of caste. If you decline... If you decline, you forfeit to Rome."

That seemed to change something for the others; Gabrielle realised that the Amazons saw a truth in Livia's challenge, a test for them. Livia had walked into their camp unarmed. Now she wanted to know if the Amazon queen had the same courage, if she was a worthy opponent. One negotiated with equals, just as one fought with equals. They were counting on their queen to uphold their honour.

They were counting on her to fight Xena's child.

Gabrielle could not speak; she stood perfectly still until there was silence, until they were all watching her. Livia's eyes remained cool and calm, twin mirrors that threw Gabrielle's own fear back at her, revealing nothing of the woman's own thoughts.

"I'm losing my patience, Amazon Queen. What is your decision?"

"I don't want to fight you, Eve." Once the words were out, Gabrielle could not stop herself. She felt foolish prickling tears pressing into her eyes, her nose. She remembered holding this baby in her arms, still slick with afterbirth, warm, crimson-faced from screaming. "I held you, when you were born." The tears were spilling now, not a thing she could do about it. "You're Xena's daughter! And because you are hers you are mine also, and all the Amazons'. You don't need to fight us, Eve. You are one of us."

Gabrielle saw something flinch and twist in Livia's face, breaking the mask of confidence. She took a slow, tentative step forward, not daring to breathe. Livia glared at her, but said nothing. Gabrielle took another step, then another, until she was close enough to see that Livia's self-assurance was a bluff; her hands were shaking and her breathing was as quick as a child's.

"Daughter of Xena," Gabrielle said solemnly, "you can create peace between us and Rome. Do it, Eve. Come home."

Livia's face contorted violently. "Forget it!"

She looked over Gabrielle's head at the rest of the council, the Amazon Queens who were watching them in tense heavy silence. "What is this Xena to you?" she demanded. Her gaze ricocheted from one woman to the next, challenging, angry. "Don't any of you remember what she did to you?! Let me remind you. My – mother," she stressed the word, "murdered Amazons in cold blood!"

She paused in disgust, as though the story pained her.

"This Xena whom your queen here holds in such respect once invaded a sacred ritual and slaughtered all the elders of the Northern tribes. The entire council, gone. Just like that." Livia's gaze stopped on Cyane, acknowledging her Northern dress. "Isn't that so, Amazon?"

"It's true," Cyane conceded. Gabrielle caught her apologetic glance.

"There, it's true!" Livia rejoined with a bright, false smile. "You see—"

"Wait," Cyane protested, "We don't deny Xena's crimes, but she was also the one who came back to save us and make us strong again..."

It was too late; no one was listening. Livia's aim had been impeccable, Gabrielle looked pleadingly to the others, but their eyes were bright and hard, and there were more words spilling from Livia's mouth in a torrent of violence: "I am not Xena! I will never backstab you the way she did, never! Your laws are my laws, and I will obey them. Obey you, the Amazon council!"

The Amazon yelled their approval, united in mutual hatred, mutual purpose, cobbled together into a nation by Livia with such ease. Gabrielle felt lightheaded, as though her feet could not quite reach the ground in this sea of grimacing faces... They believed her. They believed Livia, they saw her fire and did what they would have never expected – accepted her, trusted her, believed that she understood them. Effortlessly, Livia had supplanted Gabrielle.

"She has them."

Gabrielle turned at Cyane's words, at their sadness that carried through all the noise.

"You'll have to fight her," Cyane said gravely. "If you don't, it is over. She will make them Rome's slaves and they'll never notice."

Gabrielle glanced back at the Amazons who now surrounded Livia, at Varia's upturned face ablaze with the reflected fire from Livia's words, at Marga's level stare, at Prothoe's flaming hair in the wind like a banner of war. Then Livia's stare met hers, over the crowd. Startled, Gabrielle felt her face grow hot, her tongue numb with fear. There was a triumph in Livia's eyes that was obscenely familiar. Xena. Xena could smile that way, when her sword was in her hands, a moment before it sliced a man's throat.

Someone's hand was gentle on Gabrielle's shoulder. "I can fight her for you." Cyane's voice. "I know what she – what Xena... What they mean to you."

Gabrielle shook her head without looking away from Livia. "No." She imagined this fight, Cyane collapsing under Livia's sword, her eyes huge and kind and closing slowly, her head hitting the ground with a hollow crack, dead. No, it was the other way around, it was Eve who fell in ponderous slow motion while Gabrielle stood by and watched... "No." She turned to Cyane, squeezed her hand quickly. "It's not your fight." Then a black humour twisted her mouth, and she didn't know if it was Cyane she spoke to, or the gods, or no one at all. "Of course, why not. I've already killed one daughter."

She ignored Cyane's sound of shocked anguish, and stepped forward. In the loud, clear voice of the Amazon Queen she said, "Livia! I accept your challenge."

There was a brief silence. Gabrielle held Livia's cold eyes, her head raised, her shoulders squared. Then Varia's voice called her name – "Gabrielle!" – and it became a chant around her and Livia, encircling the two of them as they watched each other – "Gab-ri-elle! Gab-ri-elle!" – only Gabrielle couldn't even hear it, and the faces seemed all a blur around Livia, around those blue blue eyes that belonged to Xena. That was all that remained, Gabrielle thought, all that was left to her of Xena. She was going to kill their one remaining child, or die at her hand, it didn't matter which. Either way it was over.

Good-bye, my friend, she said silently, and then aloud – "I love you, Xena."

Livia smiled.

* * *

The fight had started. Ares found himself pacing the prison tent, three strides from one corner to the next along the wall and back again. Damn, damn, damn. His fist scraped the wall as he walked, the edge of his ring leaving pale scratches in the dark oily leather. He stared at those lines, refusing to turn around, to see the body on the floor. He had made the mistake of looking before and now couldn't dislodge the image from his mind. It wasn't Xena. It couldn't be Xena, she had no right to look this way!

Ares stopped, turned around. The vaguely human shape was still there: a tangle of naked limbs in the dirt, the pale oval of her back criss-crossed by unnaturally straight lines, the violet, red, brown skin shiny and raised and looking like something fake, not skin at all but painted wax. One arm held an upturned leather bucket, hugging it close. It wasn't Xena. Ares thought of her in the rage of battle, galloping wild into the thick of horses and men, screaming, invincible...

But she wasn't invincible. She was human, broken, hurt. Ares stood rigid in the shadows, watching. He thought he saw her move, her fingers twitch slightly.

"Xena?" Was that croak really his voice?

She made a sound that was half-breath, as though the pain surprised her, turned her head then was still again. He could see her face now. There seemed to be a drumbeat outside, the call of the distant fight, the Amazons' drums, Livia. Ares felt its pull like a string on his mind, urging him to get out of here and take his place at the fight, to see his daughter finally become his champion. He didn't move. Something was swelling up in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. There were twin red spots of fever in Xena's cheeks; around them her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow faintly in the half-darkness. How could she lie there? Why didn't she wake up, get up, do something?! He wanted to touch her. He couldn't touch her; he felt a mad conviction that if he did her skin would be cold, brittle as ice. His chest kept swelling until air and words were stuck in his throat like a wad of bandages. He wanted to kiss her.

Xena opened her eyes.

Instinctively Ares moved back into the shadows, but everything in him leapt forward, to her. The drumbeat was louder than ever, battering the tent; it took him a moment to realise it was raining.

"Eve challenged Gabrielle," he blurted out. He felt a suffocating anxiety that it was too late, though for what he could not say.

"Eve?" Xena sat up without so much as wincing at her injuries, stood up. Rainwater was leaking in through the roof, drops hitting the floor between them. "There is no Eve, Ares. Not anymore." Her eyes were level with his now, looking at him without depth, without even the spark of anger. "Her name is Livia."

Ares held out his hand and focused on a single thought. There was a brief flash of aether; when it faded, he was holding Xena's chakram. Her armour and leather tunic lay in a heap on the floor; he saw her eyes dart to them quickly, widening. "What are you doing?"

"Take it." When Xena didn't move, Ares thrust the chakram into her hand furiously, "Take it!"

He had to get out of here, get away; he couldn't stand Xena's eyes and this awful hot tenderness inside him; he couldn't stand the sound of the rain and the drums and the knowledge that he was as close as he'd ever been to seeing every one of his plans fulfilled – Rome, the Amazons, war, a great champion – and all he could care about was the fear that he'd never hold Xena again.

The aether flashed again, and Xena was left alone, holding the chakram like a shield before her.

Her child was dead. Her friend was not – not yet.

There was a harsh noise like a shriek, then rain and light spilled into the tent from the ruptured wall, a thin horizontal wedge of whiteness. Xena felt tears in her eyes, swiped at them with her free hand, kicked aside the heap of armour on the floor as she cut the wall again and ran out. She felt that her whole body had been taken over by a great force she could neither understand nor control; it propelled her through the Roman camp as though it were no more than a theatre-set of paper tents and soldiers while she was a knife, cold and dead and very sharp. She felt no pain. There were faces around her, she caught them as glimpses of round-mouthed horror or pain, some trying to stop her with paper spears, paper words, others too stunned to do more than stare. Perhaps they thought of her as a fury or a goddess; it pleased Xena that they opened the gates and she didn't have to kill the guard. What was his name? She would remember later, not now, not yet.

