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Higher Wisdom - Conclusion
An endless time of bows, pledges, introductions and smiles. Nobles, mastercraftsworkers, names. The wine had been a mistake; she was getting sleepy. Finally a noble . . . Antilochus; they'd just met. But he was holding an empty black boot, laced to the top. Unsteady, he stands before Xena.
"My lady." Words slurred. "I'm sorry, but it's a tradition. For the groom . . . " and offers Xena the boot. Then she smells it, peers over: filled with wine. Xena takes it, half nods her head, draws a breath
"Excuse me a minute, Antilochus." Smiles: got him; he didn't expect her to remember. "Xena? This is not how I want to spend our wedding night."
Xena looks relieved, returns the boot to him. "Looks like I'm the bride." In her deepest voice, bringing a laugh. As he leaves, she looks around, notices
"Kleis! Come here."
The young mother, back turned to her, starts, turns slowly. Too young to really hide her feelings . . . nonetheless getting to her knees, bowing her head, looking into the ground. "Please don't kneel before us. I hope we'll see a great deal of you, and Istis." Head still bowed. "Perhaps you can do me a favor. Go to the stables, and invite the grooms here to share the feast. Please."
She does get a 'Yes, my lady" before the young woman rises, gaze still averted. She herself doesn't want to look at Xena, but Mentor interrupts anyway "I can see things will be different."
"Yes. I'd like to. I mean, Mentor? Will you help? There's so much to learn."
"My lady, I would be honored to advise you."
"Till tomorrow, then?"
"Yes." And his eyes don't even look to Xena, as he bows, takes his leave.
"Good choice." Her, near her, voice low. "Agape was right; this is where you need to be."
"Almost: I need to be alone with you. Soon, Xena; I want this night."
"Let's leave." Hand taken up; they walk arm in arm to the stables, drawing laughs, cheers and whistles. Not romance, no. But then it wasn't her wedding, either: it was the wedding of the rulers of Samothrace. Holding her head up, looking straight ahead, until they reach the stables. Her saddlebags on Argo. A circlet of flowers . . . myrtle, on Argo's patient head. Xena picks it off, hands it to her and asks, "Ride with me?"
"Like when we met? Yes. What about the blankets?"
"I have 'em." and Xena's up, offering her hand, to help her mount, like when they first met. Unexpectedly sentimental; deep inside her, but there was romance.
Xena leans forward into Argo and they're off, galloping and she tosses the myrtle behind; though the courtyard and out. Xena doesn't follow the path she'd come in by, but galloping in the half moon she must know her way.
"Where are we going?"
"My campsite. Safe; no-one knows where." Xena silent once more.
"That was sneaky, leaving me your blanket."
"What? Somebody stole it."
"Xena, you left it with me. I woke up and it was right next to me. Folded."
"I packed it, Gabrielle. You think I'd leave it for Agape?"
"I thought you left it for me; it was all I had of you. I slept with it every night."
"And did you sleep with her?"
No. No, she wanted to say but it wouldn't come out. "Xena, I told you: we were never lovers. I tried, once, in Argos. Never again. I was afraid of you, Xena. Afraid of how much I needed you."
"Alright." But her body was tense. If they now had a lifetime together, there might be time enough to tell her; time enough to trust.
Maybe she needed silence, to understand what was real. She'd offered Xena her body, maybe her soul, and it'd been taken up, held suspended. She wished she could answer Cyrene's question: what had she done to deserve Xena's loyalty? Her love? How could they possibly be married? Anxiety rising . . . married to Xena. And if she'd been asked she couldn't have said how or why it happened. But just like Cyrene promised: Xena had waited.
Tired; she was tired. Turning her head, closing her eyes, resting her cheek on Xena's back . . . ocean waves; Xena was taking them to the ocean. She never had gotten it down, so it could be written, so the ocean could be said. But she felt like their ship, rushed on towards the cliffs at Sounion.
She'd been seduced, manipulated, lied to; abandoned, humiliated and rejected: rushed into coming to Samothrace. Happening so fast that in the blur of emotion and event, she'd married Xena.
Agape. Stage and cast, lines and direction; her emotions plotted, counterpointed by Xena's in an intricate play of jealousy and love.
Or maybe it was only what they'd both always wanted, been afraid to want.
"Gabrielle?"
"Mmmm? Xena?"
"Thank you. For Istis."
"I want us to have children, too." Listening carefully: she couldn't hear Xena's heartbeat. But they were drawing away from the ocean, again. "Xena? Did you hear?"
"Yes." Typical.
"Xena!"
"My love: yes."
Jarred awake by Argo, breaking pace. Blinking: a village, darkened, houses shuttered but leaking light. Smell of hearth fires and they're through the town. Dust: fields, it was a farming village. Then the feel of, smell of meadow. Climbing uphill, dark. Forest, of course: Xena seems to know a forest path, because even the moon no longer guided them. Slowing: clearing: circle of trees; tent beneath a giant oak. Xena helps her down and she looks, listens. Running water, of course; also ocean. Fire: almost but not completely out: she kneels, looks around. A pair of antlers, still bloody at the base; shudders, looking away. Pile of small branches nearby; adding them slowly until she sees the first one flame. More branches, taking faster, fire growing itself almost from nothing. Finally she adds logs, steepling them, building against this night's cold.
Waiting cross-legged until Xena drops blankets behind her, sits beside her, holding a carved wooden cup: wine. Reaching behind her, pulling it close; the blanket was fur lined. She throws it quickly over her shoulders, but the fur wanted to linger, to arouse her skin. Well . . . she shifts, moves, lies back in Xena's arms.
They'd been laughed at; the wedding was close to a public humiliation. But this, here, now was real. Lying in Xena's arms was the only reality that mattered.
Taking Xena's cup, she drinks deep. Throat constricting, she starts to choke . . . spews the wine into the fire. "Xena! This is wine is terrible! Where'd you get it?"
"Hunted a stag. Traded the villagers for it."
"Next time let them hunt their own stag."
"Gabrielle, the forest is a hunting preserve for the nobles. The villagers are scared of it; they wouldn't dare come here."
"Then next time let me trade for the wine."
"If I waited for you to trade, we wouldn't even have wine. Or cheese. Or "
"Fine, Xena. That's just fine."
