Deus Ex Gabrielle : The Author's Cut

Disclaimers : For full disclaimers see Part 1, but in brief, this is a non-explicit altfic. You might want to read the first 12 parts in order to make sense of this - or reread them for a refresher, even if you've already read them - it's been a long time since part 12 was posted, and a lot of people missed that one's posting.

The Long Delayed Part 13 - Zeus Speaks

Xena, be warned,
Xena, beware.
By closing your eyes,
You can see what isn't there.

Xena, be calm.
Open your eyes.
Lies may be truth,
And truth may be lies.

- Callisto, The Bitter Suite

"Next," Zeus replied, visibly weighing his words before speaking each, selecting them with care, "we come to an agreement."

"Agreement?" Gabrielle's brow furrowed as she frowned. "But I thought you said that you were going to..." She trailed off, wary of his reaction.

"Pass judgement?" His smile was more than a little wry, and was heavily leavened with irony besides. "Don't worry; I will. Still, I'm realistic enough to understand that if there is the faintest doubt that you didn't willingly accede to the judgement that I impose, and agree to abide by it... Tell me, Gabrielle, how long do you suppose it would take for Artemis, or Hercules, or Xena, or Hephaestus... or any of your other champions, for that matter, decided to take it upon themselves to unilaterally 'correct' my 'mistake?'"

Grimacing, Gabrielle conceded the point. Many of the problems she'd encountered - both before her recent accidental divinity and since - had been the result of well- meant interference. Though the intervention had most often been well-intentioned - and even welcomed at the time - the influence and interference of the other gods in her affairs since Apollo had kidnapped her had unarguably complicated matters to an unbelievable degree.

"I may be King of the Gods, but..." he trailed off and was silent for several moments before resuming, his inflection subtly altered as he spoke. "You've had a surfeit of dealings with the gods. Surely even before you became a goddess, you must have realized the existence of the limitations that accompany the power of divinity?" Zeus' smile broadened, one corner of his lips twitching up as he felt the beginnings of understanding crossing her mind.

"Some limitations are imposed by virtue of our divine natures," Zeus explained, "Ares, for example, couldn't begin to conceive some of the driving precepts that are integral to the natures of Aphrodite or Cupid, or understand them even if he could formulate them, and I'm hardly likely to become a model of chaste fidelity despite Artemis and Athena being my daughters. Other restrictions are tied to the bonds of family - though considering how narrow and incestuous our family tree is, that idea is admittedly a bit different than it would be for dealings between mortals - and the web of relationships that have grown between ourselves and our worshippers - not to mention those that lie between the other pantheons, the occasional oddball spirit, immortals, other entities, and so on and so on. Some restrictions are inherent to our chosen forms, the human shape being limited in many ways, and some limitations we impose upon ourselves voluntarily, in order to limit both the potential destruction and the side effects that would be wrought upon the earth should we wield our powers wholly unrestrainedly. And then there are also those limitations that are imposed upon us by..." Trailing off, he changed the subject with an abruptness that belied his attempt to make the shift subtle, "but that's of no matter. You don't need to concern yourself with Him.

"You're a bard, Gabrielle," Zeus resumed his explanation, a paternal smile sprouting on his face, "so you know full well that I am not the first to rule this world, nor indeed, were any of my ancestors the first. Before the Titans, and even before my ultimate progenitress Gaia, there were others who ruled... and there will be still others who will follow after me long after myself and all of my descendants are dust. The span of time involved is quite large, true, but being forced to recognize this incontrovertible fact has provided me a unique perspective on being supreme; being 'all-knowing' and 'all- powerful' is of little comfort when it enables you to envision the certainty of your own downfall. Hera's recent coup d'etat, despite the... short duration of the interregnum, amply illustrates the relative instability that's inherent to being at the top of a hierarchy as fractious and ill-mannered as we of Olympus are."

There was steel behind the disingenuous smile as the god explained, "It takes a few millennia to adjust to the idea that you won't reign supreme forever, but once acceptance of the idea sets in, it does allow one a sense of pragmatism. I will be replaced - eventually; I know that nothing can forever prevent that. It doesn't matter if you call the end of the gods' rule on earth Ragnarok or the Twilight; the end will come. The world is too changeable to remain fixed forever - I wouldn't change that, even if I could. All things that have a beginning must have an ending." His smile remained unchanged as he paused to assess her understanding, but something intangible hardened in his expression nonetheless. "Still, accepting an inevitability does not necessarily equal fatalism, and likewise, a downfall does not necessarily equal an extinction." He paused, then added, "and I intend to be living proof of that."

Chuckling under his breath, Zeus idly brushed imaginary lint from the unsullied weave of his garb as Gabrielle's brow clouded. "I see you grasp my meaning."

Gabrielle nodded slowly, feeling the very real threat underlying the words of the King of the Gods. Zeus may bluster and posture and pretend to be helpless and ineffectual or seem to be interested solely in carnal pursuits, she realized, but she was unpleasantly reminded that he was also the son and grandson of gods - powerful, primal, dangerous, unpredictable, and elemental gods. More, despite his talk of his own inevitable downfall, he was also the god who'd seized control of the entire world - overthrowing and binding his own father in the worst locale imaginable in the process. He had ruled, and managed to maintain that rule for longer than her mortal mind could readily grasp, fending off or slaying all who dared challenge that supremacy.

Zeus was willing to be lenient with her - because it suited his purposes, she understood - but any illusions she might have entertained that she would be safe from him, or protected from him by her association with anyone, god, mortal, or otherwise, were utterly expunged. After all, in the face of potential obliteration, what mattered one ex-mortal bard to the King of the Gods? The disapproval of his family was nothing compared to his own potential dissolution.

Seeing her comprehension, the god chuckled and tsked his tongue self-deprecatingly, the threatening aura that suffused his being vanishing in an eyeblink. Masked once again in his customary guise of a vaguely doddering absent-minded eccentric, he off-handedly summoned a chair for her with the muted tinkle of a chorus of bells, the exercise of power as casual as a mortal brushing aside a fly. Waving her to the newly-appeared seat, he sank onto a plush cushion that had appeared without fanfare on the seat of his throne with a gentle sigh, acting for all the world like an old and lonely paterfamilias inviting a guest to sit at his table for friendly conversation and a glass of wine, the steel fist hidden once more inside the velvet glove.

His point had been made; he had no reason to belabor the matter, and every reason to convince her to accede to his wishes of her own free will. Gabrielle would not forget the lesson Zeus had imparted, and would be open to the necessity that drove him.

"Thanks," Gabrielle commented under her breath, slowly seating herself as she wrestled with Zeus' revelations. Although heavy-handed in its presentation, she felt that the god had been honest with her - or at least as honest as she could likely expect - though that fact was hardly a comfort. Her future was entirely in Zeus' hands, and despite his return to the facade of jovial camaraderie, he had subtly and stealthily also ensured that she wouldn't forget their intrinsic inequality: the chair he had created from nothingness was low, and it's rough crudity of construction was a none-too-subtle contrast of her inferior status compared to Zeus, who was sitting majestically (if tiredly) on his own glorious (albeit ostentatious) throne.

She was grateful for the chair, despite the subtext. It was comfortable enough, and after everything that had happened...

