Chapter Text
Somewhere in the ethers of all existence, fate seethed. It was many-bodied and it was none; it was many-voiced, yet had no tongue. Fate was everywhere and nowhere, fate was everything and nothing. It was what made all that was, be. It knew much and it knew everything; it knew nothing of denial. All existence followed the rule of that which upheld it. What fate wanted, fate got. All that happened was fate's decree alone, but now fate seethed, watching events unfold that it had not decreed, and which it had not set into motion.
Somebody had died all wrong. People died all the time in the world, but this death — this death wasn't decreed, nor was it fate's want. This death ended a thread that should have kept going, it closed off a path that had many more miles to go; this death had come too soon, in the wrong place, in the wrong time. Xena wasn't meant to die yet. No, she had many more years to live. It was fated; it was meant to be, and so Xena's death wasn't just wrong on a personal level. It was a cosmic wrong.
Fate writhed, coiling around the stone that was the center of the world, and seethed. It would have what it wanted. Whatever the cost, whatever the cause, fate would fall as it willed. Such was the way of the world, after all. Not even death could spare you from your fate.
How could you hurt me like this?
Whatever Gabrielle felt was something beyond pain. It wasn't something a living person was meant to bear. It was all-encompassing and it drained. In every aspect it was consuming, only she did not want to be consumed. She didn't want it. Not any of it. Not the pain, not the hurt. She didn't want this reality she now stood in.
How could you?
For all the times Xena had almost died, for all the times Xena had left her for a time, this was the one, finite time where she did not come back. Could not, would not; Xena had made her choice, and now she was dead. Xena had chosen the souls of many over what she had thought was her own, and Gabrielle understood — but how could Xena have done it when her soul did not stand alone on those scales? Xena hadn't listened to her, she hadn't heard her. Now Xena was dead and gone, and it was Gabrielle who was left to pick up the pieces.
You promised me everything, Xena. Why this?
Had it been days? Weeks? Months? Time had passed but Gabrielle wasn't so sure if she'd passed with it. They all said it got easier with time. Everyone she spoke to, everyone who knew what happened, they told her to give it time. They gave her that face of infuriating pity, they patted her on the shoulder or hugged her, and they told her to give it time. Give what time? The pain wasn't a clean break — it was a festering, devouring thing, gnawing at her insides, clawing at her soul, ripping and tearing and sinking poison into the flesh of her very being. So much of her had been entwined with Xena, body and soul alike. She'd slept next to her for so long she no longer knew how to do it on her own. She'd stood beside her for so long she no longer knew how to stand on her own two feet. They'd been as entwined as two people ever could be. The four-legged, four-armed people of the myths had been nothing compared to what they'd been. Yet now they were split into two like those first humans. Ripped apart, broken and torn open, bleeding into the earth of the world. But there was no promise of happiness for her, not anymore. Even that pain of separation was hers alone to bear, because in death Xena felt nothing of its like. The weight of it was all on Gabrielle's shoulders, all hers alone. There was no other half for her to find in this world, no promise of a reunion of hearts. Not anymore.
Did you really think it would be easy?
She'd gone home at first. Potidaea had felt like the only direction she could aim for. First she went back west, then she came home. Or maybe not. It hadn't felt right. She'd stayed for a time — a month, two — but it hadn't felt like home. It hadn't been home since she was barely an adult. It had been less of a home after her parents had died. Their deaths had taken whatever semblance of safety Gabrielle had known of the place, and yet still, when she had nowhere to go, she'd gone back.
But it wasn't home. The day she had run off after Xena, to be with Xena, was the last day Potidaea had really been home. After that it had become somewhere else. She'd seen Lila and Sarah, and they'd been a comfort. There was safety in her sister's house, but though there was warmth and kindness and understanding, there was nothing that there that would heal her. Lila had wanted her to stay, had asked her to stay here, to stay at home. But how could Gabrielle stay there, when home was elsewhere? Campfires with Xena had felt like home from the start, but as time had gone on, it had all become so much more. It had all become real; what had begun as blushes and hidden smiles, giddiness and a shivering down the spine, had become something so solid, something so real she'd had to revise her whole idea of love.
