Never is a Promise
by Absinthe
Disclaimer: Xena, Argo, the Amazons, etc etc, do not belong to me, but to Universal and all those other nice people. This story contains violence, a little gore, and a few brushes with a loving relationship between two adult women. If this offends you, please go find something else to look at.
Part 1:
"We found her in the woods to the east," a lieutenant in light armor announced proudly to his superior. He gestured for two of his subordinates to come forward. Between them they held an embarrassingly well-endowed woman with black hair and red-gold skin. Her green eyes smoldered with ill-suppressed fury and resentment. The warlord seated before them cradled his chin in his gloved palm while he blatantly appraised her. He nodded to his lieutenant, and the gesture was all the display of thanks or praise that the soldier could hope to expect.
"Lepidus, you know what to do with her," he said, handing his second-in-command his boot-dagger.
"You don't own me," she snarled. Even when raised in anger, her voice was throaty and strangely accented. The warlord laughed heartily.
"Don't I? You were a gift to me from Ares. You're mine just like my horse is mine, but if you weren't as valuable as you are, you'd be dead right now. Next time you try to run off, you lose your hands," he smiled unpleasantly, "Lepidus."
His last commanding word sent Lepidus, the lieutenant and his two men scurrying to the practice grounds; the army had been encamped in that spot for several weeks. The dirt there was soft and treacherous from hard use. Lepidus glanced once at his master and then gestured for his men to push the woman down onto her knees. She didn't fight. Her own blood demanded that she obey.
Lepidus couldn't bring himself to look into her face as he crouched at her feet. The two soldiers held her ankles tightly to the ground as he gritted his teeth and cut six deep gashes across the soles of each of her feet. Lepidus wiped the blade off on her skirts and stood up, handing the dagger back to its owner. The warlord dismissed all four men with a half smile.
His woman huddled where she'd been left, silent in spite of the tears of fury and pain that poured down her face. Her black hair tangled like a cowl around her head.
"Stand up," the warlord ordered, at last rising from his seat and approaching her. The woman made no effort to rise.
"ARLATH, UP!" he bellowed. Closing her eyes, Arlath placed one foot gingerly on the ground and carefully rose to her full height. Her feet exploded in renewed agony, but she gnawed relentlessly at her lower lip to keep the screaming inside.
"You will not try to escape again. I want to hear you say it," the warlord ordered, while his men watched from a safe distance, "Say it."
Arlath stared dully at him.
"Say it!" the warlord slapped her almost casually. She stumbled back a step but did not fall.
"I . . . Will not run again," she said without expression. The warlord nodded.
"Now go," he ordered, "go to the river and clean up. Anyone seen helping her will answer to me," he warned his men, making specific eye contact with his soft-hearted cook and his second in command. At that, he turned and left the circle.
Arlath stood, forlorn and out of place, with her eyes on the ground. An opening formed in front of her through which she began the longest walk of her life. She stepped forward, trying to tilt her feet outwards, but the gashes were too broad and deep. Lepidus knew had known what he was doing.
The stream that had seemed so close this morning now may as well have been a million miles away. She tossed her sweaty hair from her face and took another limping step. She left footprints in blood behind her.
The water was icy cold and ran fast but shallow. Arlath fell to her hands and knees in the water at long last. She crawled as far as she dared from the camp and just sat, her water logged skirts tugging relentlessly at her waist -- a temptation to escape. The cold water slowly numbed her feet; but the only thing she had to be grateful for was that her Master had not seen fit to cut her Achilles tendons. A long grey eel swam past her, and Arlath's keen eyes tracked its silent trajectory through the water though she did not move to capture the fish. She envied it its freedom of movement and vaguely remembered a time when . . . a time when . . . but it was gone. Her thoughts were ephemeral at best these days.
She crawled up out of the water onto a sun warmed patch of sand and lay back, spreading her skirts to dry as best they could before sun set. Arlath closed her eyes and began to sing softly to herself in a tongue that she has almost forgotten; a song whose meaning she only dimly remembered. She hoped that Gagries would leave her alone tonight, but she doubted that he would neglect to remind her of his complete and total ownership of her.
Her voice trailed off as she sat up to examine the soles of her feet. Thick but still soft scabs were beginning to form over the neat slices through the meat of her flesh. She sang again, but this time her volume grew a little out of control in her anger. Hatred welled up at Gagries for what he had stolen from her. She longed for her old form; a vague recollection of wind and sky and lightness called to her from the dusty corners of her mind.