"Well, you two *sound* married. So I guess you did the ceremony, huh?"
Agape, giving off a faint light of her own. And standing opposite, crouched, sword twirling, ready to attack: Xena.
"Hey, Xena! It's safe here. I set my wards so no mortals can get through."
"No mortals." Xena is moving, stepping left, trying to draw Agape away from the fire, towards the tent. But Agape stands relaxed, unmoved.
"Best I can do. I mean, if Ares wanted to come back for Gabrielle again, they wouldn't be much help. I mean, I couldn't do much last time."
"Gabrielle! What's she mean?"
"I was going to tell you, Xena, really I was." Xena's lowered her sword and is looking at her, now.
"What happened, Gabrielle?" Great: her voice was soft.
"We ran into slavers; and . . . and we stopped them. Then Ares showed up." Tries a smile, see if it'd work: "Just another day on the road."
Xena's sheathing her sword, looking impatient. "Did you kill someone?"
"No! Xena, give me a little credit."
"Ares only shows up when there's violence. You know that. Now what happened?"
Out in the open. "I may have lost it, a little. I got wounded and it made me angry. I guess I broke some bones."
"You were wounded? Where?" Xena's drawn up right next to her; it wasn't easy to read her face, but it sure wasn't good.
"Goppie brought some nectar from Olympus and it healed." Shit, she was back to 'Goppie'.
"Great. Anger and violence. That's just great, Gabrielle. Then what?"
She didn't have to answer; she didn't like being humiliated and
"Then Ares showed up and talked to Gabrielle. He held her for a long time and whispered to her."
"Agape!"
Xena, glaring:"Is this true, Gabrielle?"
"Thank you for at least asking me."
"Gabrielle! Where are you going?"
"For a drink." Tries to slip past her, but she's caught by the wrist, dragged back. And Xena's hand is on her back. Brought close, her face pushed into Xena's shoulder, hand stroking her hair and she didn't have to tell her.
"Gabrielle, Gabrielle" Xena whispers "That's how he marks you. It isn't your fault, Gabrielle."
She didn't have to remember she didn't have to; beating on Xena's back to forget: Ares touched her. The sickness.
Then the excitement "No!"
"Agape! Get her some wine. In my tent."
"Give her to me, Xena."
"No! Don't let her touch me!" But Xena was holding her; she tries to twist and Xena's grip got hard it hurt she had to watch Agape's hand reaching to touch her "No, Agape, please no" fingers like ice and
and the thoughts the memories, gone from her consciousness, not traceless, because she feels the place where they were, she knows why but it was a memory no longer, it happened to someone else. She could relax; it was safe.
"Xena?"
"Yes, my love?"
"Why is Agape here?"
"I'll take that one. I came to apologize."
Didn't seem to be a reason to let go of each other, but she's being set down. Blanket, very soft. Well anyway wasn't any reason to open her eyes. "Apologize?" Cuddles up against Xena's shoulder. The fire made patterns on her eyelids. She could maybe figure out what log each one was without openingher eyes.
"I stole your blanket, Xena."
"And gave it to Gabrielle. I have this right, don't I?"
"Uh, yeah."
"You wanted Gabrielle to miss me."
"Pretty much. I can explain?"
"No, Agape, I think I get it. You wanted Gabrielle to miss me. And me to miss her. So we'd get married."
"Remember I did ask nicely."
"But you fell in love with Gabrielle."
"I don't think we need to go into that."
"But this is just beginning to get interesting. Gabrielle! Where are you going?"
Mmmm. Xena would notice. "Wine. Remember? I was gonna get some wine?"
"Alright. Go."
They were talking about her and it didn't make sense: something about Ares and Athena. She had to kneel on the grass to enter the tent; drawing aside the flap, she crawls headfirst into darkness. She smelled Xena, let the smell settle, the dark and the taut smell of dew-wet canvas enveloping her. She felt home, rocklike Xena who musta just finished her cycle, needed a bath and a douche: the pure physicality of Xena.
Emerging briefly, de-cocooned, throwing back the tent flaps for some light. Good thing Xena didn't have a lot of things and most of them she knew. Spare sword, sharpening stone, cooking pot, cheese. Amphora, leather pouch with . . . a lock of some hair: weird. Something small, fitting her hand and she holds it to the light: Herse's flask. Not that they'd get to use it tonight, but she takes out a crystal stopper. Shaped like the hilt of a sword and somehow Herse had even put a red gem color in the middle. Smelled like . . . huh? tasted like honey.
She sits, between Xena's saddlebag and her own, tasting the honey again, looking out past Xena and Agape, to the fire. Cyrene, by the kitchen fire, telling Xena-stories. When she was eight she had bad dreams, nightmares, and Cyrene made her honey with a little red wine mixed in; heated it and little Xena slept all the rest of the night.
Ah, ha. Leather wineskin, she empties Herse's flask into it, then the wine. Mull it by the fire . . . she takes a taste, just to make sure. A longer drink.
They were still out there, talking about her. Oh.
Gabrielle, Gabrielle, wake up. Xena wasn't supposed to fall asleep; they weren't going to sleep at all. Nope; what she needed was a stimulant. Hmmm . . . her own herb pouch didn't have much. Whoo . . . myrtle leaves. That'd work, if it really was an aphrodisiac like Lila said, those nights they talked, when grown up was a magic thing to be. Well . . . Xena wouldn't mind; she crushes a handful of leaves into the wine. How much was enough? A lot because a whole night was a long time.
Good wine; she felt good. Clearer: things made sense. "Xena!"
"You alright in there, Gabrielle?"
She crawls her way out, drops the wineskin casually by the fire. "Yeah, I'm a lot better. You know, if you two want to plan my future again, I'd like to be consulted." Hands on hips, facing them down: this could be fun.
"We were talking, not 'planning your future' Gabrielle." Xena sure had something up her
"Fine! You want a repeat of last time? You got your heart broken. You too, Goppie. Because you couldn't be bothered to tell me your plans. But hey . . . "
"I did not get my heart broken, Gabrielle." Of course Xena wouldn't give in, but if she had to stare her down . . .
"You made your point; maybe I did. You going to sit down?"