Gabrielle had thought she'd known what home was. She had thought she'd known what love was. She had also thought she'd known, more or less, the depths to which pain could go.
But Xena…Xena had changed all that.
If I had begged more, would that have changed anything?
Lila cried the day she told her she was leaving. Gabrielle had comforted her, though every promise, every word she spoke had felt empty. She herself felt hollow, like someone had carved out her insides and left the shell in the world to walk about, still bearing her face and her shape, speaking in her voice, but lacking the heart of it all. How could she rediscover her heart when its twin lay in Hades's realm?
She had thought about going to get her from there. She had thought, and considered; she had decided against it. If Orpheus couldn't do it, what hope had she that she could? She had nothing to offer Hades, and he owed her no debt.
Is there a bargain I could strike, still?
Gabrielle went on and headed for Athens, and found it too loud. Almost immediately she regretted ever coming there. Whatever friends she'd once had there were no friends to the ghost she was now. Their poetry was either too sweet, or too tragic, and altogether not real enough. They didn't know what they spoke of when they spoke of hurt in the heart, and Gabrielle had not the will to correct them. That she was wounded and bleeding did not mean everyone else should feel it, and so she left, quietly in the night. She left no note, nor yet any word of where she was going. Who was there left to care, truly?
Did you value me so little in the end, Xena?
Almost unwilling, her path had led her to Amphipolis. What was there for her to discover but a tomb, and more guilt? She'd once sworn she'd do anything she could do to deliver Xena's body here, to lay where her family rested. Ashes were not the same. Even in this, she had failed. She had failed to stop Xena. She had failed in convincing her; she had failed to convey only how deeply she felt. Surely, had Xena known, she wouldn't have done it. Had she known the true depth, the very intensity with which Gabrielle was bound to Xena, she wouldn't have sacrificed herself.
You never meant to hurt me…right?
"Right, Xena?" Gabrielle asked, the words drifting up into the night sky. She asked reassurance of a universe that would give no answer that could satisfy her. The heavens themselves condemned her; the earth under her bedroll would not receive her. She was doomed to walk the earth, wounded and hurting, and to find no true rest. Loving a ghost, waiting for someone who would never come home.
She slept, but she did not dream. Sleep gave her no rest; the days gave her no respite. Was it a wonder that she herself became a ghost, wandering the same paths she'd walked with Xena, walking with one foot in the past, one foot in the present? None that had known her would have recognized her, and as she walked, death trailed in her step — a shadow encroaching, but never enveloping her in full. It would not give her the release she wished for, even if it did come. Xena's soul was somewhere Gabrielle could never go.
Some nights, she was simply sad. She wept and she slept. Other nights she was furious; she struck with her staff at tree-trunks and rocks until it splintered, and cried out into the darkness that would not hear her. In the morning she would find a new, young sapling to cut, and spend the rest of the day fashioning the tree into a new staff.
In the months she spent wandering, she went through many staffs.
Give it time, everyone said.
"Give it time," Gabrielle muttered to herself, climbing up the last few steps to the top of a rise. Mountain slopes rose to both sides of her, sharp and jagged; a few more steps ahead, and she saw a valley spread out before her, lush and green. She'd never been here, in these northern forests of Macedonia. Xena had never taken her to this place.
"Give it time," Gabrielle repeated, letting her pack drop to the ground. She'd had a mule for a while; she'd sold it when the money had grown tighter than she'd liked. She didn't make much barding nowadays. People wanted happy stories told by a happy bard, after all. Love stories, stories about heroes. Stories about Xena. But she couldn't talk about Xena anymore. Not properly, not without feeling like she couldn't breathe. Give it time, they said. How much time? How many days, weeks, months would suffice to put a wall between the immense hurt that flooded her every waking moment of her days?