Wait... she thought, as a very disturbing idea crawled across her consciousness, accompanied by a very strange sensation from her backside. How can I sit... she hastily cut the thought off before she could slip entirely through the chair's substance. Pulling her intangible fundament out of the thing, she hastily readjusted her seat and resolutely put the question that had almost materialized in her consciousness from her mind, telling herself firmly that she absolutely, positively, without question could sit, even if she was insubstantial.

It might very well be self-delusion to ignore her present state and pretend to be corporeal, but if ignoring the impossibility of what she was doing would allow her to feel more normal, she would gladly allow herself that pretence of normalcy - and eagerly embrace the delusion that let her sit comfortably on the chair without having her insubstantial rump fall through it. The abyss she'd glimpsed through the cracks in Olympus' floor was thoroughly unsettling, and delusion or not, anything that reinforced - directly or by extension - the conviction that she could not fall through the floor of the gods' abode into that yawning chasm was a very good thing.

Dismissing thoughts of falling from her head with an effort, Gabrielle directed her attention to the enthroned god sitting nearby. Coughing slightly to break Zeus' fascination, Gabrielle hastily shifted her posture and locked her spectral knees tightly together as she noticed the direction of his gaze. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Zeus leered, not bothering to avert his eyes.

Gabrielle grimaced sourly and crossed her ankles as well, holding her thighs tightly together - or at least as together as a spirit could keep them. A lecherous Zeus was the last thing she needed at this point - especially given how successful his efforts had been to reinforce the idea of her fundamental powerlessness against him. "If we can get back to the matter at hand?" she prodded, the ghostly muscles of her thighs clenching tightly as she sat ramrod straight on the chair.

"Certainly," he replied, returning his gaze to her face with obvious reluctance. The lechery vanished from his expression as though it had never been there, and when he spoke it was with a commendable gravity. Gabrielle blinked at the sudden shift in Zeus' mood, but forced herself to concentrate on his words. "As I said, we need to come to an agreement about your fate. Some matters are non-negotiable, but I am willing to make some small concessions," he paused meaningfully before adding, "in the interest of mutual satisfaction."

Mulling over his words, Gabrielle found them to be fairly close to what she expected - dictatorial even after his talk of the necessity of an agreement... not to mention the fact that his words were a trifle unclear. Just what did he mean by "mutual satisfaction?" Deciding she didn't want to even touch that expression, she eventually only asked, "What exactly do you mean by, 'non-negotiable?'"

Zeus' expression grew serious. Rather than answering directly, he chose a different tack for approaching the issue. "Do you know what prophesy is?"

"Of course," she quickly responded, visibly startled by the abrupt change in topic. Growing more worried at the evasion, she frowned as she answered him. "I am a bard after all... and sometimes I have visions myself."

"Ah," Zeus queried, "but do you know where those visions, those prophecies, if you will, come from?"

Gabrielle frowned, not quite sure how to interpret what he had said, and more importantly, what he meant. "Well, according to the stories, prophesy is a gift of the gods." After a moment's thought she added, "And since I know you can travel through time, see different things, I've always assumed..." she trailed off, a wisp of a phantom memory of the death of Hercules' second wife playing itself out before her mind's eye. Somehow she knew that the events she was "remembering" had indeed happened, yet just as firmly she also knew that they had never happened.

"No, no, no," Zeus halted her before she could elaborate any further, or get further mired in the contemplation of paradox. "Yes, we gods can create a... a... compatibility, a suitability for prophesy to come upon a mortal, but that's something entirely different. A prophecy is as prone to come upon a god as a mortal, so clearly the two are not the same at all. What I'm truly asking is if you know where a prophesy qua prophesy comes from? Prophesy itself? The origin of the prophecies, if you will?"

Her silence and obvious confusion was answer enough. "Prophesy, prescience, premonitions, foretelling, visions... call it what you will. They're all aspects of the same thing, really. It's a glimpse of what is to come - or at least of what might be, yet the source of it continues to elude us. A glimpse of the future? Parallel realities impinging upon our realm? The collective unconscious? Lingering effects of a divine influence or bloo..." he coughed and stopped himself before his lecture could devolve into an analysis of more esoteric matters. "It doesn't truly matter, I suppose; what does matter is that prophesy is the closest thing to a wholly accurate prediction of the future that's known. We gods can part the mists of time with a great deal of effort for an exceedingly narrow window, and can pass through time to alter events of the past - though the Fates always extract a heavy price for any machinations that reweave their work and getting all the affected deities to agree to the change is usually even harder - and accuracy in visions is often subjective at best, and irregular and distorted at worst. It's closely tied to Destiny - not merely the destiny woven by the Fates, but a force transcending even the manipulations of the gods; the underlying rules of the cosmos that were graven in matter far more permanent and intangible than stone when the primal forces of Order and Chaos warred for supremacy when all that Is was young."

None of the tales of either bards or priests in any of the lands she'd visited had lead her to suspect the layers of reality that Zeus was offhandedly describing, but her recently divine mind readily grasped the concept, accepting it for truth. Still, even if such a thing were true, what did it mean? By implication, were there Über-gods above the Olympians? And maybe beings more powerful above them in turn? Where would the hierarchical layers end? Would they end? Or continue ever upward, ad infinitum? Pulling her mind away from the fascinating thought with an effort, she focussed on Zeus, hoping for an explanation for why he delved into the nature of reality, prophesy, and Destiny instead of answering her simple question. "And..." Gabrielle asked leadingly, her curiosity reasserting itself.

"And your current... status has bearing upon certain prophecies that I will see fulfilled." There was no doubt in his statement, only an absolute resolution and conviction.

Gabrielle blinked in surprise, unable to form a coherent response to that revelation. Though, she admitted to herself in a moment of blinding clarity, Zeus had offered clues enough to the existence of this fact.

Zeus' fingers began to drum on the arm of his throne as his eyes bore unblinking into hers. "Do you know what is so special about this world, Gabrielle? Why the Olympians and so many others of power choose to make their home here?"

Gaping, Gabrielle tried to think of a response, but nothing sprang immediately to mind. Still half-muddled by thoughts of the onion-like layers of reality spiraling ever outward into infinity, the way Zeus' conversation skittered about like a water-spider crawling across a pond had her off balance and unable to shape a coherent answer to his question.

Sifting through her thoughts, Zeus voiced and discarded them before she could clarify them enough to frame them into rational responses. "No. The fact that we gods were born here on Earth is irrelevant - indeed, going back to Gaia, you could even consider us to be conquerors or usurpers, and there's a planet orbiting a sun in the galaxy that's eventually going to be named M-31 that is so beautiful that it would stop your mortal heart just to see it - this simple ball of dirt and water simply doesn't compare. And yes, the mortals here do make nice playthings, but you're hardly unique; there are over a score of other species at a comparable level of development in just this arm of this galaxy alone. No... when all is said and done, what makes this world special is just one simple thing : power."

Gabrielle was startled by this latest revelation, but was too distracted by the intensity of Zeus' gaze to do aught but squirm uncomfortably on the chair.

"Power," he repeated, savoring the taste of the word even more than her disconcert. "This planet is endowed with enormous reserves of energy, and the natural forces that exist here are vast and diverse. More, it lies at the center of a nexus between dimensions and possibilities, making the barriers against crossing between them - or more importantly, tapping into their energies - unusually porous. Here, on this plane of existence, you can access almost unimaginable resources and power, making it possible to perform feats that would be impossible anywhere else in the multiverse - even for a god. Here, Gabrielle... Here, a god can truly be a GOD."