The rain was coming down harder now, roaring like an army in the open marshes, adding water to boggy ground to turn it into treacle through which she ran, stumbled, kept running as in a nightmare, never fast enough. The rain hid the Amazon camp from view, but it also hid her from the Romans, should any be mad enough to come after her. There were sounds of a fight now, in the distance, distorted by the rain. Xena stopped, clutched at a clump of coarse reeds for support, listened. Another scream, some more sounds, steel on steel. Water was coursing down her face, unchecked, the cold climbing from her numb muddied feet into her bones.

She heard another noise, a high note that could have only been Gabrielle; Xena knew it the way she knew that it was her own skin the rain touched, the way she knew the feel of her own hands. Gabrielle! For a moment she was lost, caught unprepared by the collapse of the walls she had put up in her mind to live with this separation, with Gabrielle's absence. Then the scream came again and drove all thought from her mind and she was running, running again towards the sound, towards that place where the only friend she had ever known was calling for her, across the marshes and the rain and the bodies of their children, and the walls.

"Gabrielle!"

"Halt!"

Xena came up short, raising her head to the rain so she could see the guardtower. The dirt wall was high, a ditch before it filled with turbid water and sharp stakes; the tower was even higher, the rain seemed to come from its roof. Two Amazons archers had their bows on her. Xena didn't raise her voice. "Open the gate."

The archers stared down at her over their nocked arrows, silent.

Xena yelled out, "Open the gate!"

The two arrows came at her at once, she threw one aside with her chakram, caught the other. She raised the circular blade to the rain, then the arrow. She saw the guards hesitate.

"Please," she said, not knowing until that very moment that she would plead with those she should kill. "Gabrielle doesn't have much time."

The guards fell back from the wall a bit, perhaps conferring. Then part of the gate was wrenched open abruptly and a plank fell over the ditch, bridging it. Xena ran in, nearly cannoning into the Amazon who held the gate; then she was inside – and everything changed.

She saw Gabrielle.

In that same moment she also the rest, the whole scene frozen like a snapshot of lightning, each motion caught clearly, without shadow. The marshalling ground puddled with mud; the ring of spears held flat to enclose the fight; the pressing, screaming crowd of Amazon queens with two red-crested Roman helmets bright among them, and the rain, the sword, the white steel raised high over Livia's head – and Gabrielle's white face beneath it.

"Livia!"

Xena saw the sword pause, saw the faces turn to her in the rain, heard Gabrielle's cry of surprise.

"Oh good," Livia screamed past the crowd, "Mum's here!" Then her blade fell screaming towards Gabrielle.

Xena released her chakram. In the split second of its flight she met Gabrielle's eyes; they were vivid green in the rain and so tired, dangerously tired, the eyes of one who has chosen to walk into death. Xena felt a rage so hot it choked her. Why Gabrielle? Why her again, after everything she'd suffered, everything she'd lived through! It hadn't been Gabrielle who'd brought Livia into the world, it wasn't her fight! She wanted to rush to her, to hold on to Gabrielle with all her strength, to kneel and beg her forgiveness – but how could she deserve that forgiveness when her chakram was in the air and she could not help but look at Livia, the Roman commander, not Eve, not Eve, not Eve...

A spear fell to the ground, two Amazons diving out of the way in the last moment, the chakram searing past them and into its mark.

It struck Livia's sword.

Xena felt her relief like a weakness. She saw Gabrielle tuck and roll and knew she was safe, saw the sword fly wildly from Livia's reach as the chakram went spinning up, high into the air.

The wrong way.

She felt a jolt of vertigo: her chakram! Livia had deflected it with a swift twist of her blade, expertly, as though she had been waiting for this; when the chakram came down, she caught it with a snap.

"Nice try, mother. You've never given me a toy before."

She raised the weapon, taunting Xena with her possession of it, as though she held her soul. Abruptly, Xena understood; her eyes darted to Gabrielle, coming out of the roll on the other side of the ring, about to stand... Then Livia's scream pierced the crowd, the rain, and she was flying through the air, turning over as the chakram split into sharp halves in her hands.

"Gabrielle, move!"

But it was too late; someone in the crowd shrieked, then there was a blur of motion and the unmistakable sound of torn flesh and two half-round blades protruding from Gabrielle's chest with Livia's hands still on them, making the things look obscenely like handles, like some terrible claws by which she held Gabrielle.

Xena broke through the ring of guards; she was through the crowd of strangers and at Gabrielle's side, refusing to think, refusing to see it.

Gabrielle reached to her: small, fragile, covered in mud and Amazon war-paint. There were tears in her eyes, tears in Gabrielle's beautiful eyes, warmer than rain. For a moment Xena thought it was she who was dying and the blood streaming over Amazon armour and whitening skin was hers. Yet she didn't fall when Gabrielle did. Gabrielle's body folded slowly as though cut at the feet, cut free from the ground, strangely graceful. The blades, Livia's claws, slid out of her as she fell. Xena caught her, but it seemed she couldn't hold her, the body she held was no longer enough to contain Gabrielle, there were gashes in her chest, blood. Gabrielle's mouth opened slightly, without breath for speech. Then it was over. Without a word from Gabrielle, it was over.

She was dead.

Xena looked up, unaware of the numb silence of the Amazons, unaware that there was no more rain.

Livia held the chakram, two halves of metal covered with Gabrielle's blood. Her face was without expression. Xena stood. Something tore inside her, a quick death; then there was nothing more. She felt very calm. Each smear of blood on Livia's weapon stood out in stark acid-etched contrast, yet it was not the chakram Xena saw, but her own sword so many years ago, raised over Gabrielle's newborn child. Incongruously, the chakram moved closer, as though Livia was offering it, like a sacrifice, like a new child. She said, "I killed him. Your Marcus. Your Gabrielle. She's dead, I killed her."

"You killed her."

"I thought you'd die if she... if she did – then I'd be free. From you. But..." Livia looked puzzled, her thin dark brows coming together. "It's strange, I've never been afraid of anyone before... You're inside me, Semra. I think. In here." She pointed at her own chest with both hands, both sides of the chakram. Gabrielle's blood on the blades was bright-red, like the two Roman helmets in the crowd. "You called me Eve, when you came to find me in the temple in Rome. I remember now. In Dyrrachium, too." She put the chakram together with a click; Xena took it. "I remember," Livia repeated almost inaudibly. "You called me Eve."

"Eve is dead," Xena said. Then she raised the chakram to her daughter's throat. "I'm here to avenge her."

Livia started very slightly. Then she nodded once, an abrupt up-and-down jerk of her head. "Do it then." She tipped her head back, arching her neck to the curve of the blade. "Eve is dead."

Xena held the chakram. The future motion of it was already in her arm, the potential for the kill coiled within her, like an army waiting for an order. She just had to let go.

Movement erupted on all sides; Xena saw from the corners of her vision the bright plumes of Roman helmets and the earth shades of Amazon armour, threatening to close in. There were screams, isolated exclamations, Rufus' frantic cry of "Commander, back here!" and an answering volley of obscenities in Latin and Greek. Something stopped them all.

Xena realised that Livia had raised her hand, sideways, her neck held still at the chakram's edge. There was a power in that movement, a command to stay out, stay away.

The wave of the crowd receded. Not even Rufus spoke. Livia's hand fell back to her side amid a closed silence. Fear, Xena thought, fear was sour in the still-damp morning air, in the greyness of it. None of them understood this Roman baring her neck for death. Fear of the unknown. Fear of madness, too, of the madwoman in a scrap of linen over bloodied skin, of her wild eyes and scraggly dark hair and her arm held straight out to the neck of the Roman.

Just let go.

The skin of Livia's neck was pale and almost translucent; there was a fine blue line on the side of it, like a river viewed from high above, from the mountains. The chakram would bisect it. Xena followed the curve of Livia's neck up, to the lines of her jaw, her face. And stopped. Tilted away from her, the face seemed rounder, smaller, the eyes shut with long dark lashes. A child's face. Her child's face. The memories came to Xena clear as spring water: the warmth of the little body nuzzled against her breast, the soft fuzz of baby hair, the pink little mouth open in a surprised 'o' when her own hands or Gabrielle's would swing her into the air, teetering in indecision between fear and delight. Ares taking the baby gingerly, so tiny in his arms. The pain, the agonising ripping blindness of her birth. The peace.

Her baby.

Gabrielle's blood on the chakram burned her hand; Xena dropped the thing and it fell, flat down. It hit the ground and lay there, slick and red within dark glistening mud.