The light was failing. Gabrielle's strength had already failed. As she stood there on that rise, looking across from where she'd come to where she had to go, she felt her will withering. Where was she going, anyway? What was there to find in the next valley that would be so much better than the one she'd come through? Everyone spoke of time as if it would heal all. Give it a day, give it a week, give it a month. She'd given it all she had, and nothing. Her heart hurt as bad as it had immediately after. She still lost her breath at times. When she shut her eyes, she saw—
"Give it time," Gabrielle muttered, angrily wiping away a tear. "Give it fucking time."
The anger that had been brewing within her all this time suddenly came to its boiling point, and overflowed. Was it a coincidence that at that same moment, thunder broke out from a seemingly clear sky, a crashing, crackling noise breaking through the very heavens?
"I've given you all I have!" she cried, uncaring of whether she was heard or not. "Everything I had, you have! Every fucking—"
Words failed her, and frustration pushed an angry cry through her throat that left it ripped raw.
Every ounce of hurt she'd felt over the months was back upon her now. Aching, hurting, burning. Stabbing, slicing. Was it her body that was ailing, or her spirit? Gabrielle could no longer tell the difference. All she knew was that she was half a person, and that she was angry.
"You left!" she cried out into the universe, and this time her words had an intended recipient, even if she'd never hear what was said. "You left, Xena! You swore you wouldn't, you promised— we were meant to live together, you and I, and you— you died! You went and you died…"
Tears slipped down her cheeks, dragging lines of heat into her dust-covered skin. It wasn't long after that it began to rain.
All this time, Gabrielle had carried Xena in her mind. She'd quietly spoken to her, whispered at most; soft things, quiet things. She'd pleaded with her at times. She'd spoken to her at length. She'd sobbed and pleaded for explanations from one who would never tell them, but never once had she turned the blade of the accusation in the direction where it belonged. She hadn't dared, before. She'd feared tainting the memory, before.
Now she was too angry to care.
"How could you do this?" Gabrielle wept, sobs breaking her words, "How could you do this to me, Xena?"
Her voice cracked over Xena's name. She could manage the first syllable; the second turned sharp in her mouth, like the shards of a blade.
"Xena…" Gabrielle sobbed. The mud splattered when she sank to her knees, unable to stay upright any longer. She didn't care that it was wet and cold and that she'd get dirty. What did it matter? She was alone. No one would see her, no one would mind or comment if she caught a chill. Maybe if she caught a bad enough chill, she'd have a fever and slip into dreams where Xena was still alive and well.
Even the thought of her alive was enough to rip open every wound in Gabrielle's heart. She sobbed, and the pain breathed new life into the anger she'd carried for far too long.
"No," she seethed, sinking her fists into the mud, "No, damn it, you're not— you don't get to make me into this!"
She still spoke to Xena.
"Was it all for nothing? Did everything matter so little in the end?" Gabrielle demanded of the obstinate sky. "Did I matter at all, Xena? How could you go and die when we had all and everything promised? I was yours, Xena! Wasn't that enough?"
Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance, and the rain rose up into a wind-tossed crescendo. Gabrielle punched the ground, weakly, and cried.
"It hurts, Xena," she whimpered. It was all breaking apart, now. "It hurts, it won't stop hurting, it hurts always— every day, every single fucking day, it hurts, and it hasn't gotten any better! And I know now that it won't, I know…"
She punched the ground again. A piece of gravel within the clay cut into her knuckle, drawing blood, perhaps. Gabrielle didn't care to look, though she felt the pain, briefly, before the cold numbed it away.
"I can't take it," she sobbed. Tears mixed with rainwater on her skin; her eyes burned, and saw nothing at all. "I can't take it, Xena. I'm not strong enough to live this life alone without you—"
She drew a ragged breath.
"You should've known," she spat. "You should've known, Xena, that I couldn't take it. How could you think anything else? Or did you think of it all?"
Did you think of me at all, truly, when you did what you did?
Bitterness flooded Gabrielle's heart. It would not soothe her pain; it was much more like salt to the wounds within.