His voice boomed thunderously in the halls of Olympus, and he glowed with the intensity of his concentration, the power rising to fill him without effort, amply emphasizing his point. Despite her convictions, Gabrielle found herself sinking into the structure of the chair, fighting against the twin compelling and conflicting urges to prostrate herself before the commanding and powerful figure of the King of the Gods and to flee for her life, the glowing nimbus of power that surrounded him awakening a primal gibbering dread in her soul.

Zeus ignored her dithering response and elaborated further, the glow of power that sheathed him gradually reabsorbing itself into his body as he spoke. "In effect," he continued, "controlling this one tiny, insignificant flyspeck of a world is the key to dominating the rest of the universe. It's why Dahak and countless others of his ilk covet this place despite how ordinary it is in all other respects, and why so many..." he paused as though grasping for the right word, then continued, "things are able to cross through the barriers - both for weal and for woe. In the end, it all comes down to a simple matter of power."

Zeus frowned slightly before continuing, and his expression grew more grave with each word. "Control of this world has changed hands countless times, though we Olympians sometimes like to pretend that Gaia created it - or even that she is it." He snorted in outright derision at the idea. "The old bat's real enough, but the planet was here long before she was. Regardless, suffice it to say that the forces that seek domination of this world are many, varied, and potent. Worse, some of the would-be conquerors are also willing to cooperate with each other in pursuit of that goal. Until the current ruler is dethroned, anyway. What happens after is another matter. But that's a tale for another time.

"It takes a great deal of effort to resist the incursions of those who seek to make this place their own, Gabrielle, and I - and the other Olympians - have had to make certain compromises over the years to maintain our hold in the face of disorganized and fragmentary, but occasionally united opposition. By assuming control of the natural forces of this world and making alliances with the other pantheons of this place, we've managed to maintain our grip despite the many concerted efforts to unseat me." He reluctantly amended himself to include the rest of the Olympians, "Us. I've maintained control of this world - and by extension, the universe - for longer than anyone else in its history. But, at the same time, I've also made myself - and the rest of the Olympians, for that matter - targets."

"Targets?" Gabrielle prompted softly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Zeus nodded. "By tying ourselves to this world, we gods have become incredibly strong, but by ignoring the fact that this world is not static, we've also sowed the seeds of our eventual downfall. The world is changing, and our power is starting to dwindle. Not much... not yet. But it has begun - the leeching of our intrinsic powers as the forces of the world shift away from us. In time, as the cycle renews itself, the balance will shift, and our powers will return, stronger than ever, but that time is so far in the future as to be unimaginable to you, and of little comfort to me. To put it bluntly, the seeds of our downfall were watered by our arrogance and short-sightedness, and now, finally, they're sprouted, and will soon start to bear fruit. When you factor in the fatalities in the different pantheons from Dahak's last incursion, it is patently obvious that as time passes we will become ever more vulnerable. Even Dahak's final defeat has failed to dramatically improve the situation, and other realms are finally beginning to take notice.

"So why do I tell you this when knowledge of our weakening condition would surely hasten our downfall?" Zeus asked rhetorically, reading the confusion and fear in her expression. "I tell you so that you'll understand my position, and accept that I will not negotiate on certain points. Understand and accept my reasoning, and your champions will have no choice but to do the same, even if they are not privy to all that lead you to reach that final conclusion."

Gabrielle's heart pounded, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm as she hesitantly posed her next question. "So what happens when..." she coughed uncertainly and amended herself, "er, I mean, if you're... supplanted?"

Zeus smiled benignly at her. "You were right the first time. When," he emphasized. "To humanity? It all depends on who takes over - and how. When I - we," he grudgingly conceded the other gods' involvement in their ascension, "- overthrew the Titans, there was hardly any impact on the world at large. A few earthquakes... some minor outbreaks of plagues... that sort of thing. Nothing, really. Since it was more of a civil war, or more precisely a family squabble, there were hardly more than a million fatalities across the world - though admittedly a few outlying dimensions suffered a bit more severely as a result. But when Gaia slew the demon that had ruled here before her, taking his throne... Well, one of the legends mortals have tells of how she formed the world. Unlike most origin stories, there is a kernel of truth in that one : after her victory the surface of the planet was molten, and she was forced to start afresh."

Licking suddenly dry lips, Gabrielle asked, "So what about these prophecies you mentioned?"

Idly scratching his beard, Zeus considered his answer. "The first has already come true... maybe. I was only about two hours old when the prophecy came upon me, so the details are a little vague - suckling at a goat can do that to you, I suppose, but it's still better than being nailed to a tree or pulling out an eye to gain wisdom. You were a goddess, for however brief a time, and that seems to satisfy the terms, as best as I can recall them.

"The second is rather more difficult to quantify... probably because of the source. The Fates - because they intertwine prophesy with their observations of neighboring realities and their own weavings when they generate their pronouncements - are often cryptic in their warnings, and this particular pronouncement was so cryptic as to be almost incomprehensible. I've tried for centuries to get them to clarify themselves, but they serve their own hidden agenda - sometimes they even seem to be undermining their own power, which makes no sense at all - and on certain issues - this one, naturally, being one of them - they can not be swayed."

"So what are these prophecies? If I'm the subject, shouldn't I know what they say?"

Zeus' answer was emphatic, and absolute. "No."

"Why not?" Gabrielle demanded, rising to her feet. "How can I satisfy a prophecy if I don't even know what it is?"

"Because," he explained patiently, "precise knowledge would influence your actions... thereby negating the value of the prophecy. You couldn't help it - it's human - and admittedly, divine - nature. Think about it," he urged. "You mentioned your visions... Have you ever had a vision of the future, and then because of that knowledge, done something to prevent it, thereby changing the future that you had foretold, and preventing it from coming to pass?"

A brief image of the Persian army - and a vision of Xena's death, spitted on the end of a Persian sword - immediately filled her mind. "Yes..." she slowly whispered, the word choked with all the pain and horror that had filled her as she'd watched her friend die in her vision.

Lips quirking into a half-grin, Zeus waited for her to reach the conclusion for herself.

"So... you don't want me to jeopardize the prophecy by knowing the details?" Gabrielle finally asked.

"Right," Zeus acknowledged. "I'm walking a fine line as it is, telling you what you need to know to reach a mutually acceptable agreement, without risking altering the future I want, so don't even try to trick me into telling you any more. A mistake would cost both of us - not to mention the rest of the world. Believe me, you may not like what we gods do sometimes, but this planet is paradisiacal compared to what some would do to it."

Nodding slowly, Gabrielle's mind flashed back to Dahak's vision of the future, and the twisted joy burning in Hope's eyes as she spoke of mass slaughter and the spectre of blood sacrifice descending like a shroud to blanket the world.

Whether she liked it or not, Zeus was right. The Olympians were often childish, petty, and cruel, and plagued mankind with suffering, yet they were also very, very human. Their weaknesses of character as well as their strengths were all too comprehensible to mortals, and in an odd way the two groups were reflections of each other. Even at their rapacious, malicious worst, the Olympians and their allies were far better overlords for humanity than an entity of unadulterated alien evil like Dahak could ever be.