Livia's head jerked up. Xena felt herself slip slowly backwards, as if she was a ghost whose time had run out all at once and now she was fading. The crowd fell away out of the shrinking range of her awareness. Whatever strength she'd found was leaving her now, draining like blood from Gabrielle's pierced body. Livia's hands caught her; they seemed very soft, a child's hands, and the sky drew closer somehow, colourless and pale like skin. She realised she was falling, and that the woman who had killed her soul was now holding her. These were the same hands that had killed Gabrielle. The same hands that had once been raised towards her in trust, demanding to be lifted up and held. The face pressed against her cheek was damp, trembling, the face of a murderer. Her baby's face. Her own face, Ares' face, Gabrielle's.

"Eve," she said, "Eve..."

She wished she could see her.

After a while, Livia lowered her mother's unconscious body to the ground. She was gentle; she had never tried to be gentle before. Her mother... Other thoughts she would not allow herself now, but this one thought she knew she would need: her mother. She stood very calmly, turned to her two scouts in a smooth movement, perfectly composed. She had never been as perfect a Roman as now. She had never known how hard it was.

"Rufus, I need the papers we've discussed. For the treaty."

The young man looked confused, fearful. His freckles made him seem even younger. "The papers?" he repeated helplessly. "But the fight, you won it..."

Livia shook her head slightly. "I lost."

"But she's dead!" the other scout cut in, not clever, angry. Livia was glad she didn't know his name.

An Amazon moved, came up between the two Romans, her stride as measured as the look in her eyes. A real Amazon, Livia thought, feeling younger herself now, feeling too Roman, a fool.

"There are many kinds of loss," Marga said to the scout in her calm voice. Her dark eyes rested on Livia for a moment. Then she nodded, motioned to others behind her. "Sisters, Rome asks us for peace. Prepare the council tent for meeting. Livia will join you there."

There was some hesitation, then several Amazons detached themselves from the group, gesturing to the scouts they should follow.

"Varia!" Marga called.

Livia followed the Amazon's gaze, turned and saw a short dark-haired girl crouched by Gabrielle's body, not touching it. There were two bright trails cutting through the ochre paint on her face, and her eyes were red. Marga bowed her head slightly at the girl, a silent acknowledgement of grief. "Take her body to the purification hut. She will have an Amazon burial, with honour – this treaty is hers. Gabrielle gave us peace." Marga sighed, went to touch the girl's shaking shoulders. "Do your duty, Varia. Once the treaty is signed we will build the pyre."

Livia watched mutely as Varia stood, raised her head. "What about that one?" She nodded at Xena, avoiding Livia's eyes.

Marga shook her head. "I'll see to Xena."

And just like that, the Amazons were occupied with a myriad tasks; the air of death lifted from the marching ground, replaced with busy movements, purpose. Livia stood with Marga beside Xena's motionless form, only the three of them left. "The treaty," Marga reminded her.

Livia nodded, then realised with a start that she wanted this strange woman's approval. That unnerved her. As though sensing Livia's withdrawal, Marga turned on her with unexpected fury, eyes afire. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare fight it now. Your mother is alive, be grateful for that. Gabrielle died to make this peace. Back out now, and I swear, I will kill Xena myself."

There was nothing to cushion the shock; Livia stared. "What?"

"You heard me. Xena has earned forgiveness for her crimes, but we do not forget that it was Xena who brought you into the world, and into our lives. If you back out on this treaty, she will die."

Livia's face tightened in fury, but she controlled her voice. "You don't need to threaten me, sister. There will be peace."

Marga gave her a long look, then the faintest of smiles creased her mouth. "Oh yes," she said, her voice lighter than anything Livia had heard before, "you are her daughter. I believe you, Eve."

Then she turned away to help two other Amazons lift Xena onto a makeshift stretcher. Livia stared after them for a moment, feeling as though she had been given a blessing, a blessing so completely undeserved that she had a sense of profound terror at this moment of peace. Then she saw again the blood on the ground, blood spilled by her hands. She remembered her mother's eyes, her whispered lament – "Eve, Eve..." Like the keening of seabirds. Xena has earned forgiveness, Marga had said.

Livia took a hard breath and looked towards the meeting tent and the gathering Amazon council. She didn't want forgiveness. Those who could give it were dead. She didn't know what she wanted now, except that she wanted this peace. And maybe one day her mother could call her Eve.

Mourning

And I'd give up forever to touch you,
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow;
You're as close to heaven as I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now.
And all I can taste is this moment,
And all I can breathe is your light,
'Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight.
And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand,
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am...

"Iris", The Goo-Goo Dolls

The door closed behind Marga. Xena watched its slow creaking progress as white daylight was shut out, the hut regaining the dim air of a sick-room. Shadows encircled the bed. She swung her legs over and sat on the edge, looking down at her bare feet on the wooden floor. She thought, Gabrielle is dead.

With the blanket over her shoulders like a cape, Xena rose painfully and walked over to the shuttered window. She leaned her face against the strips of wood, shut her eyes. Everything hurt. Her injuries, dressed by the Amazons, were almost comforting; there was something right about this dull pain, about the marks of the Roman whip on her back. She felt they belonged on her skin. But even now, her mind would not let her accept this relief; this self-pity. The cuts were nothing, they would heal. And Gabrielle was gone.

There must have been a moment, Xena thought dully, when she could have made the right choice. There had been so many, she'd lost track... She had chased her daughter's soul feverishly, blindly, thinking all the time that if only she could see her baby again, even inside that grown woman, the warrior, then everything else would be fine, all would heal. Xena, I'm scared. Gabrielle's words before she left for the lands of the Amazons. Her face bright in the dark Roman tent, her lips white, frightened. It seemed impossible now that she had let Gabrielle go so easily. I'm scared.

Well, she had her daughter now. Xena laughed bitterly, the sound a shock in the silent Amazon hut. She pushed away from the window, stood in the middle of the room, seeing nothing, her hands white-knuckled on the blanket at her throat. Gabrielle had died so that Eve could find herself. So Xena had her daughter. Wasn't she happy now? Wasn't it wonderful?!

She'd made the choice, the choice she would not allow Ares to make for her. I'll take you to Gabrielle. She could have let him. She could have saved Gabrielle. Xena imagined it now, saw herself in the Amazon camp in Gabrielle's place, confronting Eve. Your quarrel is with me. Her child's eyes; angry, hurt, dead. And the red blade sliding out of her daughter's body.

The blanket fell to the floor. Xena ripped at the fine soft leather of the garments Marga had given her, dropping them carelessly, stepping out of the skirt. Her face was set hard, a non-expression like the blank faces of the gods in Roman temples, meaningless staring eyes. She flung open the lid of the trunk by the bed, grabbed the familiar leathers of her own armour, brought back from the Roman camp, began to dress. Her hands weren't even shaking, she was fine.

Dressed, she dipped her hands in the washbasin by the bed and splashed her face. The water fell in ripples, settling into her reflection. Xena studied it briefly, incuriously. Where to now? Marga had come in to ask her to sing the mourning chant for Gabrielle, a great honour. The ceremony would be starting soon. The smell of torches was already thickening even here, in the hut. It was the smell of the campfire, the memory of Gabrielle sitting by her side, scribbling something, looking into that fire the way the gods looked into the aether. Smiling at Xena. Hogging the best spot by the fire.

Xena flung the basin down, it crashed to the floor and the water spilled everywhere, all reflections gone. The floorboards turned dark and wet. She had to get out. It meant walking away from the daughter Gabrielle had redeemed with her own blood. Already at the door, Xena hesitated. Would Gabrielle have wanted this? But the thought of facing Livia now, no Eve, facing Eve – that was impossible. Eve was signing the treaty, Marga had said. Good, that was good. There would be no war between Rome and the Amazons, there would be peace. Her job here was done.

Xena turned one last time to look at the hut the Amazons had given her, its spartan emptiness. The pyre was ready outside, Xena could smell the incense smoke and hear the mourning chants. It seemed too staged, too easy. If that was grief, what was the emptiness in her body, this lack of feeling? Like a gag on her heart. In its depths, she could just make out the glimmer of love for her daughter. Irrational, to love the one who took away Gabrielle, and yet Xena was quite sure now that it was love, its fierce agony. She hoped that Eve would have the strength to bury Livia. Perhaps, Xena told herself, this would avenge Gabrielle somehow, prove that her death had not been in vain. At least there would be peace between Rome and the Amazons, at least...

But she didn't care. Thousands of people saved, and all she knew was that Gabrielle was not among them.

She found she was still standing by the door, as if waiting for something. It was one of those moments that seemed to pause and shimmer, and would then turn without warning into a blue flash of aether and the God of War. Only nothing happened, the room continued to reflect blankness: the dark shadow of the puddle on the floor, scattered clothes, bed, trunk, overturned basin, the smell of smoke. No Ares. Xena recalled his face back in the Roman prison tent, the fear in his eyes as he thrust her chakram at her, handing her the escape she would not take from him before.