"Thank you." As though Xena had just complemented her and swept off a seat; she sits down gracefully next to Xena, across the fire from Agape. "Now what's the plan?"
"Athena's coming later tonight. We'll ask her."
"Demigod of manipulation and that's the best you can come up with, Agape?"
"I came to apologize. Don't be mad, Gabrielle."
"Why not? Agape, I'm not anywhere near forgiving you. And." Pauses, for effect. Never knew the bard training would be so useful. "You, Xena. What's your plan?"
"I think Agape's right. I'm not afraid of Ares. But if he's after you . . ."
"Wait. You're telling me you don't have a plan? The Warrior Princess doesn't know?"
"Stop it! Both of you. Xena, Gabrielle: this is why I'm here. We . . . Athena and I . . . she wanted you married. But not yet; you aren't ready."
"Too bad you won't be around to watch later tonight. I'm ready, I've been ready since . . . "
"Behave, Gabrielle. I'm talking about your commitment to each other. To working out problems, together."
"We are. We do. We argue a lot, isn't that right, Xena?" Nudges her and Xena smiles back; she was getting into the spirit, here.
"Sure, and then Xena walks off and leaves you alone. Gabrielle, will you stop playing with Xena's hands and listen to me?"
"Okay."
"You're both very young. If this marriage is to last, and however long it is destined to endure, you need to understand the commitments you made today. I . . ."
She hears the choking, before she sees anything. But instead of bending over, Agape throws her arms wide, a white light, swordlike, growing from her center; she rises, head thrown back mouth open to scream; the light engulfing Agape . . .
and she looks into the eyes of Pallas Athena. Briefly, but the afterimage was burned into her; the goddess glowing, golden before her and she wanted to scream . . . instead, crawls to her knees, eyes closed "Great goddess . . . "
"Stand, both of you. Stand, and look at Me."
Obeying the command of Athena, she takes Xena's hand, looks: brightness faded; now there was only a tall woman, closely resembling Agape, but her face . . . stronger; skin a pure white, touched with golds, so many golden hues. Blond hair, just over her ears, braided into a single plait: thick, almost like a mane, like a maiden wore her hair, and Gabrielle remembers she used to wear her hair just that way, when she was young. Athena smiles, as though she could see her thoughts. Disconcerted, she blurts out:
"Where's Agape?"
"With me. And she wants to see you again, too."
"Thank you."
"Perhaps you won't, later. Ares will be back for you. Xena, you must guide her, protect her. Gabrielle, you're to do a purification ritual, here: you're not to leave the area of the hunting preserve. Alone, three days."
"I can't protect her if she's alone, Athena."
"For those three days, in the forest, I will protect her. But Xena: to best protect Gabrielle you must teach her. You know this; you must let her go. Do both of you understand?"
"Yes, great goddess." And Xena nods.
"Good. Ares is like a great hound. He has the smell of violence on you, and as long as it remains, he will stalk you. Xena: you will never rid yourself of this. Gabrielle: for you, there is hope."
She closes her eyes; she could see the words; they wrote themselves in fire on her brain. But Athena was talking again.
"Now. Your marriage: do you know what you've undertaken?"
Xena speaks first. "Yes. I think we both know what we've done."
"I don't agree. What is your commitment?"
Xena, confused, looks to her. It was strange to talk for them . . . but she knew what she felt: "Our commitment is to our love, for each other."
"For now, that will serve. As you grow, it must become deeper. Xena: what is the symbol of your commitment?"
Xena, very upset, grimaces and opens the pouch at her waist, drawing out . . . something long and stringy; no: two stones, each pierced lengthwise by a leather band, offered to her, lying on Xena's hand, one atop the other. She touches one: cool, a mixture of light and dark bands, brown and like an eye, in the center, red glinting from deep within. The other, responsive, already warm with Xena's touch, is banded throughout with red, as though fire could be mined from the earth.
Glancing at Athena for permission, she takes the topmost stone, steps forward, wordless, ties it around Xena's neck. Xena does the same for her, but rests her hands momentarily on her shoulder, then steps back, and again they clasp right hands, before the goddess.
"The threads of your lives are bound together, by these cords, and no god will separate your fates. Your passions will be like the fire in these stones, transforming you. Come here, before me. Close your eyes."
They turn, together; she feels a hand on her shoulder, hears 'my gift to you' an excitement growing inside, from anxiety in her stomach to a glow, then fever-heat; body on fire and blinded with white light; like Agape she was being consumed . . .
When Xena could see again, Athena was gone. Gabrielle stood beside her, eyes looking past, through her, to some place that gave her complete calm, left it on her face.
Words weren't right; in silent union Gabrielle takes her hand, leads her. She didn't know where they were, but Gabrielle seems to, and it is enough: an arm at her waist, gathering her close.
Close for warmth; standing on a grassy promontory over the ocean; wind rushing wave to rock and Gabrielle's hair streamed into her. Held, with nothing but the feel of her strength: excited, yielding, bowing her head to kiss her fingers but Gabrielle asks "I want you" and moves her body closer, pressing against her thigh. She yields, bends her knee slightly and kisses her on the neck, feels Gabrielle moving lightly against her leg; stripping off her top, taking her hand, hand placed over Gabrielle's breast, she strokes the nipple, sea-wet and tight. She leans: flower-petal pink vanished in the half-moon light, she takes the nipple into her mouth, consuming, feeding from her passion Gabrielle pushes herself against the leg, grabs at the commitment stone. She shudders and Gabrielle sees, feels, takes fierceness from her; crying out with the pain of her lust, cry lost against the sea. She can barely breathe, face in her breast, barely stand, hands finding rest at her hips, brings her in and Gabrielle yields to the rhythm she makes; arms flung outward, yielding she throws her body forward, gasping arcing screaming triumph.
Complete: she lets down her knee and Gabrielle shudders again; wants to bring her in, gather her but Gabrielle stands apart, touches her face. "Xena, my love, my beautiful wife, Xena: what do I call you?"
She didn't know. 'Wife' . . . she'd never wanted to be that for anyone. But, bride on her wedding night, Gabrielle had taken her, and nothing in all her experience had prepared her for it. Standing at the edge of the ocean: wife.