Zeus continued his explanation, speaking over her mental maundering. "You've undoubtedly seen self-fulfilling prophecies for yourself, and the prophecies that come to the gods are no different. Dear old dad," he sneered, "had a prophecy that one of his kids would do him in, and he became a cannibalistic bastard who was so evil and nasty that his own wife helped me best him. I may be my father's son, but I'm not about to make the same mistakes that he did. Not if I can prevent them."

"Not..." Gabrielle paused and licked her lips, feeling very small, very cold, and very alone in a hostile universe. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," she began again, "but you yourself said that the prophecies weren't clear. How can you be sure that I'm the one they refer to?"

Zeus smiled, honestly pleased with her response - it showed she was understanding everything he had meant for her to learn from his lecture - and had learned an appropriate amount of fear and respect for him, besides. "You could take my word for it... No? Well, then let me show you something." He gestured with one hand, and with a muted flash, a transparent duplicate of Gabrielle stood beside her.

"Oh, not again," she groused, rolling her eyes. She was still getting acclimated to being whole again, and now...

Snickering, Zeus shook his head, the sounds of his amusement temporarily cracking the pall that had overtaken them. "Don't worry, you're fine... this is just an image." He made an odd gesture, almost like he was turning a dial or twisting a knob, and the image of her lightened in tone. The finer details of her outer appearance faded from the projection as a silvery glow from within the replica slowly brightened. "Take a good look," Zeus instructed her.

Gabrielle did as instructed, but failed to grasp his intent. The glow was much brighter, but it remained featureless and impenetrable to her vision. "I don't see anything," she told him at length.

"This," the god told her, "is an image of your soul. The essential you. Actually, given your condition at the moment, you could even say that it was a perfect representation of the real you."

"And?" she questioned leadingly, still not seeing his point.

"What? Are you blind, child? Don't you see... oh, sorry. Forgot something." Shrugging slightly in self-effacing embarrassment, he made another minor adjustment with his fingers, slowly twisting them in midair as he squinted at the image. "Need to adjust the contrast."

As Gabrielle watched, the uniform silvery-white glow of the image gradually decreased in intensity, allowing the swirls and eddies of other colors that had been lost in the overwhelming brilliance of color to shine through as they swirled, reformed and diffused into the silver of the background. "Pretty."

"You have no idea," Zeus muttered to himself. Louder, he said only, "Quite. To those with the power to see it, your soul literally tells the story of your life, though most intensely as it pertains to the gods, reflecting the skein of the Fates. This image will allow you to see your soul as the gods see it, displayed here."

Leaning closer, Gabrielle prodded at it with a tentative finger, but felt nothing - either because she was insubstantial, or because the image was. Despite the intangibility, she was fascinated, although she was unsure how to interpret what the image showed her. "So what does it mean?"

Zeus beamed like a child with a favorite toy, enjoying the tentative, yet eager, curiosity of her reaction. She hadn't quite managed to cast off the miasma left from his description of the Olympians' looming troubles and the ominous and ill-defined prophecies, but her natural cheerfulness and exuberance were beginning to reassert themselves, and he felt the draw of her all over again. "Which part?"

Raising an eyebrow in response, Gabrielle pointed to a delicate ruddy, yet wine-dark swirl that seemed oddly anchored to the area of her right thigh. "How about this red one here?"

"My son Bacchus. He touched your soul via his servants, and now the mark of that touch has been permanently ingrained upon it."

"Lovely," Gabrielle muttered. "Nice to know." She made a mental note to make another offering of thanksgiving to Orpheus once she was back to normal. Scowling, she gestured at a dark violet cloud wreathing her head like a crown of thorns.

"Morpheus."

A larger, deeper red cloud that seemed to be present throughout, yet not to dominate despite its omnipresence, ever changing and slowly oozing as it insinuated itself amidst the patchwork pattern of multicolored swirls. "Ares." The long years of close association had inevitably left his mark graven upon the fabric of her being.

A patch the color of verdigris. "I have no idea... it must have happened when you triggered the detonation. The lavender bit next to it is a leftover from the ambrosia you ate, though, and the golden threads linking your heart to your throat are from Apollo."

Gabrielle scowled in response as she continued pointing at other spots, though she disliked the uncertainty of leaving the one unidentified.

A swirling pink mass, centered around her heart. "Aphrodite."

A cloud, roiling with all the greens of a forest, mostly circulating between her head and her heart, but with tendrils visible throughout her form. "Artemis."

A murky, grey-blue, freely migrating stain, never lingering in any one location. "Lachrymose."

One after the other, Zeus named the gods, entities, and immortals that had influenced her life. Each of them had left their mark on her soul, both for good, including Cupid, Hephaestus, and Hercules, and for ill, including Hope, Dahak, Tataka, Velaska and Callisto.

When the litany at last seemed complete, Gabrielle looked closer, all but sticking her head inside the image as she strained to see. There, deeply embedded within her being and so firmly intertwined with the fabric of herself as to be all but invisible, lay an intricate pattern of burnished gold, a gold simultaneously both more pure and less gaudy than the strands Zeus had identified as Apollo's. The framework of the delicate filigree ran throughout the image, tieing the disparate parts together, supporting, unifying, and enfolding the entire patchwork pattern of her life into a single cohesive whole. "Xena," she breathed reverently to herself, somehow able to feel the truth of her identification resonating in the fabric of her existence.

"Of course," Zeus nodded. "So, now that you've seen what I can see, do you understand what I was trying to show you?"

Gabrielle slowly looked away from the image, her confusion plain. "Actually... no."

Zeus waved, and removed the filter of his power, allowing the image to return to its uniform silvery glow, the details of her form lost to her sight once more. "Don't worry, it's nothing overly deep or even especially meaningful, in all honesty. Simply put, your soul is so unique that it's doubtful the likes of it will ever happen again, which makes it exceedingly unlikely that you're not the one referred to by the prophecy. Chance, fate, coincidence, luck and experience have combined to shape you into exactly what I need - hopefully - to preserve Olympus, or at least to ensure our survival after our reign has been supplanted."

Gabrielle blinked. "To quote Aphrodite, 'Ex-squeeze me?' What in Tartarus are you talking about?"

Zeus laughed at her deft caricature. "You have her intonation perfectly. Think, Gabrielle. I have told you more than enough to reach the proper conclusions - frankly more than most of the other gods know about the current state of the world. You know I'm not as addled and lustful... Well, not quite as addled as I sometimes pretend. So, use your mind. Why was I so rigid about keeping you a goddess, and then so forgiving when you undid it? Why have I shown you what your soul looks like to the eyes of a god, and revealed so many of the gods' innermost secrets to you?"

Only one answer stood out in Gabrielle's mind as a possible explanation for his odd, and still evolving behavior, but she didn't understand how it could possibly apply in this case. "But you're still the King of the Gods! You're not in any danger yet, and..."

"Correct. Yet. And it makes perfect sense - if you only remember how... hazardous my current position is. As the world shifts and the Olympians' power wanes more and more, the greater the threat from outside influences." He held up one emphatic finger, "That is why I am so intent upon fulfilling the prophecies while I still have the power to enforce my will. Even knowing that I am going to be displaced from the pinnacle, rest assured, I have no intention of dying.

