Chapter Twenty Five

Gabrielle was dreaming about fire, a huge unquenchable fire that filled the landscape. The faster she ran, the faster the fire raced behind. The staff she held grew hot in her hand. And she was alone. "Xena," she called, but her voice was drowned by the roar of the flames. "Xena – "

"Gabrielle, honey I’m right here." Xena’s voice was in her ear; her hand clutched tightly in Gabrielle’s own. "That must have been some dream."

"Gods, yes. There was a fire – " She stopped, suddenly aware that the smell of the fire persisted outside her dream.

"There is a fire, somewhere," Xena told her. The wind is from the east."

Which would mean Hermia’s place, or maybe Archon and Sepra’s farm.

"Could this mean the Tribes?"

"It could, I suppose, but burning is not their usual way. Could be a stray ember from a hearth." Gabrielle’s eyes stole to the hearth a few feet away, acutely aware of how easily existence could be in jeopardy in this place. She was happy to see the room striped by the first rays of dawn which stole through the shutters boards. The Tribes preferred to attack at night, she knew that much. "It’s time to get up anyway," she said.

Drax made his report with the precision of a well-trained soldier. "They were busy last night," he began. "Maybe a dozen all, told, from the tracks they left. Archon lost four goats."

"You’re sure it was the Tribes, not wolves?" Gabrielle asked.

"They want us to know it was them Gabrielle. The tails of the poor things were tossed on Archon’s porch. Archon and Sepra got off easy. A family that just settled in down the way was burned out. Archon reckons he and Sepra are too valuable to destroy: they provide fresh meat. These other poor souls were expendable." He flicked an eyebrow at Xena. "They were burned inside the hovel. Hope they were merciful and killed them first."

Gabrielle watched Xena’s impassive face, looking in vain for any clue to the warrior’s thoughts.

"They had a child," Drax began.

"Drax, no." Gabrielle’s voice was strained.

"We can’t find the child, she wasn’t in the fire." He wiped a grimy hand across the soot marks on his face. "It seems likely they took her for themselves."

"Took her? For what," Gabrielle asked cautiously.

"I don’t know; Archon doesn’t know. They take people, kids mostly."

"It could be for sacrifice," Gabrielle mused aloud, "or slavery. Are they cannibals?" she asked abruptly.

"No," Xena said firmly. "It’s probably slavery." It seemed the least final of the available options.

Gabrielle focused on the obvious question: "What can be done?"

Drax stared at her. "Done? Like what?"

"To rescue her," Gabrielle said, a little annoyed that it wasn’t obvious.

"Gabrielle, I can’t rescue her. I’m one man."

"Isn’t there anyone else? The Overlord. Isn’t that his job? If a troop of soldiers – "

"The Tribes are long gone, Gabrielle. Even if the Overlord wanted to give chase, which he won’t want to do, he’d never find them."

"Xena?" Her eyes turned to the dark warrior half-seated on the bench, silent all this time. She was wearing her battle dress, sans armor, walking stick held loosely in one hand.

"There’s nothing to be done Gabrielle," she said without emotion.

"Not with this overlord," Drax put in.

The room fell quiet. They all three knew how different the answer would have been if Xena were sound. Or if Xena were overlord.

"I'm headed to see how Natrakia and Ikar made out. I'm not sure why; gathering the bad news is not the same as doing something about it." He looked at Gabrielle. "Can I do anything before I go?"

"No, thanks. I'll see you out. I could use the air."

The smell of smoke still hung in the air. Drax tightened the cinch on his saddle. It was unnecessary, but he needed time to frame his thoughts. "Gabrielle," he said at last, "why won't she do it? The Sweetwater would fall into her lap. There'd be no end of support, and then - "

"She won't Drax. That's all."

"No reason?"

"You knew her before Drax, when she had an army."
"Yes, I did." His weathered face was sectioned by a thousand wrinkles when he was puzzled.

"You didn't like her much."

"No," he admitted readily, "but she's different now."

"I think so; but she can still be…excessively aggressive. The idea of power…" She shook her head. "She doesn't want it. Doesn't trust herself with it."

"What? She's afraid to have the power?" He smacked his thigh with frustration. "Zeus bugger a duck! The one person who can help us, and she's afraid to do it."
"I didn't say 'afraid'," Gabrielle responded defensively. "It's not fear," she said, feeling that she was not being entirely truthful. "It's caution."

Drax was not impressed by the semantics. "If I was her I'd be a whole lot more 'cautious' about having the roof burned around my head."

"Drax, if she could sit on a horse she'd be after the band of raiders right now, overlord or lot."

Drax had seen anger in her eyes before; he'd gone too far. "I have no right to judge. It's just hard to accept." He touched his fingers to the long fair locks which tumbled around his forehead, in farewell.

Gabrielle shivered as she crossed the threshold. Xena was not in the room. Her eyes traveled to the door which gave access to the horse shed. 'If she could sit a horse…'

"Xena!" she called urgently as she ran through to the shed.

Xena stood beside Argo, leaning one arm on her neck for support, speaking quietly. "Yeah?" she asked the bard without breaking contact with the mare.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Visiting my horse. What did you think I was doing?" She got no reply, but knew the answer. "I'm not stupid, Gabrielle. If I thought I could ride, I would try it. I know better."

"I know," was the response, "but there are times you seem to think you can do anything."

"The bigger problem is when other people think I can do anything."

"Drax didn't expect you to go after the raiders."

"No, he didn't expect it. It didn't stop him being disappointed that I had no answers." She was looking intently at Argo's intelligent face. "Even Argo is disappointed."

"Argo?" Gabrielle was puzzled.

"It's in the air, Gabrielle, can't you feel it?" She looked around, inhaled deeply. "It's there. Argo wants in on the action."

So do you, Gabrielle realized with a sinking feeling. How long had it been since the peddler's market? Long, boring weeks, punctuated only by the accident that had further reduced her mobility. Now trouble was at her doorstep, and she couldn't respond.

"Come back inside. We haven't had breakfast yet."

"I'll be right there," Xena said, then she cocked her head. "Get inside, quick." Gabrielle hastened through the breezeway, and made her way inside, careful to listen for Xena's hobbling footsteps close behind. She had learned to hear the world outside, and knew from the faint clops in the earth that a band of riders was moving through the soft dirt on the slope which led from the road. She watched through the shutters, looking for the raiders of the night before, and gaped in surprise at their visitors. Petra Tartras rode at their head, Drax beside her.

"Xena. It's Petra," she said in wonder as Xena reached the window. "Drax is with her."