Handing her the weapon to stop a war.

Something stirred in the bruised emptiness inside her, a feeling almost like wistfulness. It was more sentimental than she had wanted to be, probably useless. Ares had been honest with her after all. He had wanted to help, that one time, for the first time in his life maybe. It mattered, Xena thought, but how could it matter? Why should these stupid tears fall from her eyes now when they would not fall for Gabrielle, for her daughter? Why the hell was she crying for Ares?

No, she had to get out, now, escape the mourning rites. It was the smoke, that was it, the smoke making her cry, blurring the room. Xena found the iron ring on the door by touch, pulled at it with a hard tug and was out. Daylight blinded her momentarily.

Then the brightness was gone, she saw – and caught her breath.

* * *

So these were the Halls of War. The heavy doors swung inward ponderously at the touch of Athena's cool hand, revealing nothing but darkness, vast and shapeless.

"Ares!" she called loudly, walking forward in the dark.

There was no answer, just the echo of her voice and footsteps against marble. The needle of worry she'd felt since she heard of the duel in the Amazons' camp grew without warning into something heavier, like fear. Where was her brother? She didn't like to intrude into this illusion of privacy he'd created, but there was no help for it. She had to find him before he did something stupid. She strode deeper into the hall, gesturing at the unseen torches in exasperation. The flames leapt at once, and the hall burst into brightness.

Athena stared. There, by the heavy carved throne, was her brother. She saw him in profile from where she stood in the middle of the room; he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the side of the throne. His head was tilted back as though he was admiring the ceiling, but his eyes were shut.

"Go away," Ares said without opening his eyes.

Athena hesitated; then, moved by an impulse that was more camaraderie than pity, she went to the throne dais and sat beside him on the floor. He turned his head and gave her a heavy, obstinate stare. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

"That makes two of us," Athena said lightly.

Ares looked away again, and Athena thought how strange this was, the two of them sitting on the floor, side by side. Sister and brother. She'd forgotten how it was, to be children together. He used to be smaller than her. She thought of taking his hand now, the way she'd done once, but the impulse died half-formed. Instead she spoke, picking up mid-thought.

"You could've just ended the fight, taken them away."

Ares shrugged. "So." It came out as a statement, two statements. Yes. It would've changed nothing. "It had to end anyway."

"Xena's alive."

"I know." Ares tapped his chest vaguely, as if to indicate a pain. Abruptly he turned, and Athena was shocked by his eyes, the strength of his anger, if it was anger. "What do you want from me?" he burst out. "You want to hear that you warned me – fine then, you did. You said Livia was a liability, you said if I messed with Xena I'd risk all I am; you were right. But you know what, sis?" He gave her a grim little smirk. "I don't give a damn. It's over. Xena's little friend is dead; Eve and the Amazons are going to burn her to a crisp and howl at the moon in her honour, and dance, and eat, and sign treaties, and Xena's going to watch." His voice fell. He gave a small shrug. "Then she'll probably gather up those ashes and carry them around for the rest of her life. End of story."

Athena felt stunned, physically numbed by this outburst. Ares was glaring at her, his fists clenched against the floor by his sides. So. She had expected something else, self-pity or anger or both, but not like this. Not about this. She'd thought it was the war he was mourning, the loss of another scheme, a good scheme really. So. It wasn't the war then. It was the woman.

Xena.

"What about your daughter?" Athena asked, just to break the silence.

Ares opened his fists, glanced at them, almost puzzled. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "She's too much like her. Her mother. I never know about her, either."

Afterwards, Athena could never think of what moved her to respond as she did; something mortal, certainly, some strange feeling like pity or envy. She knew only that she would miss her brother, and that perhaps this meant she loved him, and thus that she, too, could love.

She said, "Here," and held out her hand. Ares jerked aside from the hot flare of light in her palm, but it was gone in an instant, and there, gleaming in the light of the many torches, was a silver jar.

"Ambrosia," Athena said quite calmly. "More than enough."

Ares continued staring at the jar, its lid askew and a faint red glow floating from within, illuminating Athena's wrist.

"Go on," she said, obscurely annoyed at him now. He looked at her with distrust, and that only annoyed her more. She stood up and dropped the jar in his lap. He caught it, of course.

"You're not setting me up?"

"Don't be a fool, Ares. You have time; long enough to —" she found it was hard to speak treason, harder than the doing of it. "Long enough, anyway. I'll keep the others off your back while I can."

"Dad's gonna kill you."

Athena gave him a sardonic look, the one she knew he couldn't stand. "The God of War, scared for his big sister?"

Ares got up in one movement, standing tall over her. Then, unexpectedly, he thrust his hand out and gripped her arm hard, once.

"Get lost," she said, but the room was already empty. The aether flared and died.

Athena stood there a moment, rubbing her arm. She was the Goddess of Wisdom, and she'd just done something completely, mind-bogglingly stupid. She had never gone against what she was before! But Fates, it felt good. It felt... free.

* * *

Gabrielle could not have imagined that being dead would be so uncomfortable. Admittedly, she had only been dead once before – well, almost – and she vaguely remembered Heaven as a place of piercing white light and solemn-faced winged spirits, none of whom had looked especially happy to be there. She recalled little else, but she was quite certain that there had been no endless darkness and no grating, repetitive screaming somewhere in the unseen distance. For a moment she was afraid this might mean she was in Hell or in Tartarus, but she dismissed the idea indignantly. At any rate, it wasn't hot enough. Then the screams were joined by the beat of drums and the stamp of a hundred feet, beads clanking. The beat was a simple monotone, one, two-three-four, one two-three-four, distant but quite clear, accompanied by wails of mourning, thin high sounds of sadness, like the cries of the Amazons...

Amazons.

Gabrielle could've slapped her forehead in the darkness: of course, Amazons! She was an Amazon. That meant she would go to their land of the dead.

Relief made her giddy: Xena could find her here. She remembered Xena's terse, reluctant account of her sojourn in the Amazons' afterworld, when she'd been searching for Gabrielle there. Xena would find her.

Gabrielle tried to imagine what it would be like. Maybe they could walk together through the pale grasslands and hills, through the gate to Eternity. Leave that other, crazed, world, with its swords and armies and guilt and vengeance and duty. It would be just her and Xena again, discovering another world, nothing this time to drive them apart. Here in this afterworld Xena would see her heart, would know that she'd never wanted to abandon her and betray her trust. Here Gabrielle would never, never again have to choose many lives over one, would never raise a sword against the daughter of her friend, would never detest her own soul for the suffering she caused... In that other world, Livia would repent and become Eve, and here, Xena would know that she did all she could for her daughter; then, when it would all be remote and complete, Gabrielle would turn to her and say only – "I'm sorry".

And Xena would hear her; and hearing, she would forgive.

Hot tears slipped from Gabrielle's eyes, but to her surprise they did not fall, just stayed damp and cooling on her eyelids. Then her perspective shifted and she realised that she was lying down, flat on her back with her eyes closed.

Oh great. So much for the darkness. If she wasn't dead she'd be blushing. Feeling foolish, Gabrielle opened her eyes – and saw Ares.

She sat bolt upright, realising then that in this afterlife she was in a wooden hut, on a bed strewn with green branches, with the peppery smell incense everywhere and light streaming in through all the gaps in the woodwork. It all looked very Amazon, except for the dark hulking god standing across from her, reading a scroll.

Gabrielle blinked, staring. What the hell did Ares have to do with the Amazon dead? Was she stuck with him for a guide again, like in the Temple of Mnemosyne years ago? And wait a minute... Her eyes narrowed.

"Hey, that's my scroll!" She jumped off the bed and strode across the room, fuming. She saw her pack lying on the floor, all her recent scrolls spilling out haphazardly, half the seals broken. "What do you think you're doing? This stuff is mine!"

Ares' faced showed over the top of the parchment, and Gabrielle thought she saw a flash of surprise and a sort of nervous relief. Then his usual smug grin came back and he rolled up the scroll and let her yank it from his hands. "So you made it. Welcome back."

"Huh?" Gabrielle glanced about the room; she was positive she had never seen it before. "Back where?"

He gestured at her impatiently. "Your body, physical form, whatever you want to call it."

Gabrielle felt a crawling suspicion of something immense, impossible. She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing a long white wrap and there were no wounds on her chest. Not that it proved anything, but...

"I'm supposed to be dead."

"Well, there's been a change of plan," Ares said curtly, then nodded at the door. "You better tell your friends the Amazons to hold off on that barbecue. And, –" he looked down for a moment, "you better tell Xena."

"Xena?.."

"Yeah. See you round."

"Wait!" Gabrielle grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "What in Tartarus are you talking about?" All her confusion had turned to anger. "What did you do?"

"You don't catch on real quick, do you?"