The words that poured from her lips in increasing volume carried back to the soldiers downstream. Some looked up with sad pity in their eyes, but primarily they wore expressions of irritation.
On the main road, not a mile west of the stream, a dark woman froze in her tracks. A shudder ran through her muscular body at the familiar song. The bard at her side stopped as well, puzzlement reading clearly on her face.
"Xena? What was that?" the honey blonde asked. The warrior said noting, but release Argo and sent the animal to stand at the roadside. Without a word, Xena started through the trees towards the voice. Her long strides quickly shifted into a run that Gabrielle could not keep up with. When she lost sight of the warrior, she could only follow the sound of the voice.
Xena crouched in the underbrush, watching the figure on the opposite shore of the stream. A look of relief passed briefly over the warrior's features; then she saw the bruises in various stages of healing all over Arlath's face. Green eyes suddenly met with blue when Xena's breathing alerted the slave to her presence. Arlath froze, terror written plainly in her voice as she called,
"Mistress?" and tried to stand on her lacerated feet. A flash of remembrance hit her like a fist.
"Arlath, stay there," Xena ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. She waded across the stream, taking notice of the blood on the sand, Xena knelt before her former slave.
"Mistress, I'm sorry . . . I-" Arlath apologized for her unkempt state and her unfitness for use. The warrior placed a gentle hand on Arlath's arm, but the slave cringed away, afraid.
"Who did this to you?" Xena demanded.
"He's . . . he's . . ." Arlath looked at the ground, unable to decide who to fear most at that moment.
"Who did this to you?" She growled maliciously. The woman merely blinked back tears. Gabrielle took that moment to crash through the underbrush and into the stream. She crossed without hesitation to stand beside her lover.
"Xena?" she asked, turning her attention to the stranger when the warrior did not answer her, "are you all right?" Gabrielle looked sympathetically at the bruises coloring Arlath's face. She too knelt in front of the slave, who was beginning to cry.
"Who did this to you?" the bard asked, gently brushing tangled hair out of Arlath's face.
"I . . . He . . . My master," she whispered at last, encouraged by the gentle voice of the stranger. Xena's expression twisted in anger.
"Gagries," she muttered. Arlath's head whipped up in terror. She didn't know what to do. She was torn between two masters, and she did not know the possible consequences of her choosing. Her heart still longed to be with her old Mistress, but her blood pulled her unwillingly towards Gagries. What would Ares do if she chose wrongly?
"Arlath, you are bonded to this woman for as long as she lives. You will serve only her, and you will obey her unconditionally," the God of War said, his hands holding the end of her chain leash. Arlath pranced in place for a moment, eager to meet this woman to whom her creator would give her. She lashed her tail and tugged absently at straps that held her arms behind her back and to a saddle of leather and silver. Ares produced a dagger and a goblet as an armored woman approached them. She had shockingly blue eyes that raked the Centaur with unabashed curiosity. She had been promised a remarkable battle mount, and Ares had once again come through. The God of War cut open a vein in the Centaur's arm and one likewise in Xena's. He allowed the blood to mingle in the goblet and then held it to Arlath's lips to drink . . .
"Gagries did this. I - I tried to leave him, Mistress," she added the last word shyly and looked up at the warrior. She had made her decision. For better or worse, her first bond with the Warrior Princess held. Xena nodded. Now she had the excuse she'd always wanted to kill Gagries. All she had to do was catch the son of a bacchae.
"Arlath, hold out your arms," Xena ordered. Mindlessly, the slave obeyed. Gabrielle watched all this uncomprehendingly. Arlath was surprised when Xena wrapped her strong arms around her and lifted her up.
"Mistress? I can walk . . . this is . . . not right . . ."
"Are you questioning me?" Xena replied, her tone dripping with irony. She splashed across the stream and carefully through the woods out to where Argo stood waiting. Arlath's face lit up when she saw the war horse. Gabrielle's jaw dropped in shock when the slave issued a greeting and Argo responded in kind. Xena merely smiled as she set her cargo down in the horse's saddle.
Arlath looked disconcerted and perhaps a little disapproving, but she said nothing this time.