"That's just great." Xena moved to the door, threw it open, and stepped through to stand outside, leaning on her bent stick. Gabrielle took her place at her side. Gabrielle's eyes were on Petra, Xena's on Drax as they drew near. Drax was not bound, yet his sword was not in its sheath. He was in some sense a prisoner. He jumped off his horse and ran the last few steps across the frozen earth. "Xena, they've got the child; and the ponies of the raiders." He waited for a reaction. There was none from Xena. Gabrielle's face creased in a broad smile. "Welcome to our home, Petra," she said.

"Gabrielle. I remember." The hard lines of her face softened marginally. "This man was good enough to show us the way." She looked at Xena for the first time. "From the pony he's riding, I surmise he's your pissing comrade."
Xena's blue eyes narrowed. "You've got some business here?"

Petra regarded the house, nodded in approval. "I like to keep abreast of what happens in my domain. I see you are relying on a crutch once again. Otherwise I have no doubt you would have defeated the raiding tribesmen, and saved me the trouble. As it is, I had plenty of business last night." She snapped her fingers, and a young man rode up, a small girl, her dirty face framed in golden ringlets, balanced on the saddle before him, nestled in his thick woolen cloak. She was intent on a crust of bread. "Here is our prize."

Gabrielle half gasped at the sight, said "Thasnk you," and took an eager step toward the child. Petra regarded her with a wry smile; the rider turned his mount sideways, blocking Gabrielle's access to the small girl.

"Gabrielle. We rescued her; she's ours," Petra explained mildly. She made a small movement of her head and the long plume of her which crested her head swirled languidly, caressing the embossed leather which settled around her shoulders. The effect was magnificent, Xena thought with grudging admiration, but it changed nothing.

"She's not a war horse, Petra. What do you want with her?" she demanded.

"Maybe nothing," Petra replied. "The scrawny offspring of convicts have little value, save as slaves. Or to breed more slaves."

"You can't mean that," Gabrielle protested.

"Shall I feed her for nothing? Allow her tainted blood to mix with that of my people? Would you prefer I kill her now?"

"You could leave her with us."

"In exchange for what?"

"My horse. The one Xena chose to take from the peddlers' village." She took a step toward the shed."

"A nice mare," Petra agreed, "but just one of many. The other mare, the golden mare, is more to my taste."

"Argo?" Gabrielle asked incredulous.

"Argo," Petra nodded. "Is this child worth the life of a war horse?"

"The kid means nothing to me, Petra." Xena growled. Her words stunned Gabrielle who dared not look at her, afraid the blue eyes would hold the same message.

"Then I have my answer," Petra replied, and pulled her reins, preparing to leave.

"But I won't let you make her your slave," Xena continued. "I'll fight you for her."

Gabrielle froze, her eyes fixed on the face of Petra who couldn't suppress a momentary surprise. She looked the warrior up and down. "I wouldn't fight you this way; I'd have too great an advantage."

Xena remained silent. She had been counting on this response. She felt Gabrielle relax beside her; but it was only beginning.

"Zayko found her. Fight him," Petra said with a nod of her head toward the rider who held the girl. Gabrielle looked at him closely now. He was very young, fair and well-muscled. He smiled at the prospect of a fight, but waved a dismissive hand in Xena's direction and unloosed a torrent of words that Gabrielle didn't understand.

Petra turned to Xena. "He's insulted to be fighting an injured woman convict." She lingered on the final word. "Beneath his abilities."

Xena's lips curled in a smile of contempt. "It will give me no satisfaction to whip an insolent puppy, but if it makes him feel better, tell him to give up his horse," she suggested.

Petra relayed the message. Zayko handed the child to the nearest rider and jumped to the ground. He pointed to the chakram and spoke to Petra again.

"He wants you not to use the disc."
Xena nodded and flung the chakram toward the house without looking. As it embedded itself in the door post, Drax's hopes sank. The chakram was a great equalizer.

"Choose the weapons," Petra told Xena, a final concession to her injured state.

"Whips."

Petra paused, then spoke a single word to Zayko. His face contorted in anger for a moment, then he called to his comrades. After a moment a whip was passed to him. Gabrielle realized that Zayko had no whip on his saddle; it would not be his favored weapon. Xena would have noted that right away.

"Gabrielle." Xena spoke without looking. The bard entered the house and returned with Xena's whip. As she handed it to Xena she spoke softly to her. "Can you do this?"

"I can do anything, Gabrielle, remember?" She wished she had laced on her bracers.

Drax stepped up beside them. "Xena, you're in no shape for this. Let me fight him."
"Thanks, Drax, but Petra would never allow it." She wants me. Still clutching the stick in her right hand, she cracked the whip with her left, eyes on Zayko. He unfurled his own whip, in a less than satisfying demonstration.

"Enough," Petra said in disgust. "Begin. Oh, Xena. If you lose, Argo is mine."

Xena might not have heard. Her attention was on Zayko. She smiled and waited for the man to make the first move. Patience wouldn't be his game. He fumbled with the whip, trying to get a feel for the thing. She knew what his target would be, if he had any warrior sense at all, and she was prepared to let him have it. He began a wary approach, to bring himself within whip's reach. Xena waited as if bored, yet so in tune with his movements she could have tracked him with her eyes shut. When at last he moved to strike, her own hand moved first; the tip of her whip bit his hand mid-throw, and the handle fell to the ground. Face burning, he retrieved the whip, stretched a length between his arms for no good reason, and approached once more. His advantage was that he could move, and he sought to use that advantage, running suddenly, arm raised, out of reach. His path took him diagonally across her field of vision; she puzzled at his tactic. He seemed not to know how easy it would be for her to adjust, turning so that his primary target was impossible to access. When he did realize, it was too late. Caught between indecision and the need to do something, he made a feeble attempt to land a blow; while his long, arching cast was still in the air, she sent her whip on a direct, accurate line to his groin. The snap there halted all movement, despite the leather codpiece he wore, then he pitched forward to land on his knees. He heard sympathetic murmurs from the ranks behind him, interspersed with a few guffaws as he rose.

Pain and humiliation were powerful motivators, Xena knew. His next onslaught would be different. It would also be his last. Across the short space which separated them, Zayko took her measure one last time. He had not envisioned defeat as a possibility. With an effort, he refused to consider it now. This time, he would prevail by cunning.

