Mourning

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

"Iris", The Goo-Goo Dolls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Handing her the weapon to stop a war.

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Xena's alive."

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

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

Xena.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not setting me up?"

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

"Dad's gonna kill you."

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Amazons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm supposed to be dead."

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

"Xena?.."

"Yeah. See you round."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go to chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | epilogue