Ares' tone was condescending, but his eyes were dark and so strange that Gabrielle could not hold on to her anger. She released his arm, standing there uncertainly, not quite daring to trust the life he claimed was inside her. Then something made her remember: Xena's cold body, snow, another Amazon village years ago, Xena asking her to restore her life...

"Ambrosia," she said, awed by the realisation. Now that she thought of it, there was an odd sweetish taste in her mouth. She swallowed quickly. "You gave me ambrosia! To bring me back, like I did for Xena before."

"Yeah well. Don't let it go to your head. I didn't do it for you."

Gabrielle frowned. "Then why ... Oh, I see!" Her eyes flashed angrily. "Now that I owe you, I'm supposed to lead the Amazons in war?"

"I think your line is, 'Thank you for saving my life, Ares.'"

"Thank you for saving my life, Ares," Gabrielle rattled off impatiently, "but I'm not about to become your warrior queen..."

"That is definitely not your line. And you can relax: Livia signed the treaty."

Gabrielle gaped at him. Then slowly, realisation dawned on her: she recalled the fear in Livia's eyes as she raised the chakram, covered in blood, as though she had crossed some line inside herself. Like Xena's eyes, after she would come back from one of her rages. Full of recognition.

She shook her head slowly at Ares. "So Xena did it. Eve made peace."

"Yes she did," Ares said, as the songs of mourning outside grew louder, "Now would you get out there and tell them to stop all that weeping and wailing, before Xena hears and goes on another wild-goose chase to rescue you from the Amazon afterlife? Really, Gabrielle – once was enough."

"Excuse me!" Gabrielle flared. "That was not my fault! It was years ago, and Xena could have climbed down into the lava pit to look for me, instead of running straight to the underworld... Wait." She stopped. "How do you know that story?"

Ares picked up the scroll he'd been reading and flipped into her hand. "Thanks for the read."

"You could've asked," Gabrielle said huffily, taking the scroll. Then she raised her eyes and saw that Ares had stepped back, about to disappear.

Only nothing happened. He stayed where he was. Gabrielle thought she saw sharp terror in his eyes, but before she could be sure, the air flashed blue and Ares was gone. She rubbed her eyes to lose the afterimages, then took a gulp of the incense-filled air – and sneezed.

And that was when it finally hit her: she was alive!

She was alive and Xena was alive, and there was peace between Rome and the Amazons. She had to go and see Xena, right now, everything else could wait, would have to wait.

Gabrielle gathered up the folds of her wrap in one hand and flung open the door...

... And found herself staring at the open door of another hut ten paces away. Or rather, the woman standing in front of it. She was tall, she had long black hair, the style of her armour was twenty-five years out of date – and she was staring right back.

"Xena!!" Gabrielle gasped. And without another thought she threw herself in Xena's general direction, with barely enough time to glimpse Xena's shocked face before they collided, and were locked together in a bone-crunching embrace. She knew she was going to be a blubbering mess and didn't care, not at all, not if Xena was right here with her and they were holding each other and Xena was asking her how, how it was possible, how she could be here and all she could do was repeat, "I missed you, I missed you so much!"

Sometime much later, they finally separated enough to notice the very silent crowd of Amazons staring at them, all in full mourning paint. There was a enormous pyre behind them.

"Um," Gabrielle said. She looked up at Xena, then at the stunned Amazons, then back at Xena. Then she started to laugh.

Falling Upwards

For years I endured, but on one of those nights,
I rose and silently opened the window.
Holding on to the handrail of the rays of your light,
I did what I'd dreamed of for years and years:
I stepped into nothing.

Nautilus Pompilius, "She Who Runs Far Ahead"

The moment Ares entered the aether he knew he was trapped. The brilliant whiteness around him whirled upwards with a roar like a tornado, and for a single horrifying instant he thought he was going to die. He was spinning wildly, faster and faster, and the roar rose to a high-pitched scream on the very edge of his hearing, piercing his skull with pain so intense he saw see colours. His mind was a mess; he thought he heard voices in the sickening swirl of aether – it sounded like Athena's calm tones and Aphrodite's sniffles and Hera's tut-tutting – then, very clearly, he heard the tired heavy voice of his father say: "You are no longer my son."

And then, nothing.

The swirling stopped dead, as though the bottom had dropped out of the aether. Ares had a moment's sensation of weightlessness – then, without warning, something wide and green slammed him hard in the face. The ground.

Not this again...

Ares groaned, raising his head to spit out a mouthful of moss. Mortal again. What a damned surprise.

He clutched the nearest tree to hoist himself up. The world was swimming in and out of focus weirdly, and there was a ringing noise in his ears that did nothing good for his head. He climbed to his feet, then regretted it immediately: the ground lurched forward and he stumbled, catching himself just in time. If only his stomach would stop heaving! Instead it gave a shuddering spasm, jerked sideways... and to his horror, Ares retched loudly into the grass.

Beads of sweat broke over his forehead. Cursing, he stumbled backwards and spat to rid his mouth of the sour taste, fighting down the small waves of sickness in his gut. It felt like the last of his powers were being purged from him.

He stared down at the grass and dead brown leaves littering the forest floor. Everything had changed. Distant battles no longer tugged at his mind, no warriors vied for his attention; he could feel no sacrifices or prayers – forget prayers, he could barely feel his own body.

He was no longer a god. And he had only himself to thank for it.

Ares hauled himself over to a tree stump a little way away and dropped onto it, clutching his throbbing head.

It was enough to make any sane god wish for Tartarus. He actually felt some surprise that dear old dad had not sent him down there; Athena or Aphrodite must have managed to talk him out of it. Not that it mattered, seeing as Zeus had cut him off altogether. No more second chances for Ares. They'd even taken his sword from him; the absence of its weight at his hip was more upsetting than he cared to admit. Well, he'd been expecting this much. Didn't make the experience any more enjoyable.

He sat still for a while, until the various aches and pains in his newly-mortal body subsided enough that he could open his eyes without feeling like his head would explode from the light. Cautiously, Ares prodded his temples; his head gave a dull thud, but the worst was definitely over. He felt himself cheering a little. All right, so he was mortal – it wasn't the end of the world. Xena would come and find him, after she recovered from the shock of seeing Gabrielle alive and well, and hearing about the ambrosia...

Except that Xena had absolutely no idea where he was. And neither did he.

This worrying thought grew and grew, compounded by his headache and the sour dry feeling in his mouth that had to be thirst. He had to do something, find someone. Find Xena. What if he never saw her again? He hadn't thought of that.

After pacing uselessly around the small clearing where he'd sat, Ares began walking, with the vague idea of getting out of the forest and trying to get his bearings. Was it just his imagination, or did the trees look different? They seemed taller, their canopy higher, far away. Or was it just because he could no longer transport himself out of here? Surely not even his father – ex-father – would have thrown him out of the aether on the other side of the world. They wouldn't do that to him, surely.

But the longer he walked, the less certain he was of anything. What was he going to do if he did get out of the forest? Find Xena. But what then? Convince her to help him find some way to restore his godhood? Ares had to stop for a while, staring stupidly at the mossy green trunks of the ancient trees around him, listening to the mindless twitter of birds overhead. This was it. This was all he had now; there was no getting his godhood back, no ambrosia, no nothing. He was mortal, and forever cut off from Olympus and the others... No, not forever. There was no forever. Only until he was dead.

He started walking again, quickly, not looking around. There was no point thinking about it; he'd traded in his immortality and godhood and all the perks just to prevent one measly little death, the annoying blonde's – to give her back to Xena, because that was all he could do. Had it been worth it? Athena had thought him crazy, and maybe he was. But then... If he concentrated he could almost see Xena's face, and she wasn't looking at him like he'd betrayed her or disappointed her. She just looked kind of surprised, and she was looking at him. Ares' heart thumped painfully at his ribs and he bit his lip, and then he knew he was nuts, because the thought of Xena looking at him this way sent a tide of warmth through his chest – and it felt like joy.

He was still lost in these thoughts when, after several hours of walking in what he'd thought was a straight line, he finally came upon something he recognised: the tree stump.

Ares stared at it in dismay. He must have veered left slightly and come around in a circle, right back to where he began. To make his humiliation complete, his legs felt like lead weights, he was more thirsty than he'd ever felt in his life and his head had started to throb again. His stomach growled loudly, and he realised that the gnawing sensation that had been with him most of the afternoon was hunger.

Ares considered his options. Water first, he had passed a small creek on the other side of the clearing. He could go back there, provided he could force his legs to move that far. Maybe there were fish – but even assuming for a moment that he managed to catch one, what were you supposed to do with them once you caught them? He'd watched mortals gut fish before, of course, but he'd never thought to pay attention to the details... And, come to think of it, how did mortals make fire? Ares looked down at his hands, completely devoid of any fire-making ability now. A fireball or two would have been handy.

He felt a creeping dread starting somewhere in the base of his spine and spreading all the way up to his head: he was mortal and lost in a forest fates-knew where, for all he knew he wasn't even in Greece, with no sword, no food, no water, no shelter and no sense of direction. It was getting colder, too, with the sun beginning to set. His teeth were chattering. Great. Now he was starting to panic.