"I don't know." Gabrielle was shivering; why she had to drag them out here . . . . "Let's just get back to camp. C'mere." Gabrielle fits herself under her arm, like she'd been part of her body; leaving the ocean behind they walk, awkward, crossing uneven ground. Meadow; it locates her. "This way back." Gabrielle turns into her, wiggles into her. Like she hadn't gotten enough.
"Your leather is soaked. But I'm wetter." " With that, Gabrielle yields to her lead, finally.
"Gabrielle!" Agape's doing; the real Gabrielle was annoyingly coy . . . Gabrielle was like a trap, a sword so finely crafted it fit her hand like it was forged by a god; a trap bated with her secret desires. Was Gabrielle just as finely crafted, Athena's enticing sculpture?
Gabrielle responds by moving her hand from waist to hip, roughly caressing her over the leather. "Stop it, Gabrielle."
Now she's quiet: just great, the whole night spiraled out of control; she felt like a raptor, circling, then plummeting to her prey.
"Xena? What's that?" Now trying innocent, helpless.
"Waterfall."
"What's wrong?"
Voice betraying her: she'd heard it. "Nothing's wrong, Gabrielle. Stop trying to get into my mind."
But feelings had long ago betrayed her; Gabrielle wasn't even the first. Awaiting the end, closed in by green of forest and moss overlying rock fall of water, knowing Gabrielle was lost and they'd never share it, but, like Tantalus, all she had was reaching beyond reach.
"Will you show me someday?" Not innocent, coy, sexy . . . finally, just Gabrielle. And she was wrong: feelings, this one time, hadn't betrayed her. She wished she knew whether she was living in her own fantasy, one Athena had woven, or something so implausible, it barely merited thought: Gabrielle, beautiful, sensual Gabrielle, was in love with her. And that she'd never really understood all of who Gabrielle was, nor could become.
Along the mountain base, path steepening, Gabrielle clings to her, arm under her scabbard: each step, the hilt hits her lightly, back of her head. "Move your arm, Gabrielle. It's messing with the sword."
She moves away: "Sorry. I'm not used to this, yet." Damn, she'd done it again.
"Not your fault. We'll . . . we'll just have to work it out. C'mon back." Pulls her close, by the shoulders, and gets a smile.
"I love you Xena."
"Love you too."
"No, I mean it. I'm sorry it was so quick back on the rock; I got" Gabrielle, not knowing what to say? But she picks it up "I got so excited I lost it. Xena?"
"Yes, Gabrielle?"
"Mmmm, I love the way you said my name. Say it again."
Kissing her on the head: she smelled wet hair; would have to get her dry, warm.
"Will you make love to me again? Slow, this time? I want it to last." Under her breath, maybe she thought she couldn't hear, "All night."
"Tomorrow I want to show you the waterfall; it's a warm spring."
"Can we make love there?"
"Don't know."
"Don't you."
"Trying to guess my thoughts?"
"Body; gives you away."
"Furies take you! Yes, I thought about it."
"I want to."
Gabrielle withdraws . .. only to break into a run, tossing back 'first one to the blankets' and sprinting wildly; giving her a lead, she takes up a slow jog, energy saved and it looked like she'd need it later: Gabrielle never stayed somber long. Perdicus had probably died before he knew what he was in for . . . but when had Gabrielle been transformed from coy maiden to seductive lover?
It had to be faced down: whatever was happening was inside her, elemental, had little to do with her. Agape. Or Athena: a touch, a kiss, nights of passion: how much did it matter? Agape had been, for just that time, the tactical ally she'd needed.
Alliance. She'd built a life on it, politics of loyalty and betrayal. On her knee, there was no ambiguity; if only what she'd seen was real.
At the campsite, Gabrielle, wrapped in a blanket, everything but the form of her face concealed, looks eagerly at her. Fire rebuilt, and she'd stretched her clothes out along the woodpile. She passes, touches her shoulder briefly, and kneels to enter the tent.
Good thing she'd been to the waterfall, before leaving for the feast. Gathering her hair into a single plait, unhooking her outer armor; the chakram unlinks, but getting the sword off, in the small tent, was harder. Wanting to toss the two outside, whatever Athena had promised, but she rests them instead, carefully, on her saddlebag. Wrist braces, arm bands, boots and greaves; she expels her breath, unhooks her leather, begins unlacing it. And taking breath back, pulls it over her head, tosses it ontoGabrielle's saddlebag. Skirt, shorts: Gabrielle had better be worth it.
Cold; she sits a moment longer, then, one leg over the other, releases herself to the lotus. She lets go her body easily; releasing her will was always harder. The tent flap lets pass a thin line of light, a single blade illumining her from navel to heart; Lao Ma would have noted, smiled silently. Xena closes her eyes and hopes her mind, practiced, would slip away, uniting spirit, will and body.
Prepared, finally, for what had to come, she makes a dash for Gabrielle and the blankets. Her heat had created warmth, security; she felt like ice ready to melt, but it didn't matter: soon's she was under, Gabrielle had her on her back, knee between her legs, smiling like a madwoman. She smelled light; Xena knew she'd grow stronger with the moon, and smiles at the thought.
Three years, watching her, she should have discovered everything: watching her in battle, holding an infant, or when they ran, naked, together, to bathe in clear streams; she knew her body like she could feel it filling her hands yet she'd never seen her like this, before her face, waiting. She didn't know how she'd taste, passion just taking her; didn't know how she'd feel, coming against her hand, didn't know what she'd say, lips brushing against her ears, whispering quietly, after.
Unsure why she was waiting, she reaches to brush away hair, a rainfall of hair on her face; Gabrielle sits up, quickly, ties it off. "Sorry. I'm not thinking tonight" and leans back down. Her breasts were two spots of warmth, absurdly light against her chest; as Gabrielle shifts, they brush her skin, and . . . it was coming back: body memory, responses she never could control, all of it coming back lying under Gabrielle.
"Xena? I'm not sure what you like."
"Mmmm . . . I like many things." Just slipped out; she needed to focus.
"Funny, Xena."
"What are you comfortable with?"
Gabrielle descends fully on her, resting her weight "Ouch! Move your leg. A little."