"Are you going to fill me in or what?" Gabrielle demanded, now that they were underway again. The bard's stoic lover was unprepared to surrender any information. Sighing, Gabrielle fell back to walk beside Argo.
"How did you wind up with this Gagries person?" she asked. Arlath glanced at her but said nothing. Gabrielle repeated her question yet the object of her curiosity remained silent. Xena realized the reason abruptly and said, with a blush of shame, "Arlath, feel free to talk all you like."
"I . . . belonged to him for a while," Arlath began, "Before that I was Xena's, but she," Arlath stopped, sensing a change in the warrior's posture. Taking it to mean that Xena didn't want the contest that she'd lost long ago brought up, the slave rephrased her reply, "She loaned me to Gagries."
As Gabrielle was about to reply, she noticed the blood dripping from Arlath's feet onto Argo's saddle.
"You're bleeding!" she announced, interrupting herself. She reached for the saddlebag to find bandages.
"Leave it," Xena warned her.
"But Xena! You saw her feet, we have to do something!" Gabrielle gestured anxiously, but Arlath just gave her a reassuring smile.
"Mistress?" Arlath asked.
"Yes?" Xena dully replied.
"May I ask where we'll be meeting up with your men?" the question stopped Xena in her tracks.
"I no longer have an army."
"Mistress?"
"She's changed," Gabrielle piped up, "She's not a warlord anymore. We fight for the greater good now."
Arlath looked skeptically at the bard. Can it be true? MY Xena? Turned from her ways? She dimly remembered a time of much blood and destruction and joy. Strange. Sometimes she had flashes of clarity, but at the moment, she seemed to be trapped in a fog. The confusion on Arlath's face was all the invitation that the bard needed to begin the story of Xena's conversion. Gabrielle went on to regale her captive audience with tales of the last two years. When no denial came forth from her mistress, Arlath started to believe that it might be true, though somehow it did not seem right to her. She shuddered at the thought of the wild warrior going through the pain and humiliation of the gauntlet.
"Oh Mistress," she breathed, this time with affection and adoration for the sacrifices that her Mistress must have made. Under the fear, Ares had made her to love the Warrior Princess unconditionally, and even now that many of her specific memories were faded and gone, Arlath could not fight her nature.
As the sun began to set, Xena led them off the road and into woods that looked as unfamiliar to Gabrielle as all the forests that they had traversed already, but the warrior took them unerringly to a secluded little glen that had the look and feel of an old campsite. Xena didn't plan on spending the night there, though. There was no doubt in her mind that Arlath was valuable enough to incite a full scale pursuit from Gagries. The warrior helped her former slave down and set her on the ground with her legs straight out in front of her.
Xena pulled her breast dagger out. Arlath watched intently, hope dawning in her green eyes. Gabrielle wondered if her lover had completely lost her mind when Xena approached the helpless woman with a dagger and a bowl she'd taken out of their packs. She ran between the two women.
"Xena?! Are you NUTS?" Gabrielle demanded, "I won't let you hurt her!"
"She's not going to hurt me . . . Gab . . . Gabrielle," Arlath touched the bard's hip reassuringly.
Xena nodded in agreement, though her face was dark.
"This is for the best," Arlath reached out a hand to the warrior in supplication. Xena passed her the bowl as Gabrielle stepped aside, albeit skeptically. Xena punctured a vein in her wrist and let the blood flow into the bowl, then handed the dagger to Arlath and took the bowl to hold it in turn for the slave's blood.
"Is this what you really want?" Xena asked.
"Yes, Mistress. I need this. I cannot stand this body," she begged with her eyes. At Xena's nod, Arlath slashed her arm and let her blood flow freely into the bowl where it mingled with the crimson fluid already there. Xena lifted the bowl first to her own lips and drank half of the viscous red liquid. Gabrielle paled visibly.
Arlath took the bowl next and downed the rest of its contents without so much as a flinch. She lowered the vessel and smiled warmly. The gashes on her feet seemed to close up in a matter of seconds even as Xena's face tightened with pain and she fell to her knees. Gradually though, the pain dissolved and she was able to rise again. When the warrior looked up, Arlath was the creature that she had always known her to be. Internally too, Arlath felt a welcome flood of memories, and an ebb of the tide of her last life with Gagries. She could remember every sweet, and every bitter moment of her time with Xena. Gabrielle stared in shock. Her eyes rounder than Xena's chakram, Gabrielle took a trembling step forward before she found her voice again.