"Xena!" he shouted, turning around, peering into the lengthening shadows. A flock of birds rose noisily into the rose-tinged sky. Ares felt the full ridiculousness of the situation, but some insane hope drove him to call out again. "Xena?"

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. Ares could just hear Athena's voice in his head, "Calling for your girlfriend to save you?" – and Aphrodite's teasing laugh, "Aw, cheer up, bro, at least you're still here." Ares kicked the tree stump savagely a couple of times, trying to ignore the panicky feelings inside him. He was no good at this whole mortal thing; whatever had made him think he'd be able to do this? Why hadn't he just stayed in the Amazon camp, he could have had the chance at least to talk to Xena!

Get a grip, he snapped at himself mentally. You're a god – were a god. So they threw you out, so what? Mere mortals do this all the time. He forced himself to turn, heading back to where he could just make out the murmur of the creek. He was going to make it. He lengthened his stride, swatting long branches out of his way, crunching twigs and dry grass underfoot, determined to ignore his aching legs and his headache. He could smell the water now, hear the frogs screaming chaotically. His foot squelched in mud, and there was the creek. The water sparkled in the fading light. Ares fell to his knees and drank, cupping his hands, splashing his face, drinking again until his thirst was scarcely a memory. How could cold water taste this good? Was it because he was mortal? He raised his head, water running into his eyes, down his chin. He didn't mind. He was going to make it. He was going to make it, and then he was going to find Xena and talk to her, and then... And then he would t hink of something.

But there were no fish in the creek, and catching a rabbit proved much harder than it looked, and when evening fell it began to rain.

By night-time, Ares was soaked through, and cold water had lost all its appeal.

He managed at last to find shelter in the hollow of an old oak tree. He sat there now, watching random silver droplets hit the ground, turning the air to fog, making him drowsy. The inside of the tree was damp and dark and smelled like mushrooms, but it was surprisingly warm and seemed to make his numb hands and feet tingle.

Ares shifted his legs, trying to get more comfortable. His exhausted thoughts were growing fuzzier around the edges, confusing. He wondered whether Livia was having second thoughts about the treaty, and then whether Xena was talking to her... They were probably having a huge celebration right now, drinking, Amazons dancing around their fires. It was annoying that he couldn't just open a portal and watch Xena watching them. She would be sitting away from all the merrymaking, somewhere past the crowd, her food and drink untouched. In the firelight, her skin would be gold and very warm, eyes focused just past the crowd. What would she be thinking? Probably something about Gabrielle, how glad she was to have her back – or Eve, how Eve had stopped the war... Would Xena think of him? Ares tossed his head, and the image faded, becoming the fog and then the rain again. He didn't want to know.

After a while, he managed to forget his hunger; he supposed his stomach had given up in disgust and decided to stop bothering him. He tried half-heartedly to come up with some kind of plan for the next day, but he was too tired, and when he closed his eyes it seemed too much of an effort to open them again. He slept fitfully, waking up now and again sure that this was all a weird dream and he was just resting on Olympus. Once, near morning, he thought he heard Xena's voice, and saw her through the mist and rain. He called for her, but then he opened his eyes and knew it too had been a dream, and felt a crushing bleakness that woke him up completely.

He watched the forest getting lighter from where he sat, barely noticing it when the rain ceased at last. A grey rumpled-looking bird near the tree was poking its beak into the hole where some hapless earthworm was trying to hide. Ares kicked at it from his hideout, feeling a kind of sullen kinship with the earthworm. "Eat something that fights back," he grumbled to the bird as it flew off.

Then his hideout darkened. Ares saw a pair of muddy leather boots – legs – skirt – breastplate... He exhaled in a soft 'ahh', and found himself looking up at Xena's face.

"I hope that's not breakfast," she said, nodding at the worm.

"No," he heard himself saying, "that's bait – breakfast just flew off." He felt his face burning; he wanted to move, to stand up, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. She was here. She was here.

"Ah. You were going to eat a sparrow?"

"Is that what it was?" Ares thought he'd actually managed a grin.

"Yep."

There was laughter in Xena's eyes, and the line between her brows relaxed, disappearing. She held out a hand to help him to his feet. Ares gripped it, forgetting his misery as completely as if he had never felt it, managing finally to stand up, facing her. How did she find him?

"I asked Athena."

"Oh."

Xena's smile faded a little, and her face grew serious and almost afraid. Ares recognised that look from his own dreams: she knew what he'd done. She had come looking for him. His heart was beating so hard he could barely hear her quiet words.

"Gabrielle told me about the ambrosia. Did Zeus ...?" She trailed off, as if not quite sure whether to ask the obvious, then said, "You're mortal."

He shrugged.

"I - uh..." Xena stumbled, then as if making a decision, looked straight at him. Her lips were pale, her brows jutting together slightly in concentration. "Ares... Thank you."

And something in her face, her words, made Ares feel as though he was flying; his chest seemed to be expanding until he thought it would burst, and he didn't know whether that was because he was mortal or because he was terrified or because he was in love.

All he could do was nod.

"Xena!" came a shout from beyond the trees. Ares and Xena whipped around and saw Gabrielle; she came to a halt, clutching her side and breathing as though she had been running hard. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Xena and Ares.

"Oh," she said weakly, "Sorry."

"I don't believe this," Ares muttered. Xena shot him an unreadable look before going over to Gabrielle's side, worry in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"It's Eve," Gabrielle gasped, still short of breath. "You better come, now."

"Of course – what happened? Is it the treaty?"

"She's going to Rome."

"She's going... what? You mean to give them the treaty?"

"No!" Gabrielle said urgently, "I mean she's going back. To stay."

Xena looked stricken. She glanced over at Ares, frowning. "Rome?"

"Hey," he raised his hands, "I had nothing to do with this."

For a moment, Xena continued looking at him; then her eyes softened and she murmured, "I know you didn't."

Ares' heart leapt; he felt Xena's words settling inside him like a warm glow.

"Come on, let's go!" said Gabrielle, and Xena turned.

"Hang on," Ares stopped them, "I can take us all..." He fell silent, glancing at the empty spot on his hip where his sword used to be. His neck grew hot, then his face. "Damn."

Xena ignored the awkward moment, grabbing hold of his vest to pull him along behind her. They followed Gabrielle back through the forest the way she had come. Panting, Ares stumbled into a run; Xena released him and he ran with her behind Gabrielle.

A short time later the trees began to thin out, and then ended altogether. Gabrielle, Xena and Ares came out blinking into the bright sunshine, the huts and tents of the Amazon camp stretching before them. Of course, Ares thought; he had to have walked in the other direction the night before.

Gabrielle motioned to the guards on duty and within moments they were engulfed in the frenetic activity of the camp.

"There she is!" Gabrielle pointed, squinting against the sun. Xena nodded: there was a sea of moving armoured bodies just visible though the alley between two neat rows of huts; in the centre, on a long-legged white horse was Livia, in full general's regalia. The sun flared gold in her hair and lit up her armour.

The three of them ran down the alley, coming out at the edge of the buzzing crowd. Before Ares could say anything, Xena was jostling through the Amazons and Romans in Livia's direction. He started after her, but Gabrielle's outstretched arm blocked his way.

"Stay here," she said, still looking into the crowd where Xena had been. "She has to talk to her daughter – alone."

"Hey," Ares protested, trying to get around Gabrielle's surprisingly solid block. "She's my daughter, too!"

Gabrielle turned to look at him, as though studying him for the first time. "Do you really think you can help?"

Ares considered it reluctantly: what would he say to Eve? And what would she say to him, after all that had happened? He winced. He looked away from Gabrielle, pretending to study the zigzag pattern on the wood of the nearest hut.

"It'll be all right, you know," Gabrielle's soft voice came behind him.

Ares huffed, staring at the wood. "What do you know about it?"

He was surprised to hear an amused note in Gabrielle's voice. "More than you think."

He had to turn around. Gabrielle was grinning a little smugly. Ares crossed his arms, glaring at her. "Well?"

"I know why Eve is going back to Rome."

"Aren't you clever. I don't suppose it has anything to do with ruling a great big empire."

Gabrielle had the grace to look embarrassed. "Actually, it does. But it's not what you think."

"Surprise me."

But in that moment Gabrielle looked at something behind him, and Ares turned to see Xena walking out of the crowd towards them, looking bemused – but not angry.

"How did it go?" Gabrielle asked quickly.

Xena gave her a strange look. "Did you know?"

Gabrielle winced and lowered her head. "Yeah. Xena, I'm sorry, I should've said something, but Eve wanted to be the one to tell you..."

"Tell you what?" Ares demanded, looking between them in utter confusion. "What am I missing?"

Xena shook her head incredulously, then her lips quirked in a half-smile. "It seems that Eve has decided to remain Livia."

Ares continued staring at her. "And this is a good thing?"