Xena saw something change in his eyes as he shuffled forward, and guessed where he might be headed. Once; twice; three times lucky? Don't think so flashed through her mind. She flicked her wrist and the frozen ground before her splintered, sending a little shower of earth and loose pebbles through the air. Zayko snorted, as if in contempt of the move, but everyone had seen him flinch. She flicked again, and he paused, unnerved by her goading. Another man might guess how anxious I am for this to end, Xena thought, and fail to oblige. Zayko had a lot to learn. His eyes moved suddenly to his target, he took two quick steps forward and hurled the contents of his left hand at her face. He didn't know she'd been expecting that, from the moment he rose from the ground, fist clenched. She merely turned her head and took the force of the debris against one cheek. She was facing him, unperturbed, as he swung the whip overhead toward the walking stick which bore her weight. He didn't see the flare in Xena's eyes as the whip snaked around the stick. To the unpracticed eye it appeared that Zayko had scored a triumph. The stick flew out of Xena's hand, and she was horizontal to the ground, where she seemed to hover in mid-air for a long moment. Zayko snatched his whip back, to ready for another throw, but it carried the stick back with it, causing him to leap out of it's path. At that moment he heard a crow of triumph, and caught a glimpse of Xena, extending the whip above her head; then it sliced through the air, and wrapped itself around Zayko's neck. She snapped it tight to her as she hit the ground, hard; Zayko's body spun 180 degrees before it came to a rest. For a long moment, all were one with the frozen landscape, then the riders began to stir, torn between attacking the convict, and loosing the whip which was strangling Zayko.
"Hold." Petra barked the command. "What is your pleasure Xena?"

"He's yours," she replied dismissively, from her vantage point on the ground. She felt the bitter cold for the first time. "Just leave the child."

Petra gave an order to the man who held the child. He carried her to Xena, but Gabrielle was there to take her. Only then did Petra turn her attention to the man on the ground, groggy, dragging scant breath into his body by instinct alone. She dismounted, strode to him, released the whip with a flourish which left rope burns on his neck. She roused him with a series of sharp smacks on his cheeks. When he had come to his senses she drew a knife from her sheath, yanked his head backward by his long braided hair, and sheared it off neatly. He didn't move as she dropped it onto his chest.

Drax had retrieved Xena's stick. She waited impassively while Petra crossed the ground to her.

"You took the puppy to school. He'll be a better warrior for it someday." Petra said, putting the best face on things.

"If he lives long enough," was Xena's clipped response. She felt a slow trickle of blood where something had struck her cheek. She wanted to wipe it, but wouldn't before Petra. She wanted to lie down, to relieve somehow the renewed pain in her hip from the fall. Instead she asked: "Would you accept out hospitality?" She glanced around the field which surrounded their home. Gabrielle sat on a tree stump, eyes riveted on the child in her lap. "Gabrielle," Xena called to her. "I've invited Petra inside. All right?"

"That's fine, Xena," Gabrielle replied, caring little, but suddenly conscious of the rest of the world. For starters, it was cold. The little girl had been outside for gods alone knew how long. And there was Xena…She gathered the toddler in her arms and made her way to the house.

"Petra's giving orders to her troops," Xena reported as she and Drax joined her inside. She hung the chakram at her hip once more. "She'll be here in a minute."

"Fine, Xena. It's a good thing Hermia was by yesterday. We have lots to offer. To you, too, Drax." Hermia had become a sort of middlewoman; she saw everyone, and trading through her had become a welcome convenience, especially now, Gabrielle knew, remembering with pride that her promise of lessons was helping put food in their mouths. She looked closely at Xena, reached a hand to touch her cheek. "You came down really hard."

"Yeah," Xena acknowledged, "but no harm done." She wiped her face with a damp cloth.

"You didn't have to invite her now."

"Yes, I did. She wants to see me hurting. I have to let her know she won't see that."

"I guess that's some sort of warrior logic I don't get."

Xena gave her a weary smile. "Don't try. Besides, there's something I need to find out, and she's gonna tell me." She looked at the child. "How is she?"

"Seems none the worse for wear. I think she's too disoriented to ask about…you know."

"Yeah."
"I'll just get her settled down to sleep. She's wonderful, Xena. So like…" her words were lost as she her move into the warmth of the room near the hearth.

"Xena?" Petra opened the door, looked around the single room, and entered.

"Welcome. Warm yourself by our fire." Xena indicated the bench nearest the hearth, and waited for Petra to settle herself, before sitting, left leg at an angle before her.

"I've never been in a convict home before," Petra announced.

"Life is all about first time experiences," Xena observed.

"Even the final event: death," Petra agreed. She wondered at the sly smirk that played on Gabrielle's face as she joined them.

"I guess that's true for most people," the bard said. Breakfast was to have been porridge. That wouldn't do for company. There was bread, cheese, and a haunch of venison hanging in the root cellar. That would do nicely. She settled the jug of mead on the table while she and Drax fetched the food.

"We have certain commonalties, Xena," Petra opened, in a serious tone. "We might use them to the benefit of all." When Xena did not respond she went on: "You are a competent warrior. It puzzles me that you have not challenged for overlordship."

"I'm not the overlord type."

"Certainly not in the fashion of Nerad," she agreed with a dismissive shake of the head, "But in you own fashion, surely, you could have the power."

"I'm not real ambitious that way," Xena told her.

"But there was a time…" Petra nodded her head knowingly. "One hears stories."

"It's a good trick to know which stories to believe."

"You're content here? Whittling spoons?"

Petra hadn't missed a thing, Xena noted.

"Good spoons are hard to come by." Gabrielle's voice was less than friendly as she set a platter of cheese and bread before the two warriors, then took a seat beside Xena, making a show of taking Xena's hand.

"I'm very content," Xena said, realizing it was true, much of the time. With all the problems, she had this each night: Gabrielle at her side. She couldn't think of a time in her adult life when she'd been more content. Except for those awful moments when it all lost focus...

Drax set the haunch of venison before them, on a hard wood cutting board. The sharp knife was for self service Gabrielle realized, appalled. "Warriors; every excuse to use a weapon," she objected, and rose to carve off thick slices.

"You sound like Ileander," Drax said with a broad grin, wishing Ileander had come along.

There was little conversation while they ate, the heavy meat and bread required a good deal of chewing. When they were finished, and lashings of Hermia's mead were being thrown back, Petra pointed across the room. "That's an Amazon ceremonial mask." She said of the Gabrielle's mask which hung in a prominent place.
"Gabrielle is Amazon royalty," Xena told her.

"Another Amazon in Tartarus."

"Another?" Gabrielle asked eagerly.
"There is one other here. I'm sure you'll meet sometime," Petra said, done with that topic. "I understand now you weren't marked when you came here. Tarkian would never brand one with noble blood."