"When I saw how your soul had changed upon becoming a goddess - ambrosia does some strange things to the mortal soul, as you've already seen - I thought that you'd achieved the state the prophesy said was needed to preserve us - and more importantly me. Frankly, I even contemplated making you my Queen, even given your taste in lovers... What better way after all, to ensure your closeness and hence my own survival? That you're beautiful was just an added bonus.

"But then you found a way to undo your godhood - however self-destructively, and I was honestly amazed - both at the changes that occurred in you as a result and the power that you unleashed when you did it.

"Since you were first brought to my attention, again and again you've made me rethink my positions, alter my plans, attempt to influence your action - by forbidding the gods to interfere, by letting you seek your own solution, and so on. And yet, for every change in my actions that I've undertaken to advance the prophecies, a thousand and one times I've also second-guessed myself, changed my mind, bitterly recanted an earlier decision, and been almost frozen into inactivity by the shifting and unreadable possibilities - as all the while you've blithely wandered into ever more complicated and hazardous situations. I can almost sympathize with my son, Ares; you are the most irritating, annoying, and unsettling creature, mortal or otherwise that I have yet encountered." He paused, then continued, his voice softer, almost meditative. "Yet at the same time you are bewitching and almost... innocent despite it all. You are a heady draught, indeed; it's no wonder Apollo was so enchanted with you - I feel the pull of it even now, with you reduced to your present state.

"Still, because of, or perhaps despite, all my efforts, I think I've succeeded. Or, perhaps it would be better to say that you've succeeded in fulfilling at least one of the prophecies, despite my attempts to force it to completion.

"I admit - after the fact, granted - that I was wrong in trying to compel you to remain a goddess. However, since the proper outcome came from it, I don't even really care about your disobedience to my dictates, but make no mistake Gabrielle, I am what I am. Everything I have done in regards to your... recent problems has been for my own purposes; your fate has been almost incidental to the whole process and the same holds true even now, without exception."

"I understand. I think. Mostly. But..." she reluctantly concluded, crossing her arms over her chest as her resolution firmed. "I'm not sure I absolutely need to fully understand. I don't want to be a goddess, and I think I understand enough for mortal comprehension. So... Given that we have established those basics... What are your terms for restoring me to my mortal life?"

Zeus half-smiled, the corner of his lips turning up into what could almost be considered a smirk. "Gabrielle, you really are a treasure, aren't you? Don't worry. The non-negotiable conditions won't be too much of an imposition upon you. However, know that I will continue to monitor you, and I may be required to adjust the terms of whatever agreement we do reach should your actions, or a change in circumstances, cause it to become necessary. Do you understand?"

Gabrielle scowled, not liking how he had started. She counted off the salient points on her fingers as she spoke. "Alright, let me see if I understand. You don't really care about me personally, just for how good a tool I make to suit your needs and use. And, even though you claim we're going to come to an agreement, you'll change it to suit your needs whenever you want? Gee, what a bargain... Where do I sign up for such a terrific deal?"

Zeus snorted. "I may play the fool sometimes, and have made my share of mistakes over time, but... I am old, powerful, and, admittedly, corrupt. I am much too fond of mortal women and wine, and abuse them both at every opportunity. But this..." Zeus paused and she felt herself all but skewered as he thrust an accusing finger in her direction, "this nexus of improbability is simply too important for me to mislead you, or give you the wrong idea about my motivation. I've been entirely honest with you - painfully so, in fact - so accept those points as true - now that you understand my basis for making and enforcing them - and then make your decision, based on all this information, once you hear my terms. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Gabrielle reluctantly nodded.

Zeus nodded. "As you are now, you'll remain. No more ambrosia, no golden apples, no elixirs of immortality, nothing like the Ixion Stone, or any other relic of power that might have undue influence upon your soul. Agreed?"

Brow furrowing in thought, Gabrielle immediately raised an objection. "I thought the whole point of the demonstration with the image was that the soul changes with experience, and even more so with experience with the gods. How can I prevent it from happening?"

"Indeed it does, and its important to... No, let me rephrase myself. Your current state - or at least what your state will be once you've been restored to your body - is not quite a mortal, not quite an immortal, not a god, but with all the odds and ends and spiritual flotsam from your unique experiences remaining in and reflected by your soul. You can no more prevent the evolution of your soul than I can defeat Destiny. That's not what I meant; even just sitting there listening to me speak is having an effect on your soul - if I turned on the filter again, you could see the royal purple streak that is indicative of my influence growing with every word I speak. What I meant was, and the important points are, no becoming a true immortal of any stripe, and no more becoming a goddess. There's too much risk involved in the transformation altering your unique composition; the adaptation to suit the new role could erase the tapestry of your experiences from your being, and that is something that must be avoided. Besides, I have little doubt that in your future travels with Xena you will come across other artifacts of such a nature in the future, and other gods as well, and that's certainly acceptable, despite their influence upon you, so long as you do not use them, invoke them, claim them, or allow them to claim you. Agreed?"

"What about when I die?" Gabrielle wondered aloud after a moment's thought.

"That's unimportant," Zeus immediately dismissed the question. "It doesn't matter if your body lives or dies - your soul will remain. It will be in whatever underworld it goes to - the parts of it that aren't reincarnated, anyway - but it will still be. The simple fact of its existence is what is important, not where it is or what form it happens to take, or what body it inhabits at any given moment. If need be, I can always simply fetch it from wherever it winds up and reincarnate you. It's a simple enough thing to do."

Slowly, Gabrielle nodded, despite the unsavory implications of his last comment. Still, it wasn't like she could actually do anything to prevent him from doing it, even if she disagreed with him. "Agreed," she reluctantly accepted, "but you'll have to police the gods and immortals. I won't be held responsible if they do to me what Apollo did."

"A valid concern, and perfectly justifiable. Agreed and so amended." Zeus nodded, drifting into thought. Since Gabrielle had in effect agreed to his continued monitoring of her condition - and implicitly his intervention - his other concerns could be waived or incorporated as needed at a later date, once the flux in the ether had resettled itself - and once he could make up his mind about what to do. He hadn't been misleading her when he mentioned the thousand and one changes to his mind; his very existence could be at stake, so he had a vested interest in monitoring her very closely.

"And the rest of it?" Gabrielle nervously asked, after the silence had lengthened uncomfortably.

"Actually, I think that about covers it," Zeus smiled, his mask of almost absent-minded geniality instantly reasserting itself in a display of perkiness worthy of an Athenian toga merchant.

Gabrielle blinked in shock, not quite believing her ears. "That's it?" she demanded. "Stay away from ambrosia and golden apples?"

"AND..." Zeus emphasized, holding up a finger, "if conditions change, the terms of the agreement may also change. I'm hoping those... strange bits in your soul will suit the dictates of the prophesy, but I'm not going to swear to it, and I'm certainly not willing to risk my survival on it. We'll see how things develop from here, but for now... Yes, that's it."

Laughing in relief, Gabrielle happily nodded her acceptance of Zeus' terms. "After that buildup, I was afraid you were going to require me to do something like bear your..." she clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish the sentence, cursing herself sulfurously in her mind.