Xena glanced at Gabrielle. "Yes. At least ... for Rome. And the Amazons. Eve is going back to take her place on the throne with Augustus. She'll rule Rome the way it should have always been ruled. In peace."

Ares noticed she wasn't smiling anymore.

"Oh." He paused, digesting this. "That's not what you wanted?"

Xena shrugged helplessly, not looking at him. "I wanted my daughter back." She looked up at Gabrielle and Ares saw that her eyes were overbright. "I hadn't thought this far..."

Gabrielle looked like she wanted to kick herself. "I'm so sorry," she said again, "I didn't realise – I thought you'd be happy."

"I am happy," Xena said, trying to sound it. "This is just... Selfish. Eve will be a good ruler, now. She has what it takes."

Gabrielle looked like she wanted to say something, but Xena said, "We should go," and started back down the path between the wooden huts, not looking back. Gabrielle ran to catch up.

Ares glanced over his shoulder before following them; Livia's guards had arranged themselves into their riding formation and the whole procession was moving towards the main gates. Livia turned in the saddle to scan the crowd, and Ares thought she saw Xena – but after a moment she squared her shoulders a bit, as though preparing to take on a great weight, and rode on.

* * *

Xena stopped only when she reached a clearing large enough for a campsite. Gabrielle came up behind her, then Ares; Xena nodded in the direction of the spring she had noticed earlier to tell them to get water if they wanted it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Gabrielle was carrying a small pack: she must have taken it from her hut on her way out of the camp. Gratitude welled in Xena's heart; it was so very good to know that she was there, to rely again on their friendship. She turned and gave Gabrielle a small smile, and felt Gabrielle squeeze her shoulder quickly as she walked past, carrying the empty waterbags to the spring.

Xena sat down heavily on a fallen log, her knees giving way. The welts on her back still hurt; she tried to focus on them instead of Eve's face, the image of it in the late morning sunshine.

"So," Ares said, settling down beside her after Gabrielle disappeared from view. "Our little girl is all grown up. How does it feel to have single-handedly conquered Rome?"

Xena flinched. Of all the things she didn't want to hear right now... "I conquered nothing," she said curtly.

"You helped Eve get there. And you know," he looked at her askance, "I think you're right. She'll do a damn good job."

"Will she?" Xena looked around at the trees, the leaves that whispered exactly as they had done twenty-five years ago. "Who is our daughter, Ares? I knew my child, and a Roman general... Eve is neither of those things."

"Maybe she's both."

Xena glanced at him, startled. She hadn't expected him to understand. With a kind of resignation she waited for the inevitable punchline, the wisecrack that would spoil the moment, but didn't come. Ares was merely looking at her, frowning a little. It formed lines over his brows – and damned if she knew why she wanted to touch him there. She caught the convulsive gesture of her own fingers, bid them to lie still, cupped loosely over her bare knees.

Her own hands. Xena tried to recognise them, but all she could see was her fist closed on the chakram held to Eve's throat. She had done that.

She said, "I could have killed her... when she killed Gabrielle. You knew that. You wanted that war, or you didn't have the guts to stop it: doesn't matter. I thought it was over. And then you – you go and do this. Give her back to me, give me another chance, let me call her Eve. What am I supposed to do now?"

Ares didn't reply. His silence unnerved Xena more than anything he could have said; she wanted suddenly to strike him, to reach for her sword and fight him as though he was still a god and invincible to her blows. She didn't want to forgive him. Not after he did this one good thing – this one, immense, unbelievable thing, this sacrifice... How was she supposed to deal with that?

"Why did you do it?" she asked. Her voice sounded hard and unnaturally quiet.

Ares shrugged, staring at the ground. Then he raised his eyes, and all Xena could see was his fear. "If I told you I was sorry – about Eve, and Gabrielle... Would you believe me?"

"Would you say it?"

"Probably not." There was a brief pause. Then Ares gave her a too-bright grin. "Well, you know I've always had a thing for you, so..."

"We need firewood," Xena said abruptly. She got to her feet. She should never have asked why he did it; she didn't want to hear it.

"Huh?"

"Firewood. We better find some if you want to eat."

The tension between them broke, and Ares heard his stomach rumble loudly. Embarrassing as it was, he felt deeply relieved. He didn't want to be having this conversation with Xena, not right now. He was hungry and stupid with the barrage of mortal feelings he couldn't even name, and who knew what kind of rubbish he'd be saying next.

"I'll get the wood," he offered.

Xena looked surprised for a moment, then nodded at him. "Fine. Just make sure it's dry; it's been raining all night." She paused, then added as an afterthought: "The fire won't start otherwise."

Ares shot her an amused look. "I've been tossing fireballs for centuries, trust me: I know what burns."

And with that he strode off into the woods, leaving Xena to stare after him. She'd forgotten – how could she ever forget? – the way he could throw her off-kilter with one line, one look. What was he saying, that he could make it as a mortal without her help, that the former God of War who had torched villages by her side needed no help starting a campfire? What a pleasant thought. She was glad he didn't need her; it wasn't like she was planning to spend her life babysitting him.

Except that he might die. He was mortal, he could die and then she'd have to live with the knowledge that she hadn't helped him. Just like last night. Gabrielle had explained about the ambrosia, how Ares had brought her back to life in the same way that years ago Gabrielle had done for her... And though Xena told herself that it had been Ares' choice, that after all the grief he'd caused it was the least he could do, still she had run out into the rain like a fool, calling out for Athena, demanding to know Ares' punishment. Asking Athena where to find him. Running into the forest afterwards, searching, calling out, furious with him for getting lost, for making her chase him. Her heart beating like crazy. Like she would miss him, like he wasn't a god – but he wasn't a god, not anymore. He'd given all that up. For her.

"I won't ask why you're giving our supplies the death stare."

Xena started, looking up guiltily. Gabrielle emerged into the clearing, carrying the full waterbags. She put them down, then added: "But since you're clearly not in the mood for jerky and hard cheese – I got this." She tossed a large cleaned and gutted fish onto the grass and grinned at Xena's expression.

"Oh, Gabrielle – you didn't have to, I would've caught a rabbit..."

Gabrielle waved her protests aside. "It was no trouble; this one was practically jumping out of the water. Besides," she bit her lip, "You could use a break after – what happened with Eve."

"It was the best thing that could have happened."

"Yes," Gabrielle said evenly, but her eyes shone with understanding, shared grief. She sat beside Xena on the log, clasping her hands in her lap. "That doesn't make it any easier, though, does it?"

"No," Xena admitted. Then she sighed, "I should have seen it. She was brought up in Rome with all their values, their life. Remember Dyrrachium? The people she's hurt are in Rome's provinces. That's her duty now, to undo some of the damage she did. I can't argue with that. She is my daughter, but... she has her own path." Xena looked helplessly at Gabrielle. "I can't keep her from it."

"What about Augustus? She said she will marry him... Does she love him?"

"Maybe she does. But love and politics, Gabrielle – they don't mix. If it comes to letting her heart stand in the way of doing good for the people..." Xena fell silent, and Gabrielle nodded gently.

"You think she's like you. The greater good before her own happiness?"

Xena smiled unhappily. "I was lucky. I never had to make that choice." She looked up at Gabrielle, her smile growing warmer. "I had you."

"You're not going all sentimental on me, are you?" Gabrielle gave her a mock punch on the arm, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "Careful, you'll be writing poetry next."

Xena pulled a disgusted face, setting both of them to laughing, Gabrielle's cheeks turning pink so that she looked almost like the little girl from the village of Potadeia – save for her eyes. They seemed darker now and held knowledge, like the sea or the deep forest.

"I'm sorry," Xena said, sobering. "I should have never let you go to the Amazons that way, all alone... I don't know what I was thinking."

To her surprise, Gabrielle's grin only widened. "Maybe that I was a grown woman who can make her own decisions? I've got news for you, Xena: people do things. Good things, bad things, so-so things. Clever, stupid, heroic, selfish. They're not always your fault, you know. You're my best friend and I love you dearly, but do me a favour: stop trying to take the credit for everything. All right?"

Xena blinked, taken aback. "But the Amazons – the council – it must have been Tartarus!"

Gabrielle looked at her seriously. "It was hard, yes. But it had to happen that way, don't you see? I wanted to go. I thought – I had these dreams. Kids' stuff. It was kind of glamorous, to think of myself as the Queen of the Amazons. Then I found out first hand what it means, what it really means to be Queen. And you know what I discovered?"

"What?" Xena frowned.

"That I don't want it. I don't want to be the one who makes those choices: the lives of a few sacrificed to save thousands of others, the welfare of my tribe before any other. I know how to fight, and now I know that I can lead, too. But the life I was meant for isn't there. It's here, with you."