Gabrielle jumped in: "I have no noble blood, Petra. I was not born an Amazon. I had the title bestowed on me by right of caste."
"She earned the right with an act of courage and humanity," Xena amended. "Gabrielle is noble by nature."

"Xena is of royal blood," Gabrielle said, noting Petra's pointed gaze at Xena's unmarked hand.

Petra looked doubtful "I had imagined "Warrior Princess" was an honorary title, of dubious honor, with emphasis on 'Warrior'," she smiled.

"The royal house of Prestia," Gabrielle began, wanting to tell the whole story of Xena's liberation of that country from usurpers, but Xena caught her eye; a slight shake of her head was enough.

"The stories told of Xena in these parts don't mention Prestia."

Xena shrugged.

"I think I'll see if the child is hungry," Gabrielle said. "Do you know her name?" she asked Petra, who didn't waste the energy to shake her head in answer.

"Nara, I think," Drax supplied. "I think I heard her called that, once, at Cramma's."

"Nara," Gabrielle repeated, as she crossed to her, happy to be able to waken the girl by name.

"Why did you bring the child here, Petra?" Xena asked in a soft voice.

"We were close by. I was surprised that raiders from the Tribes operated so close to your home, undeterred. Now I understand." She indicated Xena's injury. "You won't be out of the saddle for long." It was not a question. "And now I must take my leave. They'll be snow from the mountains before another daybreak, and I have many things to do." She rose suddenly; Xena did the same, turning a near gasp into a call to Gabrielle. "Petra's leaving."

"Yeah, I know; sorry," she apologized, occupied with the child's soiled diaper.

"Farewell, Gabrielle. I thank you both for your hospitality. Drax." She inclined her head to him. "I'm happy to know the pisser has a name." And she was gone. Drax stood for a moment looking through the window until the party had mounted and disappeared over the hill.

"That was a full morning. I confess I don't know why you felt the need to fight her."

"She made a statement by showing up. I had to make a counter statement. Perception is everything , Drax. I can't think how many fights I've avoided because I managed to persuade someone I was tougher than they'd ever want to deal with."

"And that's from a person who loves nothing better than a good fight," Gabrielle said from the corner."

"If you say so," he shrugged. "I'd best be off, myself. They'll wonder where I've gotten too. Hermia won't half hate missing a meal with Petra." He shook his head. "Funny what passes for entertainment in these parts."

"Yeah," Xena breathed, happy to relax at last, to loosen the controls that masked her pain. It wasn't too bad, she acknowledged; even with the jarring impact with the ground it felt better than the day before. It hadn't even been a week, and the thing was much improved. Still, it was good to be left alone. In the corner, Gabrielle had the child seated on a sheepskin, and was making introductions.

"She's bright, Xena," she called out. "Says 'Gabrielle' pretty well. I'll have to wrap her in a blanket for sleeping, while I get this dirty thing washed. Maybe Hermia will let me have some of Lilla's old things, if she hasn't used them for rags."

"I'm sure she will," Xena said slowly.

"She can sleep here, next to me, for now. Maybe when you're healed you can make her a cradle."

"A cradle?" she asked, suddenly wary. "Gabrielle, she'll only be here a few days."

Gabrielle straightened. "A few days? What are you saying?"

"It's not as if we're keeping her," she said with a small shake of her head.

"Not? Of course we are," she said indignantly. "Don't listen to her Nara, I'll be here for you."

Xena opened her mouth to say something, but wasn't sure what it might be. She couldn't have been more plain. She watched for a few minutes as the bard coaxed Nara to hold a small cup of water. At last she spoke: "Gabrielle, I think we have to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about, Xena? Nara has been delivered to our doorstep. Why shouldn't we keep her?"

"Us? Gabrielle, c'mon," Xena expelled a short laugh. Gabrielle didn't see the humor.

"Why not us?" she demanded, staring at the warrior from across the room. "There are plenty of parents in Tartarus, in the world, for that matter, who are worse than we could ever be." She turned back to Nara. "I think I'd be a good mother, anyway; given a chance."

Xena sat very still; the room seemed to have a magical quality of shrinking in size at the most inopportune moments. This was such a moment, and the air seemed to whoosh out of the room, leaving behind the smoky, slightly musty smell of a damp, Tartarus winter. Indoors.

"You'd be a very good mother, Gabrielle. But we can't just keep her. She may have kin."

"In Tartarus? What are the chances?" Gabrielle scoffed.

"It's not impossible, Gabrielle; I've heard of large family groups settled in some areas."

"Wishful thinking," she accused. "You'd love someone to step forward and ask for her, but it's not going to happen. She's here and she's staying here."

"And I have no say in this? Isn't this the sort of thing we should decide together?"

"Why? So you can decide the answer is 'no'?"

"Gabrielle, this would be a major change in our lives; we have to give it some thought."

"Xena, if we can't make room in our lives for an innocent child, alone in the world, we're pretty sorry creatures."

"You make it sound very simple, Gabrielle."

"Most things are simple, Xena. You're the one who makes it complicated, because you have to have your way, all the time, so everything else has to change to fit. That must be a damned hard way to live."

"Let's avoid my flaws and stick to the point. This kid will change everything: we won't be able to pick up and go - "

"Go where? This isn't the road, Xena. We're settled folks now, remember?"

"How about the other night? Would you have left her alone to come looking for me?"

"No," Gabrielle acknowledged, "that would have been a problem, but we can't build our lives around what might happen next. Most of what's happened in my life, good and bad, has been far beyond the limits of my imagination." She was still then, looking past the walls of the house, over the mountains which were the bounds of Tartarus, to things Xena could only guess at. When she came back to the moment, her face held a steely resolve. "I'm not asking for your permission, Xena, and I don't want to discuss this anymore. I'm keeping this little girl. If you want to be part of our lives, you're welcome."

Part of your lives? So. Xena moved the tip of the little crutch in small circles on the floor, watching the woman as she rocked the child to sleep in the small circle of light which spread from the fire. The girl seemed finally to feel the absence of her mother; she fussed and babbled a word endlessly: "Mama." At last she gave up from exhaustion. Gabrielle looked at Xena. "I still have all the chores to do."

"They can wait. Would you come closer please?" she asked carefully.

"All right, but I'm not changing my mind," she said firmly as she crossed the floor.