"Sorry; I'm doing everything wrong." She couldn't recall anyone this fragile; not the women anyway. Hard to believe this woman had just taken her, at the edge of the ocean. Had it just been a fantasy, Athena's trap? She'd go mad; maybe Athena wanted her . . . Xena stops, the discipline brings her back to focus. This Gabrielle needed her, needed her patience. Understanding and gentleness, if she had any.
She brings Gabrielle's head down to her ear, strokes her hair. Hard. "You're doing fine. The groom is supposed to be nervous. Just tell me what you want."
"I want to taste you. Do you like that?"
"Mmmm." Always making their own words: M'Liela had said 'drink' .
"That's a yes? Xena, please."
"Yes, Gabrielle. Very yes."
Letting go, head back, eyes on stars, she feels Gabrielle pulling at her thighs; co-operates. Perdicus she could believe but Agape shoulda known, taught her foreplay. Well: good. Better than she'd feared, really.
She hears Gabrielle take breath; worried if she really knew what she was doing. But the sigh following was so clearly contentment, she knew Gabrielle had found home. Waiting for her: still and all she'd have to teach her about foreplay; she wanted to laugh while Gabrielle, methodical as always, positioned herself, taking deep breaths like she was going diving, and then, at last, shocked. Surprised by the suddenness, warmth of her tongue, and Gabrielle knew enough, anyway, to not dive for pearls. She could get into this: the fantasy was Gabrielle finding her by the river, touching herself, but it had become real. Languid, stroking her own body, knowing Gabrielle wouldn't notice; hand coming to rest at her own breast, lightly drawing a finger across her nipple: could definitely get into this. She feels the warmth of arousal creeping along her side as her lover's tongue presses, explores all the way down along her labia. Light, teasing light just at the entrance to her vagina, and now Gabrielle had to know she's excited; had to know how she really felt: hips twisting on their own; she needed to press her thighs together, needed to use her hand. And Gabrielle comes down harder, knowing what she needed, tongue pressing firmly on the side of her clit then back just entering her.
Gabrielle couldn't know: she was supposed to teach her.
Licked, a dull pleasure. "Gabrielle! You're coming down too hard and too fast."
She stops; it was annoying her anyway. "I'm sorry, Xena. I thought I could do it right" then she's out of the blanket and gone. "Hey! You can't leave" but she does; she is, gone.
Leaving Xena at the fire: the tent, crawling back in, all the way to the back, looking back: Xena, lying, watching the stars.
She almost could cry, could almost let herself cry and Xena wouldn't know. Always expecting so much. She wasn't, she never said she was sophisticated. It was her fault; they should have slept together before and then Xena'd know. "Married to fulfill some romantic fantasy of yours" and she'd done it, just like Xena said.
Gold glinting at her, by the saddlebags. Not Goppie's labrys; if Xena saw it. . . reaches, brings up the incense locket, tangled with the chakram; trying to unloop the necklace, it catches, stuck on a brass fitting. She could make Xena love her; could make her respond. Incense touch on her neck. Between her breasts.
"Gabrielle! What are you doing?"
"Just getting some wine." Sets the chakram down, quickly, and crawls, hands and knees, out of the tent. Squatting before the fire, Xena half-visible through the flames. Why try match Melosa or Lao Ma or Kara ?
She sits, legs folded, across the fire from Xena, lifts the wineskin from its seat, leather wineskin hot outside, like she'd felt inside, by the ocean. Strange, fire and ocean: she squirts a big mouthful . . . holds it, tasting but the taste is different now, drinkable; transformed: she swallows the rest, slowly.
Rising from beside the fire, she offers the skin to a wary Xena. Sitting up to drink, surprised, Xena drinks deeper.
"You made the wine good, Gabrielle."
"Old family recipe; Cyrene told me."
Taking the skin from Xena, she drinks lightly: spicy, red wine heated with honey. She glances up at Xena's face but she'd blanked it.
"I want another chance."
"Not tonight, Gabrielle. I'm not in the mood." Xena turns from her; but she puts a hand around her neck, pulls her back. "Xena: no." She hadn't thought, didn't know what to say, but knew what she felt. "Remember Athena said what's our commitment? I know I'm not a good lover but I can learn. You *have* to let me learn." She lets go, but Xena'd put a finger over her lips then moved it, slowly, gently across; she made her respond so easily. Why couldn't she make her?
"It wasn't you. I was angry. About Agape. And you."
Words in bursts like a drunk, throwing them up. "You're saying that to make me feel better."
"I did it to hurt you, Gabrielle." Her tone the one she always used to warn: she was angry, voice and look telling her to back off. But she'd left nowhere to go back to. Kneeling, she takes the blanket off Xena, sits on her lap, a physical presence she couldn't ignore. "Why? Why would you do that to me?"
"I wanted you to hurt, for what you did."
"And you think we can just go on? Live some fantasy where this didn't happen?" Xena looking down and still avoiding her, looking away; she takes the plait of hair, and wrapping it around her hand like a coil of whip, pulls hard, forcing her into her eyes.
"You hurt me; humiliated me. How could you, Xena?"
"Isn't that what you did? Sleeping with Agape?"
"I did that to make you jealous. Not hurt you."
"There's a difference? Do you know how I felt? Did you ask? Did you care?" quick: always so quick, Xena moves her hands up, breaking her grip . . .
Xena, like the brass mirror at Cyrene's, giving back nothing but herself; polished to a sublime glow but still her image. Like looking in Xena's face to see her looking back, as though it were true, what they said: two parts of one person.
"I just wanted you to notice me." The words weren't working . . . she moves to kneel before her, to push Xena's head between her breasts.
"Xena, yes: I meant to hurt you. I'm sorry I did it. I've always only ever been in love with you, and I need you to believe that."
Xena turns her face and she can feel her jaw relaxing "Xena!"
"Yes."
She knew Xena could feel her heart and it was still going too fast. "Your nose is really cold." Xena laughs and falls back, bringing her along, ontop, breasts just a kiss away from her mouth oh shit wine and myrtle working on her now.
"Xena? Make love to me again?"
Xena looks in her eyes . . . must have been satisfied with what she saw, because "What do you like?"
"I don't know. You said you . . . had lots of likes." Watches Xena's eyes track, turns her head, following her gaze . . . Argo.