Zeus rolled his eyes in disgust. "Oh, please... with Artemis looking over your shoulder all the time? I imagine she'll bond you as her chosen again once you're restored to your body - probably in less than a candlemark. She'd do it even if I forbade it, so there's not much point in arguing about the matter. Once she's done that, she'll know if I've done anything to you, even if I blanked the event from your memory after I was through. And if I went so far as to impregnate you... She's not exactly willing to be forgiving of me at the moment, and in my dotage I'm finally beginning to appreciate the value of familial stability. It's a close call, but I don't think the rewards would be worth the price I'd have to pay. No offense," he grinned, exuding an almost boyish charm despite the grey in his beard.

Gabrielle almost fainted, so profound was her relief. Things were going to return, if not to normal, then at least to a close approximation. "None taken," she mumbled automatically, not really paying attention. "I'll be back with Xena..." she murmured, her spirit (No pun intended - :P) rising.

Ignoring her, Zeus muttered to himself. "Plus she's got that bow of hers, and it's always a pain in the ass trying to seduce women when you're stuck in the body of an animal. Things don't work like they should - or fit, and the bards always hear about it. Even without Hera around to stick her nose into my affairs, my daughters can be just as big a pain in the..."

Looking up again, Zeus suddenly stopped, as though remembering something. "You aren't planning to tell this story, are you?" he asked bluntly, his tone darkening. "If for no other reason, the fact that your soul isn't quite human anymore ought to serve as a sufficient deterrent from revealing certain facts to the mortals..."

"Of course not!" Gabrielle denied. She wasn't lying; while it would have made a great story to reveal what Zeus had told her, some of the details he'd explained were too fantastic to be believed. And if she had trouble believing it, even after travelling with Xena for so long and encountering so many gods, she could just picture the reaction in some tavern in a nameless, isolated farming village. She had a hard enough time getting them to believe what Hercules and Xena did as a matter of course; if she suddenly started telling stories about when she was a goddess, she'd be laughed off the stage.

Zeus' smile was cheerful. "Well, good. Then that's that. Tell Xena an offering or two wouldn't kill her..." Blithely waving goodbye, he twisted reality, and without ado, Gabrielle's spirit was gone.

Almost before the after image of her departure had faded, a voice came from behind Zeus' throne. "You took a substantial risk," it noted in a passionless aside. "Telling her so much could imperil many plans - your own but the least of them."

Smirking, Zeus smoothly rose from his throne and glanced unconcernedly over his shoulder. "Michael," he casually greeted the new arrival.

"My father is as interested in the forthcoming transition of rule as are you, King of the Gods." Michael's voice held a patrician sneer at the title, one that was teetering on the razor edge of insult. Despite his mocking tone, somehow his face remained impassive. His eyes, however, were nothing if not disapproving.

Zeus rolled his eyes, the arch-angel's blatant disapproval rolling off him like water, leaving him untouched and unaffected. "Oh, please," he sneered back, extending the vowels mockingly. "Trust me, if there's one thing I've learned how to do over the years it's how to lie to mortal women. The best lies are those that are shrouded within a mantle of truth. Trust me... Everything will work out. You worry too much."

"And despite your words to Gabrielle, you worry too little. Moderate your tongue and actions in the future; one day there will be a reckoning, and eventually even you will have to account for your behavior, King of the Gods." The sneer at the god's title was even more pronounced this time.

"Don't bore me with threats, Michael. You and I both know they have no meaning for me. Even in my decline, I still have enough power to ensure the successor of my choice will assume control, so neither you nor your father should dare chance my wrath. For revenge, I might decide not to choose Him. It would certainly cost me, but it would cost you far more." Turning to face the blonde entity for the first time, he smiled as he noticed the green feather held softly between two fingers of his left hand. "Shedding again? You've got too much stress, you need to unwind. I bet I could get you to loosen up. Forget about the girl for a while; I know a little place down in Attica... the wine there is sweet, but the barmaids are sweeter." His eyes glowed with the intensity of his desire. "They are always most... Accommodating."

Michael forbore to comment, though the set expression on his face and the slight tightening of the muscles around his eyes was answer enough.

"You forget the forgetfulness that mortality brings," Zeus explained, the smugness plain in his voice as he tried to reassure the glowering arch-angel. "Without the spark of divinity to power it to full effect, a mortal mind is terribly underutilized; she'll have enough difficulty dealing with what I told her when her mind returns to its normal, mortal dimensions without adding to the confusion with needless lies. If I was either more direct or less specific about the prophecy, the effort would have been wasted. She'd simply forget them, anyway."

With a slightly pedantic air, Zeus explained himself, "The key to controlling Gabrielle is to plant the hook to ensure her compliance - the hook will remain even as the details that set it in place are washed away by the bland mundanity of mortal existence. A little fear, a little relief, a little uncertainty, a little pity at my impending downfall, all wrapped up with a warning to squelch any undue curiosity... A few days as a mortal and Gabrielle won't remember anything precisely as I said them because of the differences in the mental processes between the mortal and the divine, though the gist of it will remain in her subconscious. Her behavior, though... Hah! The behavior I want will be so ingrained into her thoughts and emotions by the time mortal obliviousness claims the fine details of our little chat that she'll never even think to question it. Admit it," he gloated. "It's perfect!"

Looking pained, Michael nodded slightly, acknowledging the god's point.

Zeus laughed thunderously at the renewed proof of his supremacy (however transitory a state that might be) over the other immortal and blinked out, heading for the Attic bar he'd mentioned to celebrate, leaving the blonde entity alone in the disordered halls of Olympus.

Frowning, Michael absorbed Zeus' gloating with ill grace. He knew full well that mortal minds were unable to encompass the Truths of the Mysteries of Eternity. Details and specifics faded into the overwhelming soothing glow of the Light, remaining impenetrable to non-divine thought. Both Iolaus' tenure as a Guardian of the Light and Xena and Gabrielle's terms of existence as both Angel and Demon illustrated the point clearly enough. The broad strokes remained in their memories to provide both hope and nightmares, but the precise details faded as the mundanity of the world smothered the memories of the realms beyond the barrier of mortal death.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, the archangel checked to ensure that Zeus had indeed left, then carefully lifted the feather he cradled in his palms, revealing it in more detail. It was small, the symmetry marred by a charred mark along one edge, the near passage of a hellish blade leaving its mark on the delicate strands of the feather. The broken shaft of the quill bore a deep score, mutely telling of the clawed fingers that had torn it from its home nestled on the supple curve of a graceful wing.

Michael looked intently at the silvery form of Gabrielle's image, still serenely glowing beside the thrones despite Zeus' and Gabrielle's departures, his fingers delicately stroking the feather he held in his hand. She has changed since her rebirth, he noted silently, rolling strands softer than the finest silk of Ch'in between two fingertips as his eyes charted the swirls of color.

After staring reverently at the image for long moments, Michael lifted the feather to his face. Slowly closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. Savoring the lingering fragrance that still emanated from the feather, he inhaled the evanescent scent, recalling a happier day, and a memory of what might have been that yet haunted him, and would for eternity.

Murmuring "Gabrielle..." Michael vanished, leaving the echoing halls of Olympus abandoned once more.

"Now where am I?" Gabrielle wondered aloud. Looking about the empty forest clearing in which she'd appeared, she scowled thunderously. "And more importantly, where's my body?"