"I won't ask you to change your mind." Only a few feet separated them; Xena could have touched her, wanted to, but Gabrielle didn't seem ready for that, standing with her arms folded across her chest. "It was never about permission, Gabrielle. You must see me as quite a tyrant." She forced a small smile. Gabrielle shook her head, opened her mouth as if to speak, then stood silent as Xena went on. "If she - Nara - is to stay here, we'll have to make some arrangement for milk. Sepra and Archon or Natrakia maybe will let us have a pair of goats, for some price we can manage. She's already sort of big for a cradle, but I can make her a small bed of some kind."

"Thank you, Xena. I hadn't thought about those things - yet," she admitted sheepishly. "I can do this without you," she insisted, "but it makes it a lot easier for you to be with me."

"With you? Where else would I be? This is for life, Gabrielle. You and me. We're ready to make that statement to the world." Aren't we? she asked herself. "Don't get me wrong, I still think this isn't the best thing for Nara, or for us; but you're not giving me a lot of choice. This is the price for staying in your life."

Gabrielle seemed puzzled. "Xena, I never said that," she said at last.

"Yes, Gabrielle, you did. And if that's how you feel, if you need Nara to make you happy, I'll try to make it work for you. For all of us."

Gabrielle's face softened; her arms reached out to Xena. "It will make me happy, Xena, but it's not that you don't…" she nestled as close as she could to Xena on the hard wooden bench. "And you aren't a tyrant. It just seems that you make all the important decisions. I couldn't let you make this one."

Xena returned the embrace, her mind grappling with the decision the bard had just made, the words she'd said."

"Now I'd better do those chores before Nara wakes up. Will you be okay with her? I won't be long? Just checking the traps."

"Traps? Sure. I'll manage."

Gabrielle stopped at the door, and turned to Xena, puzzled. "What's this?" she asked.

Neatly carved into the lintel was a large monogram, signifying 'Petra'. Xena swore.

"What has she done, Xena? What does it mean?"

"It means that if any harm comes to us, the perpetrators answer to Petra," she spat.

Gabrielle was puzzled. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not if you want it," she replied, tight-lipped. Not if she isn't just keeping me for herself, she thought, banging the door against the frame.

The day passed quickly for Gabrielle, more slowly for Xena, under the strain of being enthused about the child. So like Hope. Just what we need.

It was close to sundown, a time few people chose to travel in winter, when Cramma's voice in the yard caused Gabrielle to hold the child more closely. As she opened the door her heart thumped so that she felt it in her ears. Xena watched the scene, nearly silent. Words were exchanged, thanks and promises, then Cramma was gone, with the child, and the few things Gabrielle had already settled on her.

At last Gabrielle turned to Xena. "I don't know how you manage, Xena. Once again, you got your way."
The warrior looked at her, open-mouthed.

"Did you offer a supplication to your favorite god? He sure works fast. The child's one relation in the world turns up not ten miles away. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"You heard Cramma, Gabrielle," Xena said patiently. "They settled here to be close to her. Just in case something like this happened. Cramma's rough, but she's a fine woman. She has a lot of love to give."

"So do I Xena," she said harshly.

"Gabrielle, you don't have to tell me how much love - "

"And I know you had nothing to do with it, not really, but you can't pretend that it makes you unhappy. So take that glum look off your face; you, at least, had a terrific day: a good knock down fight, great chance to show off for the Petra and the gang, and a little problem neatly solved before nightfall. Another day in the life of the Warrior Princess."
"Gabrielle, stop it. I did what I could to keep that little girl from a life of slavery. What happens to her now is a matter for her kin, for Cramma, to decide. I had nothing to do with bringing her here, I had nothing to do with sending her away, and it doesn't make me happy to see you miserable. Come over here." It was something more than a request: it was Gabrielle's signal to let the tears fall freely. It was all right, it was always all right to get lost in Xena's warmth. Anything was permitted there, everything was safe. So she sobbed against the leather and flesh, mourning for Nara, for Hope, and for herself.

Chapter Twenty Six

Petra was proved right about the snow. Xena woke before dawn to a world that was hushed and still; she knew without looking that the ground was blanketed. This was not the icy veneer of the last storm, but a thick driving snow, piled in high drifts by the faithful wind which came from the East. The back of Cramma, perched on her donkey the night before, would be the last they'd see of company for days. She felt Gabrielle's breath soft against her skin, a welcome touch of warmth in the cold darkness. She resisted the urge to stroke her cheek. This would be a morning to sleep late; there would be little to do all day. The timing of the storm was fortunate: a few days with Nara and Gabrielle would have found it all that much harder to give her up.

A few more days with her and we'd have grown so close Cramma wouldn't have had the heart to take her away, Gabrielle mused. She set the porridge bowls on the table and moved to Xena's side. "You'd better get it while it's hot. There seems to be no keeping out the cold today." A crown of dark hair was all that was visible of the warrior in the early darkness. "Come on, Xena. Can't sleep all day." She ripped the blankets from her.

"Hey!" she protested, and yanked them back, holding them tight against her. "Give me a few minutes. What's the hurry? There's too much snow to go anyplace."

Gabrielle frowned, disappointed. "You know that without looking? Can't I tell you ever anything?"

"Sure. You can tell me how much you love me." She blinked once, rubbed her eyes, and watched as Gabrielle's surprise turned to something else.

"I get to tell you that? Again? Okay," she screwed her eyes as if deep in thought, and said at last: "I love you more than I loved Timpani."

Xena nodded solemnly. "Hmmm. Your pony."

"Xena," Gabrielle went on hastily, "don't be hurt, I really loved Timpani."

"Calm down," Xena said, stifling a yawn. "You could learn a lot about love from kids and their pets."

"Good, then you do understand," Gabrielle's face relaxed in a smile, and she lowered herself to the floor, settling into the space Xena made with her arms. "Did you have a favorite pet, Xena?"

"Pet? I don't know if we had pets. There were always sheepherding dogs around Amphipolis, since it's - "

"I know, sheep country," Gabrielle supplied.

"Yes, it is," Xena confirmed proudly. "The dogs were all working dogs. Even the ones around our place. They were all the same type, small, feisty, never back down. Kind of like you."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," Gabrielle said after a moment.

"You'd better," Xena told her. "They kept the inn clear of vermin better than any cats. Ratters, that's what my mother called them."

"You didn't have pets, you had ratters. Charming. That might explain a lot. So did you have a favorite ratter?"

"I did," was the immediate answer. "Spots."

"Original," Gabrielle remarked.