Xena looked into Gabrielle's face, the soft sunlight on her cheeks, the hair that was still braided Amazon-style... She was so different – harder, smarter, older – but for the first time, Xena forced herself to look past those things, pushed aside her own guilt over this change and saw the woman beside her as simply herself. Gabrielle. Not the Bard of Potadeia or the Queen of the Amazons, just Gabrielle, her friend. The one who had chosen to walk beside her through everything. Who knew that power didn't bring happiness. The one who took responsibility for her own choices, and who was now looking at her friend and asking that she accept her. She was no little girl; hadn't been one for a very long time. And that was okay. She was Gabrielle.

"You okay?" Gabrielle said softly.

"Yeah," Xena said. She hesitated, then pulled Gabrielle into a brief, awkward hug. "Just... try not to die on me again, would you?"

"I'll do my best," Gabrielle agreed, trying to free her own arms to return Xena's embrace. "Hey... You're suffocating me here!"

"Ohh, sorry." Xena released her, looking sheepish – then her expression changed.

"What is it?" Gabrielle followed Xena's stare to the other side of the clearing. Ares was walking towards them, carrying an enormous pile of dry branches and twigs. He dumped the lot on the ground, brushing his hands together.

"That should do," he said, satisfied.

Gabrielle tried hard not to laugh. "Ares – that's enough for ten fires."

He shrugged, unperturbed. "Had to keep myself busy while you were having your happy reunion, didn't I?"

He stretched and settled down in the grass while Xena got out the flint from Gabrielle's pack to start the fire. Gabrielle noticed Ares watching curiously as Xena coaxed the first small flames from the silvery dry wood. Gabrielle started slicing the fish for their stew, glancing up every now and again to find Ares still watching Xena work, putting the water on to boil, adding more firewood. It was almost like the days when Xena had been pregnant with Eve: Ares' silent presence at their campsite, Xena pretending that she neither noticed nor cared. Only this time, it was all different. It struck Gabrielle that Ares had given up his godhood for this. That they could sit together beside a leaping fire and cook their lunch, and watch the afternoon wither away into evening, – this peace of theirs had been bought with the Godhood of War. Was there an irony in that?

"It's done," Xena said, wincing as she held the spoonful of hot stew to her mouth.

They ate slowly, not talking, the remains of the fire crackling and popping in its circle of rocks. Once or twice, Gabrielle tried to strike up a conversation, but neither Xena nor Ares responded, and after a while she gave up. It wasn't a comfortable meal. Gabrielle wondered whether Xena had told Ares of their plans to visit Amphipolis and Potadeia; whether she had asked him to come along. It all seemed very peculiar, travelling with the God of War, twenty-five years since the day they left Greece for Ch'in. She thought of her little sister, Lila, and how old she would be now. Her parents. Her stomach squeezed into a knot. She wasn't at all sure that she wanted to see Potadeia anymore.

"So where to now?" Ares asked, when their bowls were empty, and it they could no longer pretend to be engrossed in their food.

"Amphipolis," Xena replied, carefully avoiding looking at him. She gave Gabrielle a questioning look, "Unless you want to go to Potadeia –"

Gabrielle shook her head hastily. "Amphipolis first. The girl in that tavern said that Cyrene, uh..."

"Died ten years ago," Xena completed dully. "I'd like to see her tomb."

Gabrielle half-expected Ares to make some comment about it, but he said nothing, merely nodded.

"Are you coming with us?" Xena said abruptly, looking at Ares at last.

Ares flinched, raising his eyes to meet Xena's. For a long moment they stared at each other; Gabrielle could not tell what passed between them, but eventually Ares shook his head. "I don't think so, Xena; thanks all the same."

"Where are you going to go?" Xena had not looked away, but Gabrielle saw her hands had grown white on the spoon she was still holding.

"Oh, you know," Ares said, sounding almost nonchalant. "Wander the earth, see the sights. I might head to Egypt: those pyramids look pretty stupid from Olympus, but who knows, there might be something to them, up close."

"Come with us as far as Amphipolis, then," Gabrielle offered. Xena shot her a frantic look, but Gabrielle chose to ignore it. "It's on your way, anyway."

Ares eyed Xena a moment. "All right."

Xena nodded curtly, then began to clear away the bowls and spoons, shoving everything into the empty pot. "I'll go wash up," she said, rising.

"I'll help." Ares stood up as well, and followed Xena towards the creek.

Gabrielle watched them go, Xena's back very straight, Ares half a pace behind her. He caught up as Xena half-turned to say something, frowning – but Gabrielle saw the ghost of laughter in the curve of Xena's mouth. She couldn't hear Ares' response, but she saw Xena's raised eyebrows, amused despite herself, and noticed that she walked a little closer to Ares, the pot clanking against her leg.

They took a very long time washing the dishes.

Epilogue

...Thus ends the story of the Empress Livia, who was once Eve of Thrace, and the man Ares, who was once a god, and the great Xena who remains a warrior in our day. And I, Gabrielle of Potadeia, at last put my name on this scroll and seal it with a single thought, which is also the thought of our great philosophers: that darkness we fear in our own hearts is but the absence of light. For if you light a single candle, does it not banish the night? Yet the darkest of nights cannot extinguish its flame. It is within all of us to find our light – but though others may lead us to it, they cannot kindle it. That we must do for ourselves.

Virgil rolled up the scroll and looked up at his audience. There was the squeak of a stool, the buzz of a fly overhead – and then the small wooden theatre erupted in noise. The applause was deafening; cheers and whistles from the back rows could barely rise above the roar. Someone stood up spontaneously, followed at once by a dozen others and more, until the entire audience was on its feet. The cheering went on and on. Virgil beamed, bowing to each side of the amphitheatre, his face flushed with joy.

"I don't see what you two are so thrilled about," Ares said, stretching his legs down onto the seat in front of him the moment its occupant stood to cheer. He discovered at once why no one else was doing this: the heavy toga he'd been forced to wear attempted to slide right off him. He caught it just in time, tugging it over his left shoulder, and looked up at Gabrielle. "The guy's getting the credit for all your lousy writing."

Xena grabbed a fistful of his toga, pulling him to his feet. "Shut up and start cheering, you bastard." She smiled wickedly. "Unless you want to be introduced to these people as your character?"

"Ohh, blackmail!" Ares reached out suddenly and caught Xena's hand. They looked at each other for a moment, then he raised her hand and ran the tip of his tongue along her finger slowly, making her catch her breath. He pulled her closer. "I love it when you play dirty."

Gabrielle groaned. "Let's go, before you get us banned from every decent theatre in Rome!"

"And what a tragedy that would be," Ares said sombrely.

Xena merely gave him a light push to follow Gabrielle as she made her way out, squeezing through the milling crowd out of the amphitheatre.

The three of them emerged out onto the sunlit square in front of the temporary theatre, where there were rows of makeshift market stalls selling everything from shady hats to sweetmeats for the theatre patrons. One entire stall was devoted to painted wax figurines of Xena, Gabrielle, Ares, baby Eve, and even Varia – or so the names on their little pedestals proclaimed. None of them bore the slightest resemblance to the original models, but that hardly mattered: they were selling out fast. The only one missing was the Empress Livia herself, out of deference.

"Wow." Gabrielle breathed, looking around. Every available wall was covered with brightly coloured posters: "THE OUTSIDERS: A Tale By Gabrielle, the new Bard of Potadeia!!! Discover the history of the Amazon treaty! PREMIERE TODAY! Hurry!!!" – and below in small print: "Translated from the Greek by Publius Vergilius Maro."

Xena smiled warmly at Gabrielle. "Congratulations. They loved it. Even I loved it."

Gabrielle flushed a little. "Virgil did a good job with the translation. See?" She gave Ares a pointed look. "He did not hog the credit. It's my name on those posters."

"You're the 'new' bard of Potadeia?" Ares raised his brows at Xena. "What've you done with the old Gabrielle?"

"Very funny." Gabrielle made a face at both of them. "You try explaining why you look twenty-five years too young to be yourself, to every passing stranger. I wanted a new life." She flicked a coin at the boy behind the nearby stall, and took two pastries. She handed one to Xena, and took a big bite out of hers.

"Mmm..." She took another bite. "And I like this new life."

"It's good," Xena agreed, over layers of filo and cream.

Ares gave the women a hurt look. "Are you just going to let me starve?"

"Yep." Gabrielle breezily popped the last bit of pastry in her mouth, and went ahead to look at the hairpins in the next stall.

Xena laughed at Ares' expression, breaking off half of her own pastry. She held it up to let him take a bite. "Don't worry." She brushed his lips lightly with her fingertips. "I'll take care of you."

Ares laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand. "So far, you've forced me to go to the theatre and wear a toga. I shudder to imagine what else you have planned."

Xena gave a low chuckle. "Oh, I have plans for you all right."

Ares turned her towards him a little. Xena's eyes met his, her lips parting slightly. Very slowly, Ares leaned closer to let his mouth meet hers, and nipped at her bottom lip. "Want to tell me about them?"

"I'd love to." Xena grinned. "But not here."

THE END