"Xena! Be serious."
"You too. Love: tell me what you want."
"It's hard; I don't know the right words."
"I'll be Athena: what is your commitment?" Voice deepened an octave.
She had to laugh: "Now that's scary." Turning, so Xena can't see her face, turning to the fire and closing her eyes: heat flowing across her face, fire across her eyes. "I want to feel you inside me."
"How many fingers?"
This was harder than she thought . . . she takes Xena's hand, grips a finger, curls her hand around it and tries to focus; takes another, her brows furrowed with concentration.
"Gabrielle! You're not comparing me to him, are you?"
"Got ya! Owed you, for Argo."
"I'm going to like being married."
An invitation, she couldn't help it: lips next to hers, "just wait" and kisses, lightly brushing lips, kisses her; hand back of her head, holds her, makes her wait. Then coming down very fast and very hard, until her mouth opens, now lightly licking, pressing, tongue-promises and knowing, finally, she'd make good on them all,
hesitating
until Xena moves under her, turning her head away, masks sloughed off, transformed like in a story about the gods, and there was only a young woman lying underneath her, a maiden, waiting, breath uncontrolled, anticipating; lips half parted and eyes closed as though she feared what she might feel but unable to stop
kisses her along her neck like their first night and hears her moan, very softly; closing her eyes, she kisses, lets herself fall into, Xena.
Slower: Agape had said slower, several times and in different ways: memory breaks through. She bends over Xena, kissing the tangled line of hair all the way to her navel; sweaty, light salt sweat. Moving off her, mouth wetting one nipple, wide dark ring almost larger than her mouth, now the other; unsure what to try, trying anything, she takes as much as she can into her mouth, presses and Xena moves; surprised: Xena turns over onto her side, and though she tries to keep a knee between, she's too fast. Xena kisses her; she'd almost had her, was almost ready. Not what Xena thought, wanted. Xena pulls her hip closer; moving to her she brushes her legs together; she hadn't realized how slippery wet she was, how excited she really was. And thinking only made it worse, because Xena was kissing up along her neck then a light squeeze, her thighs together again, not giving her a choice but to respond, her own muscles squeezing; trying to straighten, throwing her against Xena.
And she smiles, pushes her on her back; drags her fingers slowly, hip to breast, ending at breast, a light flick and she shudders; thighs, neck responding as though Xena had called them, hands, lips meeting, joining with the flush want had made. Lips across her chest and it happens: muscles relaxing, ready to take her in, forcing a shudder, legs thrown forward and Xena's hand was there to meet to catch her.
And to release her; stroking her body from thigh to arm, heavily, as though washing her, washing away the arousal, drawing it back into her hand until she could breathe again. Could almost breathe again; Xena moves, moves over her, breasts dragging against her, something so sublimely sensual in the weight of them, and Xena kisses her on the cheek below her ear. Her body responds, turning her neck and it's met with quick bites, until she has to toss her head away exposing her throat and Xena's there, waiting.
As though her body had wakened, taken control from her mind: neck, chest tingling but Xena is at her belly, kissing and as she turns her hips, opens, Xena puts a hand between her thighs, pulling. She co-operates, she yields, gives in to Xena, and feels her tongue licking, lapping: Xena thirsty, like she could ever wet her; Xena presses. Tongue inside her and her body meets it.
But Xena stops, moving up again, lying on her, breasts resting before her mouth; she takes one, neck straining but she's hard; relaxing, two hands to help she lifts it into her mouth, feels Xena move against her leg; she might be wet they were both wet, skin soaked and Xena's moved again, taking her head, looking in her eyes "Love." the only sound she made and kisses her, gently, roughly, penetrating; kissed until she feels her vagina release again. And again Xena slows, calms her, until at last she comes to know that all she can will is to let her body be Xena's.
A hundred, a thousand lovers; Xena read her body not plot and climax, but each part; she knew the rhythm of every line, Xena's mouth shaping each syllable of her body. Again Xena excites her flesh, evoking eliciting streams along her body; her, their bodies wet as though all the colored rivers of passion in the world ran through them alone.
That final instant held suspended, she sees her body as through Xena's eyes: landscape of desire, broad river between her thighs, valleys and a surpassing height but she can fly, Xena lifting her, arm under her and now she's slipped inside. Gabrielle has no more will; only feeling, only what her body knows and it comes, shuddering, gently at first, wave of pleasure down her thighs and she contracts; feels Xena inside her, excitement rising contracting again, weak unable to move as every contraction every orgasm is drawn from her, flowing over her, along the course of her body.
Exhausted, she leans back against Xena, breasts resting just on top of her circled arms; she in turn supported by the oak's trunk, canopy spread so thickly overhead that even the moon was covered. Firelight and stars at her feet; the sky opened as the plain of their campsite fell away to the village below.
A log, burnt through, snaps, falls; startled: she must have closed her eyes for a second. Xena kisses her neck, then lays her own head on hers. She didn't know anymore what kind of world she lived in, what to expect, what Xena wanted from her. Everything was different, the way they talked, touched each other, slept. Athena herself, the order of the kosmos had led here, like a child led by the hand then abandoned in an open empty space. Arm around Xena's waist, pulling herself to her: hadn't felt so lost since she was thirteen, when the earthquake and tidal wave ravaged her village, the ebb washing her childhood to sea, the cold salt-bitter sea.
She wanted to cry, for that child, left alone, left to understand that that her world had never been the safe place she thought. Agape, Athena had been an excuse for her own will, not shadowed like Xena's, but buried like you buried something dead, something you wanted to hide. 'Love is sacred' the goddess told her, and illusions and romantic fantasies and even arranged marriages all belonged to that abandoned child. She'd fallen, alone, into the abyss she'd feared would open when Xena first touched, kissed her; now alone with the reality that no matter how she hid it she was in love with Xena, not like a sister or best friend or even like Eleni's hopeless crush, but desperate: unable to live, not just without her, but without knowing Xena needed her just as much. Physical want, jealousy, rage that Xena had let so many others touch her, love her, and still Xena sat, back against tree, aloof: 'Not tonight' she'd said, and let her go.