The sound of a throat being gently cleared behind her made Gabrielle gasp in startlement and spin about, her insubstantial form passing through several bushes as she twirled in midair.

"I give you good greetings, fair spirit," the man standing on the edge of the clearing greeted her, blandly ignoring her antics as she tried to keep her balance when she couldn't touch anything to help stabilize her. "I am humbled by your presence, divine Gabrielle."

Regaining her equilibrium after some comical posturing, Gabrielle gawked at the man briefly before recovering her composure. "Sorry for staring like that," she apologized sheepishly. "It was rude of me, but you took me by surprise. Um... This is going to sound even more rude, since you obviously know me, but... who are you?" she asked curiously. "Your face seems familiar, but I can't quite put a name to the face," she explained, her brow furrowed with distress. She vaguely remembered having met him somewhere before (Not that familiarity was reassuring; many of the people she met while traveling with Xena were not of the most sterling and upright character), and there was just something about him... Something, she could tell, was not quite right about the man standing before her, no matter how familiar he looked.

Smiling patiently, yet still with a faint air of long-suffering greatness, he deigned to introduce himself. "I," he began grandly, bowing floridly when he reached his name, "am Mentor, advisor to King Ulysses of Ithaka - Sacker of Cities, creator of the Trojan Horse, beloved of Athena, and the Hero of Troy - guardian of Telemachus, prince of Ithaka, and defender of Penelope. And," he paused to smile brilliantly, despite Gabrielle's less than favorable reaction, "I am here to be your guide."

Despite herself, Gabrielle scowled at the mention of Ulysses - which Mentor was politic enough to ignore. "Oh," she said simply, her usual eloquence momentarily failing her. She absent-mindedly looked him over from head to toe, using Xena's lessons in awareness to seek subtle clues that might provide insight into his honesty or character.

She noted the Ithakan knots that clasped the laces of his sandals - a small detail that tended to support his self-identification - and measured the fineness of the weave of his chiton with a discerning eye - an eye that widened as she realized he bore no weapons... not even so much as a belt knife. But it was not this oddity, being unarmed, but rather his clothes that drew her eye for a second glance. His garb was a masterwork, one that would have set many an Athenian weaver to weeping for their inability to duplicate the delicacy of the work. It probably cost more than her home village of Potadaiea would earn in an entire year - even a year with a bountiful harvest. It was clothing to make even Vidalis sigh with envy. Still, when her eyes automatically contrasted them to her recent memories of Zeus' garb, inevitably she was now forced to judge them to be little better than the coarsest homespun.

Mentor waited patiently while Gabrielle's spirit stared at him, giving no hint of whether he was returning the blatant and calculating assessment. His bland, politician's smile was friendly but distinctly uninformative.

"Mentor, right?" she finally asked. His clothes were too fine for a bandit, and too expensive for any self-respecting warlord (keeping the troops happy was expensive after all, and unhappy troops were prone to doing unpleasant things to their commanders, as Xena's own experiences with Darphus illustrated quite well), and he had both the ingrained arrogance and the subtle aura of absolute self-assurance in his place in the world that seemed to be intrinsic to the nobility (or at least many of them; Hercules' brother and foster father both seemed to be somewhat immune to the phenomenon), which would also support his claim, but his presence here, so far (she guessed from the foliage) from Ithaka and at such a time (hard on the heels of her efforts at returning to mortality), was simply far too impossible to be merely a fortuitous happenstance.

"Indeed."

"Who chose you for this?" she asked, and was unable to keep the hint of distrust from entering her voice. "And how is it that you can see me? I mean, technically I am a wandering spirit at the moment, and mortals can't see one. Hades himself told me that once," she trailed off, watching his reaction for any sign of evasion or dishonesty.

"Why," Mentor began, blinking in almost comically exaggerated surprise at the questions. "I know not. I simply know that this morn I awoke from a long slumber, and felt a compelling need to be here, with the certain knowledge of a task ordained for me that needed doing. Surely it was a divine afflatus that filled me while I drowsed in Morpheus' embrace, informing me of this divinely appointed role. As to the matter of your visibility... To be sure, I could not hazard to venture a guess. Perhaps it 'twas my ability to see such as yourself that made me the one chosen for such a supreme responsibility, though to be fair, I must admit it seems equally likely that since I was destined to be chosen for this task by the gods, I could have been granted this ability to enable me to perform it."

Untangling the slightly archaic and excessively stilted and formal manner of speech with an effort, Gabrielle simply nodded wryly in acceptance. "I understand what you mean, I think. The gods' will can be confusing and hard to interpret sometimes..."

"Yea, verily," Mentor agreed, his smile broadening.

"...but other times, their will is all too clear," Gabrielle finished under her breath, thinking of her recent experiences. Despite herself, she found herself beginning to believe him. He was familiar... and she'd seen many of his type in a number of kingdoms before. It was hardly surprising she couldn't remember him from the crowd of courtiers she'd met over the years. Not to mention the fact that he was from Ithaka - she had been more than a little distracted while she was there, and that could readily explain how she could have overlooked one courtier in a crowd.

Most of the gods were too fond of the creature comforts to go slumming - even in such fine (for a mortal) garb - quite so thoroughly and convincingly. It was also hard to imagine Ares' or any other god being able to ape the air of self-importance and servility overlaid with mocking superiority that Mentor exuded so well. It had taken most of their lifetimes for the royal courtiers she'd met to perfect that aura, though all seemed to share it to some degree, so as unlikely and improbable as it seemed, his presence might very well simply be exactly as he described it. The gods' egos and pride dwarfed mortals', and even when disguised, they tended to show through the facade, no matter shape the god wore at the time.

A hint of unshared knowledge glimmered in Mentor's piercing grey eyes at Gabrielle's words, but he made no comment. His aura shifted slightly however, becoming even more unreadable as Gabrielle's thoughts wandered.

Breaking off her ruminations and coming back to herself, Gabrielle eventually smiled and spread her arms in invitation. "Who am I to deny the gods' will?" she asked rhetorically. "Lead on," she instructed.

Bowing slightly in acknowledgement, Mentor gestured in the proper direction, returning the favor of ceding the lead, he invited her to proceed. "If my lady would care..."

Gabrielle ignored the invitation to link arms with him, but Mentor simply smiled and fell into step beside Gabrielle as she began to move. Together they walked into the forest verge, Gabrielle still harboring a vague distrust for her travelling companion.

They walked together in semi-companionable silence down the forest path, their travels uninterrupted by both the uncommon travellers and the common (and usually unwashed) bands of bandits that were a daily staple of her travels with Xena. All was peaceful and quiet, and Gabrielle luxuriated in the almost forgotten sensation of earthly calm; a calm so different from the feeling in the vaulted halls of Olympus, and one that was a soothing balm to her jangled nerves.

As they walked, Gabrielle cast sidelong glances at her travelling companion from time to time as a memory teased at the edge of her consciousness, the glances slowly lengthening as she worked her way through her memories of Ulysses' palace. She remembered him now, a face dimply seen in the crowd of well-wishers, each fighting decorously for placement, all wanting to be first to welcome the king - for the status and possible personal benefits that might arise of swift welcoming, if nothing else.