"Toris named her," Xena said defensively. "He was the oldest, and got his way. Back then, anyway. But the name fit. She had dark brown spots all over. She was very good at her job, but when it was slow, she'd sit by the hearth, and if you turned your back from the spit for a moment, she'd leap up, right over the flames, and tear off a piece of whatever was roasting. My Mother would grab the broom and chase her. I can still hear her: 'Out damned Spots' she'd say. Spots would leave for a while and sneak back in when Mother was busy. I liked her. I would have called her 'Dash', I think."

"What happened to her?"

"She lived to a ripe old age, and died in her bed of straw in the barn, leaving behind several litters of pups. I'd like to say that. Truth is, she was crushed by the wheel of a cart." Following me.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. I just wish she'd had a better end. She didn't die right away. My mother finally did something to end her suffering." She shook her head. "Little Spots. I haven't thought of her in a long time."

"Maybe sometime we could have a pet? Dog or cat, it wouldn't matter. I haven't seen many in these parts, but they must be around."

"I would bet Ikar could find something." Her hand traced lazy circles on Gabrielle's back.

"You're in a good mood today." Or maybe it's just kids you don't want around?

"About the same as usual," Xena decided.

"How is your hip feeling? And the ribs?"

"Fine. Well, much better. So good, I think I'll do some serious sewing."

"Serious sewing? Embroidery?"

"No," she said with a frown. "Something practical. You'll like it."

Gabrielle watched Xena work with bemused fascination. In some ways, it was like watching the accomplished warrior do most things: little wasted movement, no hesitation, just a plan to be put into action. So she laid out a pliant length of doeskin on the long table and cut, with no pattern, no markings on the skin, but a clear direction in mind. She stitched quickly, precisely, fingers flying though she scarcely looked at the work. All the while she held up her end of a conversation. Gabrielle drifted closer to the table in stages, finally asking the question: "Xena? Are you making yourself something new to wear, finally?" she asked, hope dawning in her eyes.

Xena narrowed her eyes and held the nearly finished garment before her. "I like what I wear, Gabrielle. Does this look like a fit for me?"

Gabrielle saw it clearly now, a pair of pants. Too short by a good deal for Xena. "They're for me?"

"Yeah," Xena nodded, setting to work stitching again. "Warmer than what you wear."

"But you never measured me…how - "

"Gabrielle, do you think I don't know your dimensions?" she snorted softly.

"Xena," that's so sweet." She sat beside her, pulled her head close and kissed her cheek. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," Xena responded, eyes on her work at last. "That cloak doesn't begin to keep out the weather. These will help." She bit the end of the stout thread and tied it off.

She gave the pants a critical inspection, then satisfied, handed them to the bard. "Done.

Put them on while I start on the shirt."

"They're awfully soft," she said.

"Doeskin will get like that, if it's treated properly. Now hurry up; I'd like to see them."

Gabrielle kicked her boots off, let the short skirt fall to the floor and stepped in to the pants. It was as Xena said: she knew her dimensions very well.

Xena nodded her approval, unable to keep the pleasure from her face. They were as she had envisioned them, hugging the bard's form while not being constricting.

"You look terrific." And if it weren't for this damned hip I'd have you on my lap right now.

"I've never worn pants like these before, just those furry leggings. These feel, " she considered, "like a body glove." She ran a hand down the outside of a thigh, enjoying the buttery softness. "I'm warmer already."

So am I, my bard, Xena thought, but merely said: "That's the point. Now, if you get the other piece of hide from the shed, I'll start on the shirt." She could already see the finished garment in her mind's eye, draped smoothly over the firm breasts. "This drafty place won't trouble you again."

"I've never seen clothing fashioned this way. Where did you get the idea?"

"I spent some time with the people of the North. Way north, beyond Britannia. The people I stayed with roam the seas, venture to places that appear on our maps. A native of one of those places returned with them. She dressed just like this."

"Returned? You mean as a prisoner?"

"No. Seems that she liked to travel, too. And she liked to tell stories. I think she was a bard among her people."

"Really? And her home isn't on our maps?" A certain sparkle came to Gabrielle's eyes when her interest was well and truly piqued; the sparkle was there now. "How do you get there? To her home, I mean."

Sail west, always west, beyond any known lands, until you run short of supplies, and the crew is on the verge of mutiny."

"You sound as if you've been."

"Not yet." She grimaced. "When my ambitions lay in conquering the world, it was part of my long term plans. I'd still like to see it some day." Fat chance, she mused. The woman either had a vivid imagination, or the land is truly full of wonders. Flocks of birds so thick they blot out the sun for hours when they take flight. Herds of bison that thunder past for hours, with no break. What I'd really like to see is a waterfall."

"We have those here," Gabrielle pointed out.

"Not like this one. It sounds as if a sea the size of the Mediterranean must be pouring itself out. Or else she's a terrible liar." She shrugged. "Who knows. I'd like to see for myself, someday." Her lips twisted sardonically. "And they've never heard of Ares. Or Zeus."

"Sounds like quite a place." They were silent for a while; Xena took a few quick stitches to secure a seam.

"Xena, what about new clothes for you?"

"Next winter."

"Xena, if this is about yesterday, it really isn't necessary. I'm over that."

"Over what?" Xena asked, clearly puzzled for a moment, then she understood. "Nara? Why would this be about Nara?"

"A peace offering?" Gabrielle suggested.

Xena's eyes clouded briefly. "Hate to disappoint you, but I've had this in mind for weeks. As for a peace offering, I didn't know you were expecting one."

"I'm not - "

"Of course you are, otherwise you wouldn't assume I'm handing you one." She began to gather the pieces of scrap which littered the table. "How did this become such a big deal?" she wondered aloud. "Would you get me the other doeskin, please. I'd like this to be finished."

The joy she felt in the project was gone. She worked as before, but few words were exchanged; when she handed the shirt to Gabrielle the bard accepted it with a muffled word of thanks. There was enough of the skin left to make slippers, Xena noted, but sitting so long in one place had made her hip sore. She rose to stretch. Outside, the storm seemed to have intensified, if that was possible. She wondered if the drifts would make it impossible to leave the house. She hadn't really counted on anything like this when she built it. Still, there'd be plenty of time to adapt the house to the realities of Tartarus. Gabrielle had slipped the shirt on, and sat as before, hunched over a scroll. One thing about bad weather: it limited the time spent on chores. Xena wondered vaguely if the scroll was about Nara. Or Petra. The shirt suited Gabrielle, it's soft folds changing even as she moved the quill across the scroll. Xena wanted to say so, wanted to say something, but she couldn't judge the bard's mood. Another quarrel, another wasted day in Tartarus. Her head moved to follow a particularly vicious blast of wind, which ended in a scream, like someone howling through the storm. Gabrielle heard it, too, and looked at Xena, a question in her eyes. Then it was heard a second time, and Xena began a slow move to the shuttered window. Together, the two women peered through the curtain of white. It was mid afternoon; the light of the day was diffused through the landscape. The nearby stand of trees was visible as a dark mass of no particular composition. The house would look just the same to anyone unfortunate enough to be outside its walls; yet in a world of swirling whiteness, a dark mass, might be anything, might be salvation, couldn't be worse than the certain death of the storm. So, a figure cloaked in white staggered toward the house, not realizing until he stumbled against a wall that it was, indeed, a house.