She'd tried so hard to see her own face reflected in Xena's that she hadn't even seen what Xena wanted, and here she was, alone, with her own passion. Athena promised it would transform her; hadn't told her how much it would hurt.
Turning, Gabrielle rests her head, pillowed on Xena's breast. She feels her head nuzzled, then the knot in her hair released, as Xena begins stroking, straightening it, humming softly, something slow and, it sounded, sad. They sit quiet, together, as though nothing before mattered: waiting, watching, together.
Xena wanted her to give in, to simply fall asleep; pretend nothing had happened. She stirs, moves away, stands. "This is our wedding night, Xena. We'll only ever have this once. I want to make love to you." She looks at Xena, reaches to her. "Get up, take the blankets to the other side of the tree."
Xena doesn't take the hand, but she does stand, a smile on her face, showing great amusement. She grabs the hand anyway, pulling her reluctant Xena to the other side, where she takes the blankets from her, spreads them fur-side up in front of the fire, room enough for one body lying along it. Gesturing: "This time, when you get on your back, *stay* there."
Xena stops smiling; she kneels in front of Gabrielle, takes her head between her palms "don't think I''ll always be this easy" drawing her close Xena kisses her and as soon as she yields to the kiss, Xena falls back, brings her down, ontop. "My love" she whispers, closes her eyes and waits.
Xena finally asleep; shifting her head from her lap, she slides under the blankets, next to her. The whole sky had opened at her feet: she'd never seen the Milky Way so clear, like their passion had been spread across the sky. Xena was mumbling something and damn, now she had to pee. She slides out again, but their blankets were so jumbled together, she wouldn't be able to take one with.
A satisfying plosh on the ground, strange smell; musta been the wine. Cold: she used to have her own blanket now it was all 'theirs'. So much was new, different: deliciously confusing. A quick run, jumping into the blanket: wow! Xena stirs. "Wha?" Damn, she'd woken her.
"Strong smell."
"Us. We did that." So proud; she turns back, arm across her chest, snuggles up, lips against her neck. Breathing heavy, asleep again. Us.
Well. Even marriage had a downside. But not the sex: remembering her, face coming up from her breast and a look; it stops her and she, eyes in hers, stops too. A smile: not amused or sarcastic but pure; Xena's smile releases her; she touches warm wet, takes it, brings it up, her fingers leaving smooth silkiness, and Xena's dusky exotic scent rises: silk and spice.
It always faded so fast: tasting, smelling her fingers just wasn't the same but she shudders anyway. Involuntarily, as though there'd been some trace of orgasm remaining in her that Xena hadn't found. Xena moves the arm from across her chest, sneaks it over onto her hipbone and mutters sleepily, "Tomorrow, Gabrielle."
Maybe her hand would recover by then. The woman had intense thigh muscles; she knew that, could see them, had even massaged away knots, like kneading bread dough made from stone. But muscles out of control was a Xena she'd not felt, not imagined.
Scent on her fingers couldn't bring her back but her mind could, if she could hold every detail. Yet what could she hold to, what still spot find in the stream of sense that had cascaded across her body? Smells, tastes streaming away; the cruelty of experience: gone, lost and she needed it, needed to make it real again.
Because what she remembered most vividly was stillness, quiet; Xena almost completely withdrawn; consumed by her own body and nothing remained, nothing for her.
But her eyes; she could see her eyes; couldn't see behind them but Xena's eyes haunted her. She'd seen it, seen the look at Delphi, sacred space, half a mountain cut clean by a single stroke of lightning; sacred grove, preternaturally still and the enthroned oracle about to speak, her eyes just as Xena's were then.
She wanted it to be over; she wanted Xena to come, then to hold her, talk with her; wanted to hear that she was a good lover or they'd try again tomorrow: anything but this sacral silence.
'Just do what you were doing' Xena had said, as though it were that simple, but she tries anyway: two fingers pressing, tracing her labia and Xena closes her eyes, drawing further into herself. She wanted a sign and took this: leaving her hand in place, she shifts, takes a nipple in her mouth. It was hard and she was afraid Xena might be sore from her period, but drags her teeth over anyway; Xena shifts slightly but it was an earthquake to her and she responds taking the breast into her mouth, gentler now, using tongue alone, trying to co-ordinate with her hand.
At some point she lost the ability to tell what she did and what Xena wanted her to do; lost in her own excitement, riding Xena's thigh and dipping down to offer her a nipple, arcing with pleasure when she took it, then moving off, lifting Xena's hips against her knee: cycle of excitement, passed between them; the only moment clear in her memory was seeing her open her eyes, stare at her, face contorted with pain.
Not pain: she spread her fingers but Xena pushes up, releases. Again: and she understands, brings the tip of her fingers to the entrance of her vagina, circles and Xena swallows, opens her eyes. Empty: somehow she knows to let go, to let Xena set the rhythm, to add pressure, light flicks at her breast. Xena tosses her head, twisting from side to side and stops, looks at her and she understands Xena wanted release. Separating out her fingers, offering one; a second: Xena thrusts against them, forces her to enter.
Inside her, Xena's texture: soft, firm, Xena waiting to be touched and she panics, not knowing what to do, where to touch, but Xena's will takes over, forcing her deeper inside, pushing her deeper than she can go; she feels inadequate for what she saw on Xena's face, but she tries, flexing fingers to go deeper and Xena gasps, breaking the silence; gasps again and, hips twisting, throws her off her breast; she tries to stay deep, wrist twisted till it hurt, hand crushed but she feels Xena contracting, surrounding her; see her eyes wild like she'd never seen, like she'd never known her; drawn into her, Xena's orgasm consuming them both. Riding it out best she could, as Xena, hands flat on the earth lifts herself up, throwing her sideways and she tries to grip with her own thighs; Xena gasps, gulps air, returns to the ground.
She withdraws a little but it only sends her back, shuddering, and she moves back inside, feels another contraction, weak but Xena won't look at her. Her hand hurt; she takes it out and Xena shudders as though in reproach.
In time Xena releases her, lets her take her hand away; she lies ontop of her, holding her head, looking in her eyes. She didn't know if Xena had been transformed, but there was something blank, unwritten in her face. But that was wrong too because Xena was crying.