It took her a while to identify what she had found to be so strange about Mentor. Since she had nothing better to do as she "walked" beside the man, she was able to concentrate much of her attention on the problem, and she soon localized the discontinuity. She said nothing at first, merely eyed him a little more closely, comparing him to her memories as she reviewed them in her mind's eye, until at length she was absolutely certain of the validity of her conclusion.

Armed with her new knowledge, she broke the silence, her words sounding strange in the still, quiet air of the woods. "I wanted to thank you," she ventured tentatively, watching her travelling companion closely to see how he reacted.

"It is of no moment," the smiling Mentor demurred, a hint of warmth entering his artificial smile for the first time. "Truly it is the duty of all men to obey the will of the gods, and right glad am I to have been chosen as your guide."

"Not for the escort," Gabrielle denied. "I meant for the other morning. I was sort of stuck, and you really helped me out. Even if things didn't quite go like I planned - or like I wanted - it looks like they'll turn out okay after all. So... I just wanted to say thank you."

Mentor froze and looked confused, but there was a hint of startled recognition hidden deep in his eyes. "Crave pardon, but I fear I lack the knowledge of what you mean, and without clarification I cannot rectify the matter of which you speak... Please elucidate."

Gabrielle smiled, turning to face her now motionless guide. "As you probably realized from my reaction to your introduction, I've been to Ithaka before."

Raising an eyebrow, Mentor said nothing, merely looked politely interested - an expression that the man must have spent years practicing at royal functions to be able to carry it off so effortlessly on demand.

"In fact, I've even met Ulysses' advisor before."

"Indeed?" Mentor asked loftily, his expression growing somewhat frozen as he stared at her, his mask of polite disinterest beginning to fray around the edges. He continued to hold himself aloof with admirable skill, despite the faint signs of distress that were beginning to appear.

"Yes," Gabrielle confirmed. "And I know Orion - though you might know him better as Homer."

"Really?" Mentor asked again, now sounding slightly strangled. His eyes had grown a bit wild, but even as he neared panic, he remained every inch the poised and correct noble courtier.

"It's funny, you know. I don't remember all that much about him, since I was rather more concerned with what Xena was doing with Ulysses than... well, anything to do with the other Ithakans at the palace, but the one thing that I do remember were his eyes."

"Eyes?" Mentor slowly breathed, dawning appreciation for her observational skills glittering in the depths of his grey eyes.

"Yes. His eyes. They're the most amazing shade of blue... nearly the color of Xena's in fact, which is why I remembered him at all." She smiled gently, then continued. "You know, I'm sure Mentor's flattered that you keep taking his shape, but... Really, how often can you repeat the same trick and not expect to be caught...? Athena. I mean, even if I hadn't met Mentor, virtually everybody in the Pelopponese has heard by now of how you took his shape to guide Telemachus during his fathers nostoi, and 'goddess grey- eyed Athena' is one of your primary epithets."

"Mentor" smirked, the archaic speech and overly formal court mannerisms that had cloaked "his" being melting away, leaving behind a cheerful, almost good-humored air of sharp intelligence. The goddess retained her mortal seeming, but her voice rose more than an octave above what the true Mentor's throat could produce as she answered, "Don't underestimate yourself Gabrielle, or overestimate the wit of the majority of mortals. You'd be surprised at just how often using this disguise works. And Mentor doesn't mind; he's a sweetie, even if he's not as fond of sacking cities as that old pirate, Ulysses."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Gabrielle murmured, her eyes widening slightly at the dramatic change in "his" voice.

"I am a war-goddess, too," Athena pointed out, her alto voice sounding decidedly odd coming from Mentor's distinctly masculine throat. "But that's neither here nor there. You penetrated my disguise, and with very little cues to draw a conclusion from. I'm impressed. But I'm afraid that your perceptiveness will make what comes next a little more difficult - for you, that is."

"Oh? And what comes next?" Gabrielle asked with trepidation stirring in her belly.

"This," Athena enunciated clearly. Raising her right hand, she pointed one finger at Gabrielle and made a short slashing gesture. A flash of lightning and a brief crack of thunder, and Gabrielle slumped to the forest path, unconscious.

Shaking her head ruefully, Athena let the transformation slip away, returning to her feminine form as she let the Ithakan guise slip away. "I'll have to have a talk with my sisters," she made a mental note. "Mentor was absolutely my best disguise - and one bard's story has made it worthless to mislead any but the most gullible. Still, I suppose it's my own fault for laughing at Erato's last offering; I set myself up for trouble with the Muses, and even a fool knows that the revenge of an artist can be slow and subtle."

Sighing in disgust at the lack of justice, Athena sank down beside Gabrielle's motionless form, gathering the long length of her skirt beneath her as she did. Not ungently, she drew Gabrielle's head into her lap, her fingers readily finding purchase despite the insubstantial nature of the spirit.

Gently rubbing the red mark left on Gabrielle's temple by her energy bolt, she soothed it with a gentle application of power until it dissipated, leaving Gabrielle's spirit unmarked, though still unconscious. Lifting her hands into the air, looking for all the world like a barber or beautician about to ply her trade, Athena cocked her fingers and grinned, causing a crackling nimbus of azure energy to flicker into life surrounding her hands.

"Well, let's see how badly father messed things up this time, shall we?" she mumbled to herself. Pressing her thumbs against Gabrielle's temples, she rested her fingers along the lines of her cheekbones, cradling her face between her hands. The blue energy glowing around her hands illuminated Gabrielle's face with an intermittent light, giving her skin (or at least the spiritual equivalent) an ethereal, unhealthy pallor as blue tendrils of energy began to probe into her substance.

For long moments Athena was silent, absorbed in reading Gabrielle's memories since the last time she'd looked in on the bard. Coming to the end of the confrontation with Zeus, Athena drew her hands away from the unconscious spirit and buried her face in her hands, the flickering aura dying moments before her palms contacted her cheeks. "Of all the..." she shook her head in stunned amazement. "And Zeus complains about my Athenian playwrights," she snickered to herself. "Talk about cliché... An ominous, undisclosed prophecy... Divine displeasure, and potential favor... A warning against untoward curiosity... A plea for sympathy... and resolution. All he needed was a chorus equipped with leather phalli to spout platitudes, and he'd have been the author of the worst case of deus ex machina I've yet to see. He expected this mishmash of veiled truths and outright lies to settle matters? No wonder Michael looked like he swallowed something unpleasant," she muttered, seeing the telltale signs of the archangel's presence in Gabrielle's memories, despite having eluded Gabrielle's notice.

Grimly, she replaced her hands on Gabrielle's head. "Time to clean up father's messes. Again." With a thought, her hands were once more wreathed in flickering energy. Fingers dancing in a complicated pattern, she began to weave barbed strands of azure energy into the lattice of Gabrielle's soul.

"I should have known better than to trust those two," she grumbled to herself, her eyes never moving as her fingers continued their work. "Michael apparently has the subtlety of a brick, and father's idea of persuasion is repetition reinforced with threats. When he's not resorting to force, that is - but then, that is his usual method of dealing with mortal females."

Pausing her motions, Athena glanced up at the position of the sun, then turned to face Olympus. "You're going to owe me big for this," she mumbled, the subject of her comment going unvoiced as she went back to work.

A rumble of thunder that somehow managed to sound vaguely apologetic crashed in the distance.