The muffled sound brought their heads around to the side wall, across from the hearth. Gabrielle grabbed her cloak from a peg. "There's someone there, right outside. I'll go help," she said. Xena cursed her inability to move well enough to help, but she stood beside the open door, watching as the bard worked her way around the corner of the house, careful not to lose contact with the rough walls. It was with relief that she saw her return at last, followed by a slow moving, stooped figure. It was a man, sporting a beard stiff with matted snow beneath a nose botched red and white with cold. He seemed to lose his ability to move, to stand, to speak when he entered the warmth of the house, and toppled forward to the floor. Xena fetched blankets as Gabrielle worked the stiff cloak from him, and pulled off his ice-crusted boots. A few warm stones were dropped into a cup, and mead was poured over them, while Gabrielle shook his beard roughly to dislodge the snow and ice.

"He couldn't have gone on much further like this," she said.

"Lucky bastard," Xena nodded.

"I wonder who he is, and why he's out on a night like this."

"We'll soon know," Xena guessed, as he stirred, trying to rise on shaky arms. "Just lie still for a few moments," the warrior told him softly. "You're in no danger here." He buried his face against an arm, and sobbed.

"Now that's relief," Gabrielle said. She hurried to fetch the cup of mead.

"Yeah." Xena stood a little to the side, watching the man writhe on the floor, a puddle forming where the ice melted. With his tattered cloak now hanging by the fire to dry she could see his features: the chapped cheeks, the nose threatened by frostbite, his red beard curling close to his face. Red beard. There was something familiar in that; she moved closer. He stole a glance at her, then quickly turned away; too late.

"Gaederus," she breathed, and if he ever heard the voice of Hades, he knew it could only be warmer. "You bastard, is that you?" The tip of her stick touched him; he squirmed away, squealing.

Gabrielle returned, mead in hand. "What is it?"

"We don't need that, Gabrielle. He's not staying."

"Xena, what are you talking about?"

The warrior drove a booted foot into his side. "He can't stay. Isn't that right, Gaederus."

"Gaederus." Gabrielle stared for a long moment; images from that endless night in Priblis flashed through her head. The red beard moved with his face as he smiled and stammered, seeking a reprieve from the bard.

"I did see you in Priblis," he began, and worked to collect his thought.

"Oh yes," Xena confirmed. "We saw you too. Right before the troops of Mustrakis grabbed us."

"I - I - I, uh, heard you'd been taken. I don't know how - "

"Forget it, Gaederus," Xena told him harshly. "We all know how they found Gabrielle: you led them to her, and kept her there with a phony message from me."

"That's not how it was," he tried again, knowing he spoke in vain, watching transfixed as the warrior reached to grab his beard. She pulled his face to eye level.

"You betrayed us," she hissed, as she brought hard knuckles against his nose. Blood spurted onto his chest, then splattered the floor as she whipped his head around with a second blow.

"Xena. Stop it." Gabrielle was at her elbow.

"I'll do just that," she said, never taking her eyes from Gaederus. "Get out."

The man mopped frantically at the blood which poured from his nose and mouth, considering his limited options: the elements or the fury which seemed to radiate from the warrior beside him. One chance. His eyes turned to Gabrielle. "I'll die if I leave" he whimpered.

"Probably," Xena agreed, "but then again, you'll die if you stay. And that was an order, not a choice. Get your putrid hide out of my house." Her words were charged with all the energy that under different circumstances would have fueled physical violence. Even so he shrank from her now, inching toward the door, and the storm which seemed less threatening all the time.

"Xena. What are you doing?" Gabrielle demanded, a hand on Xena's arm. "You can't throw him out there to die?"

"I can't" the warrior spat incredulous. "Can't?" she echoed even louder. "I'm doing it, Gabrielle, so stay out of the way."

"Xena, you'll be sending him to his death!"

"We've established that, Gabrielle. I figure he's already lived three minutes longer than he has any right to expect." She turned her attention back to the groveling man on the floor. "Isn't that so, Gaederus? You thought we'd never cross paths again, right? You must have pissed your pants when they sent you to Tartarus, to me! And then the gods sent you stumbling at my feet. I owe someone a big thank you. Now get out before I cut off your frost bitten ears."

"Xena. I don't care what he's done. He's not leaving this house tonight." Gabrielle's

voice held a rare whiplash of command.

"Have you forgotten what he's done?" Xena growled. "He's the reason were in this gods forsaken place!"

"I haven't forgotten, but I don't care what he's done. We're not denying him our hospitality today."

"Fine; you're out of it. I won't have him under my roof."

"Our roof."
"What?"
"It's our roof, Xena. I have a voice in who is permitted under this roof, too. And I say he's welcome. Today, anyway."

"Sheltering the reason we're here." Xena smacked her forehead in wonder. "Gabrielle, sometimes you're just too good to be true." It wasn't a compliment.

"I've that said a lot, Xena. Mostly from people wondering how I put up with you. As for why we're here, I know this leaves a lot out, but isn't a least part of the reason the fact that for years you led an unprecedented life of crime?"

Xena stood very still, then she worked air back into her lungs for a reply. "I often wonder how you put up with me, too."

"Xena, I didn't mean that," Gabrielle said hastily aware she'd gone too far.

Xena turned away; Gaederus wouldn't see the fury that swept through her. In a barely controlled voice she spoke to the bard: "So we have a difference of opinion. "I could throw him out of here; what could you do to stop me?"

Gabrielle swallowed, met the challenge in the suddenly midnight eyes, and replied: "If you throw him out, I won't stay here." She stopped abruptly, scarcely believing that she'd said the words. Xena heard them, shook her head as if that would change what had been said.

"Won't stay?"

Gabrielle scrambled to make sense of what she had said. It seemed awfully drastic; probably impossible, but equally impossible to retract, so she merely repeated the words.