She was crying; she hadn't noticed: crying steadily, eyelids fluttering like each tear was squeezed from her. Feeling helpless but it passed into need; need to protect. She rests on an elbow and leans over, stroking the hair falling over her face, soft hair: "Xena? What's wrong? I didn't hurt you, did I?" she whispers quietly as she can, words maybe lost in wind through the branches high above.
Wrong thing to say, because she hears tears in the broken rhythm of Xena's breathing, tears ready to leap into sobs; she should have pretended not to notice.
Too late, too late for everything; taking a blanket, she cradles Xena in her lap. "What's wrong, what's wrong" like other women sang lullabies, and it breaks her, she breaks into open sobbing. Gabrielle can barely make out "I'm in love with you." Stroking, rocking her: so very Xena, not even thinking how strange it was. "It's alright my love. I'm here. We'll be together and I'll never leave you."
The End
Author's Afterword to the Series: Between Dream and Myth
It'd been snowing since noon, the sky dark long before dusk. She looks out the window, the steam of her own breath fogging her vision. Even she couldn't see the path leading down to the road to Corinth. Give it another hour, but there wouldn't be any travelers stopping tonight.
Lady Jane Gray sits down, slowly, in front of the fire. She'd make a stew . . . lentils and some root vegetables; Chikara missed her stewed mountain vegetables. Always talking about going back to Nippon; she sighs. Pushing fifty, she found after a lifetime of adventure, all she wanted now was to sit in front of a fire and dream of places they'd been.
A sound: wind . . . and Chikara, coming downstairs, to lean over, to blow in her ear: "Whatya doin'?"
"Dreaming, love."
"C'mon upstairs. I built a fire."
Tempting . . she leaned back, to smile
a knock: hell, a heavy pounding at the door. They could pretend . . but Kara sees her face, knows she'll always take in a guest. "Alright. I'll get a room ready."
Two women: one in a thin woolen cloak, banded with reds and earthen yellows, teal. The other . . . was striking, tall: piercing blue eyes, in a heavy black fur cape that she shared with the first. A couple; smiling inside: they almost never met other couples.
"Welcome, travelers. Come in; get warm by our fire, share a meal."
Penniless, of course; she'd hear about this from Chikara. Meanwhile, they deserved the best the house had. Zeus only knew who else understood the laws of hospitality.
Introducing themselves: Xena, the tall blue-eyed one, Gabrielle, the shorter: compact, lean: she looked tough. A gesture of peace, each sets aside her weapons, but they lie on the table, and Lady Jane's eyes keep coming back to them. Polished, beautiful: women who took their weapons seriously, took themselves seriously: she could see it in the way they walked, held themselves.
When Xena leaves to stable, feed her horse, Gabrielle came with her to the kitchen; helps wash & chop the vegetables. She starts talking; could hardly stop talking: adventures, romance, wonderful stories. Later, before sleep, she'd have to tell Kara. Holding her, whispering as Kara fell slowly asleep . . .
What the hell: she gets a plucked chicken from the cold-room; quick-sautees it in butter, adds a touch of cream, crumbles herbs, and covers it. If they'd been on the road like Gabrielle said, they wouldn't have had a real meal for a long time.
And a bottle of wine; they never drank but again the travelers looked like they could use it. She sets the mornings bread by the fire: it was just a light herb-cheese loaf, but, warmed, toasty, would go well with the heavy lentil dish. Hmmm . . . desert. The Xena woman looked northern, harsh accent: she guessed Thracian. She remembered one northern specialty: damaskina: easy to prepare. A few dried figs, slit lengthwise, then stuffed with thick heavy cream. Set to soak, soften in sweet Nemean wine. Really a wedding dish, and the thought gives her a smile.
Xena and Kara both come in about the time dinner finishes cooking; during the introductions she finds herself hovering close to Kara. Mistake to marry someone younger; Xena looked like just the type who'd take her back to Nippon. Leave her there, too, if she was any judge of women. Xena and Gabrielle, in contrast, stand awkwardly apart. She could have sworn she'd seen *that* look on their eyes. Pity, when love was wasted.
She brings out their best soup bowls, hand-glazed with shades of green, remembered making them the year they'd got together. They still fit her hand perfectly. Damn; she was getting sentimental. "Chikara: finish up here; I'll get the food." Back in the kitchen: a platter for bread and chicken; cast iron pot for the stew.
Dinner awkward, but after the first glass of wine, both the guests relax. Slightly. Xena searches her eyes, then starts questioning her about what she'd heard: reports of warlords, armies. Slyly mixed with questions about her and Chikara: how they lived, who protected them. Did they both own the inn and how long?
After dinner, Chikara immediately excuses herself to clean up, leaving her to show them the room. The one with only one bed. Tough: it'd have to be better than sleeping on the ground. Good: Kara'd started their fire, set a pail of water to warm by it; they'd get a warm wash, anyway.
"Firewood's outside; help yourself but latch the door. Sorry there's only one bed."
"Don't you have anything else?"
"It's all right, Gabrielle." Xena, firmly closing off discussion. "We're guests and glad of any hospitality, on a night like this." And . . . a strange thing: Xena takes her hand, looks in her eyes. "Thank you" in a deep voice that gave her dreams, for many nights.
"Breakfast at dawn, when Kara and I get up. Sleep well; if you hear noises inside, don't worry. Noises outside: worry." and closes the door on Xena and Gabrielle, standing on opposite sides of the bed. No bets on who'd get the bed and who the floor.
She'd lied, of course: she was up before dawn, baking. Didn't seem right to send them off without fresh warm food. Left-over chicken in pastry dough; berry preserves baked into rolls: there was something she'd seen in their closeness that she wanted to cherish.
As she'd guessed, Xena wants to leave immediately; standing outside the stable, ground covered with snow: pure, clean. She hands Gabrielle a gift, but it was so many years ago, she couldn't remember what. Then the two walk, on either side of the horse, carefully, down the path to Corinth, snow-tracks the only sign their visit had even happened. But Xena stops, turns back; running up she hugs her: fiercely, Xena lifting her off the ground.
She watches until they're almost out of sight. When Xena thinks she can no longer be seen, she shifts, takes Gabrielle's hand. Then they pass a stand of beech, turn, and are gone.