"Xena?" The bard's voice shook like her knees did, "What . . . What?"
The warrior laughed out loud; her bard was at a loss for words.
"It's a long story, Gabrielle, and we need to get moving, fast," Xena gestured for Arlath to display the bottoms of each of her hooves. When the warrior was sure that there was no damage to any of them, she said, "You'll ride Arlath, we don't have time for you to walk."
Gabrielle frowned.
"I'm sorry that we don't have another saddle," the centaur apologized. Xena was already astride her big palomino and waiting impatiently for the bard to mount up.
"Uhm . . . How do I?" Gabrielle waved her hands ineffectually. Arlath's back was intimidatingly high up. Sighing, the centaur lowered her bulk to her knees. Gabrielle thanked her profusely and climbed aboard.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked.
"Positive," Arlath turned to grin at her passenger as she awkwardly heaved herself back to her feet and followed Argo down the road at a jouncing trot. Xena kicked her horse into a canter.
"Gabrielle, please give me your hands," Arlath took the bard's hands and wrapped them around her waist. "Now hold on tight!" she warned before digging her feet into the loamy soil and leaping forward. Gabrielle's head jerked against her neck. The centaur reveled in the speed; the wind whipping through her hair; she felt lighter than the very air in her lungs. The wind also, conveniently enough, prevented Gabrielle from making any further inquiries.
Arlath caught up with her mistress easily enough and then settled into a traveling run just abreast of Argo. They moved at this mile eating pace for several hours, leaving two sets of easily trackable hoofprints, one unshod. Xena watched the terrain around them, looking for the slanted turn in the road that was the only landmark to hint at the location she sought. The sun was low in the sky when she found it and drew Argo to a walk.
A left turn down a barely visible path took them through the underbrush and out into a clearing that had clearly been used as a campsite before; a circle of stones already contained traces of old fires.
"We'll stay here for now," Xena said, and her tone brooked no argument. Gabrielle slid awkwardly down off of Arlath's back and began to set up camp. Xena walked away to make sure the area was secure, and the centaur listened to the tiny sounds of movement she made, sounds that would have been inaudible to anyone else.
Gabrielle reappeared with an armload of kindling and found the centaur standing at attention, exactly where she'd been left.
"Arlath?" she asked, "Can you unpack while I start the fire?"
Arlath turned her head towards the bard uncertainly. The request was highly irregular, but the situation had changed since she'd last set up camp with the Warrior Princess. Gabrielle also seemed to be more than a lover to the slave's mistress. Making her decision, Arlath moved to unsaddle Argo. She stroked the mare lovingly as she loosened the saddle girth and made soft throaty nickers. Gabrielle watched the exchange in fascination, shook her head, and piled up the wood.
Once she had unpacked Argo's saddlebags and laid out the bedrolls, Arlath returned to her position as though she had never moved. Gabrielle raised baffled eyebrows and then set about preparing hot water for tea in the hopes that Xena would return with some fresh game. She was tired of travel rations, but the area looked like it had been picked clean by an army -- and it probably had been.
The sound of the warrior's guarded footsteps did not alert the bard, but Arlath's keen ears warned her when Xena approached the camp from the south east side. Gabrielle looked up in surprise when her stealthy lover stepped into the clearing, but the centaur stood unmoved.
Xena carried two cleaned rabbit carcasses, but her eyes were glued to Arlath. The last light of the setting sun caught the red in the centaur's coat; she was the color of half dried blood, a black-point bay, with skin a lighter shade of the color of her fur. A pair of bright green eyes met Xena's gaze, and while the blue eyes were sad, the others seemed almost joyful. Gabrielle took the rabbits from the warrior and set them to roast over the fire. Xena settled down on the ground cross legged.
"Arlath. I'm so sorry. I know I can never make it up to you, but I want to tell you that you're free. You belong to yourself, and it should never have been any other way," the proud woman looked down at her knees and Arlath ducked her head to catch her attention.
"Mistress? I don't understand. Why the bonding before?"
"Your feet . . . and you really didn't want to look like Gagries' dream woman forever did you? I thought you wanted it." Xena felt a wash of guilt for gambling with the centaur's life as collateral, and then losing it.