"I won't stay. I won't stand by and watch you send a man to certain death."

Him or me, that's what it came down to, and Gabrielle had a made a choice. First Nara, now Gaederus. It was suddenly hard for the warrior to swallow. Without a word she took the few painful steps to where a length of rope hung from a peg. She bound Gaederus hand and foot, then looked steadily at the bard. "Tell me when he's gone," she said, grabbed her cloak, and exited through the sheltered breezeway which connected to the shed.

She had not settled down when Gabrielle appeared at the entrance. "What are you doing?" Xena was barely visible in the cold gray light which found it's way through the shutters.

"Don’t worry, I'm not going far; I'm afraid you're stuck with me. But I won't stay under the same roof with that bastard. Didn't I make that clear?" she asked in a harsh voice.

"Then Gaederus can stay out here," she replied after a moment.

"With my horse?" she shook her head. "Not on your life."

"You'd rather he stay inside with me?"

"No, Gabrielle, that's your choice. I'd prefer he froze his ass off outside. I know I made that clear."

"Xena, come on, this makes no sense."

"This makes no sense? Does it make sense to shelter the man who betrayed us? Sent us here? Where's the sense in that?"

"It won't change anything to send him out to his death," Gabrielle reasoned, " and it doesn't make us better people to act out of vengeance."

"Well, that's the problem," Xena exclaimed, "I haven't gotten the finer points of being a better person. Vengeance would suit me just fine."

"That's your last word?"

"No; there's this: You're just putting off the inevitable. That bastard will die by my hand."

"I don't like you like this, Xena."

"Obviously. You prefer the company of that traitor."

"I don't prefer - "

"Just don't turn your back on him." The bard left quietly, shivering a little, from the cold, or Xena's words, she couldn't say.

"You me, and a bedroll Argo. Again." Xena settled down long before dark, for what was to be a long, sleepless night.

No one slept much that evening. Gabrielle listened for Gaederus, he listened for Xena. From her place in the shed, Xena listened for anything. Long before dawn, she heard movement at last: Gaederus, stealing about the house. She held her breath, tracking his movements through the noises he made, chinking pottery, rustling the stiff waxed cloth around the cheeses, pouring something, mead, by the sound of it. She considered interrupting, but was certain Gabrielle would object to that, would help him stuff a sack with provisions. At last she heard his footsteps crunch in the snow, a steady movement away from the house, and closed her eyes.

"Xena? He's gone." Gabrielle had a warm cup in each hand. "I brought you something warm. Was it too bad out here? It seemed like the wind didn't stop all night."

Xena sat up slowly, brushed hay from her hair, and curled a lip: "It was like old times, sleeping in a pile of hay. Except for the snow blowing in through the cracks. Except that my home is just a few feet away." And except that I was alone, she thought bitterly.

Gabrielle sat beside her, and held out a cup, uncertainly. So much had been said the night before. She was torn between an apology, and hoping they could just move past it. Xena took the cup after long consideration. Gabrielle relaxed a bit; it seemed that Xena, too, was anxious to put the ugly moments behind her. She was looking at Gabrielle appraisingly. Doeskin suited her. The honey-hair seemed made to fall on that supple surface.

Gabrielle reached to pick a wisp of straw from the warrior's hair. "Xena," she said contritely, "I hated it that you were out here, but you can be so stubborn." Her smile urged Xena to respond in kind.

The warrior was not quite ready for that, but kept her voice low as she asked: "Me? Who was ready to up and leave if I tossed Gaederus out on his ass?"

"Xena, it wasn't about Gaederus, it was a matter of principle," she explained.

"Principles. Yeah, I know the place principles take in your life," Xena replied uneasily. She considered that they had yet to share with anyone their plans to make a public commitment to each other. Gabrielle had suggested that they wait until they could specify a day. They hadn't even spoken of it in weeks. Too busy squabbling, I suppose.

"Just tell me this: would you really have left?" she asked abruptly, needing to know.
A pause, then: "Probably."

"Where would you have gone?" Xena continued, arching an eyebrow.

Gabrielle shrugged. "Hermia's."

"In that storm? You wouldn't have gone two miles."

"Maybe not."

"And how much did your 'principles' rely on me caving in?"

"Let's say I didn't really think I'd be spending the night in the storm." She lay her head against Xena's chest. Xena stiffened, then lifted the blanket, to take Gabrielle into the warm space beneath. "But I never meant for you to spend the night in the cold." She sighed and snuggled closer to Xena, rubbing a thigh clothed in soft doeskin against her. "It really is cold out here." She sipped from her cup. "Gaederus finished the mead. He was gone before I woke up. He also took some cheese and the last of the bread. Oh, he took a blanket, too."

"Yeah, I figured," Xena said quietly. "Why did you untie him?"

"He had to eat, Xena. And then I didn't want him peeing on the floor, so I let him outside. I tied him again, he let me. I guess he figured I wouldn't tie him as well as you had."

At least he's gone, Xena consoled herself. They'd cross paths again, and this time, she'd see that Gaederus was armed. She half smiled at the image of what she might do to him.

"Are you angry?" the bard asked.

"Do I ever stay mad for long?" Gods, with you so warm beside me, how would that be possible.

Gabrielle smiled. "You make me feel guilty. But yesterday, it seemed like the right thing to do."

"He ruined yesterday, let's not mention him again today." The soft hair felt warm against her cold nose. She snuggled against her, moved lower to seize an earlobe with her teeth. Her hands roamed over the woman.

The sudden change of tone caught Gabrielle by surprise. "Is this about making up?"

"Does every move I make need a reason?" Xena asked, letting her hands fall to the straw. "Can't it just be that it's been too long? So long Gabrielle," she said with sudden urgency, "since I've tasted you." She took the bard's cup, and set it down beside her own in the straw. "Let's just stop fighting," she said wearily. "Nothing is worth that distance between us, not your principles - "

"Not your vengeance?"

"Not vengeance," Xena agreed, Gabrielle's hair twined in her fingers, her mouth urging the bard to quiet. "So long…" she murmured.

"Xena. This isn't a magical solution to our squabbles."

"I know that, Gabrielle," Xena nodded, a little frustrated. "But it can't hurt."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" the bard wanted to know, pulling away with reluctance.

"If I could smack that - " she stopped, shook her head emphatically. She wouldn't say the name again. "Anyway," she continued, "I'm more than up to this." Gently, she turned Gabrielle by the shoulders. "Gabrielle. How long has it been since I said 'I love you'?"

 Continued...Chapters 27 - 28

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