It was only the second time that Xena had allowed herself to get soppingly drunk. With her army massed to the west, and Gagries' smaller force spread out to the east, the two warlords met in the middle to negotiate an alliance. They spent the evening trying to out drink one another as the played various stupid games. Around dawn, Gagries proposed a bet on a roll of the dice. He said that if she won, Xena could take his army; but if he won, Xena would hand over Arlath to him. Gagries won the contest, and probably because she was stone drunk, she didn't kill him on the spot but honored her end of the bargain. Arlath, the prize, was a creation of the gods. She took the form most useful to her master or mistress. She was uniquely suited to a warlord's service because of her blood. It had the power to heal, which was why Ares had given her to Xena and why Gagries wanted her so badly.
For five turns of the seasons, Arlath had been the servant of a different sort of ruthless warlord. The centaur's next words jolted her back to reality.
"Mistress, what shall I do?" Arlath's mind raced. She knew no life other than one of servitude, and just when she had regained her rightful place with Xena, the warrior seemed ready to abandon her.
"Well, we could take you to the centaur village near Arborea," Gabrielle suggested. Xena cast her a look of gratitude and nodded. Arlath chewed her lip.
"And do what, Mistress?" She asked. Xena was stumped.
"Start a family," Gabrielle said. Arlath didn't appear particularly scintillated by this idea. Xena tried to salvage things by saying, "You don't have to decide anything tonight."
Gabrielle settled down near the fire and noticed that Arlath was still standing patiently in the same spot.
"Why don't you come sit near the fire?" she gestured welcomingly. Arlath tilted her head to one side, and blinked at another precedent tossed aside. She stepped into the circle of flickering fire light and settled down, thinking it might be rude to tower over the seated women. Xena took out her sword and whetstone and both Arlath and Gabrielle smiled at the reassuringly familiar ritual.
"Xena, you gonna tell me what's going on?" the bard at last had the opportunity to ask.
The warrior looked up from her work, her hand still moving up and down the blade mechanically.
"I'm going after Gagries tomorrow," she replied.
"I know that much, but what about Arlath? Do you want to explain all this to me? Slowly?" She was growing impatient. Xena put her sword aside.
"After Borias was killed, Ares really took an interest in me and my army," Well that's putting it mildly . . . You cannot beat a god in bed. Xena's eyes slid over the bard appreciatively, You can come close though.
"One morning he appeared and told me that he had something to give me. Outside my tent, he presented me with Arlath and performed that same ceremony with the blood that you saw earlier."
"But that doesn't really explain what I saw. You know what I mean."
"She changes to fit her master," Xena patiently explained, "Gagries wanted someone to dominate completely, though clearly there's a limit to her devotion and I suppose that she just won't take the kind of abuse he was giving. Ares decided that I needed a war mount that could cover my tail, and so that's what he gave me, but besides all that, she has the power to heal. I owe her my life a dozen times over." The warrior stared at Arlath over the fire. Xena picked up her sword and continued sharpening it, her narrative over for the moment.
Gabrielle turned her attention to the subject of the story.
"What happened then? How did you wind up with Gagries?"
Arlath looked to her mistress for permission before replying, needing her permission even now that she had been freed. She had lived so long in a cage that now that the bars were gone there was nothing left for her to do but pace within the confines of her former enclosure.
Xena took a deep, calming breath.
"Arlath, I told you I'm not your mistress any more."
Arlath looked distressed, but she answered Gabrielle's question with surprising patience.
"After that, there were many glorious battles. I gave my blood to those that needed it, and everything went so well . . .I just lived for each moment, for my Mistress," she looked down at her hands, "I learned a lot about death, and about war. But also about loyalty," she sighed hugely, "Gagries wanted an alliance, though I doubt that he intended to remain true to any agreement they might have struck."
Arlath paused, uncertain of whether she should tell the bard the truth or not. She had already lied once.
"Tell her what happened, Arlath. Tell her the truth," Xena snapped, her blue gaze lost in the writhing flames of their campfire.
"Well, Gagries proposed a bet, and Mistress accepted. And lost." Arlath looked down at her hands again.
"I'm NOT your ‘mistress' anymore," Xena whispered, knowing that the centaur would hear her.
Click on the pic for a look at the whole portrait.
Part Two
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Email: absinthe@earthling.net