"I think I hate you," Gabrielle began, "I really, truly hate you for what you did, Xena. You didn't consider me. You didn't think of me, I know you didn't, because if you'd stopped for even a second to actually think of how I'd feel—"
She punched the earth as if it would receive her hurt and take it away from her, but like the sky, the earth below her was obstinate. It said nothing; it did nothing.
"I wish I'd never met you," Gabrielle spat. The words reeled within her and raised a storm; fury crested within her tenfold. "I wish, fuck, gods of all the heavens, Xena, I wish I'd never met you! Because then I wouldn't— I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be this pathetic thing, reduced to nothing because you're gone, and you'll stay gone, and I'm stuck here trying to pretend like I know how to put my life together with only half the pieces…"
A sob broke through her chest.
"Fuck, Xena, I wish I'd never met you!" Gabrielle cried. Rain fell on her; thunder roared overhead. The storm was upon her, now. Not that she much cared. Zeus himself could have struck her down and she would have had little to say about it. Death wouldn't deliver her to Xena, not when they were destined for different afterlives.
She wept, and through her tears she saw nothing. The storm was so raging that she heard nothing at all. She did not notice the figure who'd appeared on the slope some paces from her, just before the storm had begun. In all her rage and hurt, Gabrielle had failed to notice she had an audience; she spoke, assuming she spoke to no-one, and knew not that every word she spoke was heard.
Ares looked down at her and felt something like pity. She'd annoyed him, once. There was still that base instinct to be irked by her very presence, but it had dulled over the years. She wasn't his rival anymore; she had beat him in the one conquest he'd never admit to losing. She had won Xena where he had not. She had understood Xena better than he ever could have. Xena had been his in many ways, yes, but never truly, never fully. She had been his as any warlord and warrior belongs to the god of war; as a worshiper, and as a manifestation of his power. Had he desired more? Perhaps, though the wants of gods are not to be likened to the wants of mortals.
Now he looked at Gabrielle and felt only pity, and something that might have been a twinge of empathy. He saw her tears and knew the reason for them. Of course he'd known what happened to Xena, though she'd been too far for his reach. He might have even grieved her, briefly.
"You wish you'd never met her?" he echoed.
Was it something beyond him that willed him to be there, at that precise moment, in that precise place? Was it something beyond his power that willed him to consider an act he'd never have thought of himself? Or was it simply that he, too, shared Gabrielle's grief, and felt only a desire to be rid of it? It is different, after all, to be upset at the world when you are a god with the power to change it.
"So you wish you'd never met her, hmm?" Ares repeated, louder now.
Gabrielle choked on her spit and looked up. Seeing Ares, she went pale; her fury just about died down.
"Don't stop on my account," said the god, watching her as she scrambled up to her feet. "You're almost interesting now, what with all this…anger."
"What are you doing here?" Gabrielle asked. She wiped her muddy hands on her skirt and sniffled; her eyes, however, were clear. Her guard had gone up the second she saw the war god, and it wasn't about to go down, not for any reason.
"Listening," Ares shrugged. "I heard a wish just now."
Gabrielle paled. "I didn't—"
"Didn't mean it? Please, you would lie to me?" Ares scoffed. "I know better than anyone how anger makes one honest. And see, it's your lucky day. I'm in a…generous mood."
"Wait, no—" Gabrielle began. "You can't."
"Can't what? Make it so you never met her?" Ares asked. "You seem to forget that I'm a god, blondie."
"But you can't! I didn't mean it!" Gabrielle pleaded then, desperation rising as she realized Ares truly meant what he said. "I didn't—"
"Shouldn't wish for what you don't want," smirked the god. "Sweet dreams, Gabrielle. I hope your new life is all you wished for."
It had rained the night before, and the ground was still a little damp. Xena stared at the hole she'd dug into the earth, well aware that she'd dug something of a grave. Her fingers were scraped; she should have brought a shovel. Maybe if she'd planned this, she would have. But had she planned this, really? Was this anything but the end of the path? It all just felt empty, now. Empty and done.
She stood, and she breathed. She was alive. Her body was still her body; her flesh was still her own. It obeyed her, it listened to her. She had woken up that morning like she had every other morning for weeks. Uncertain and uncomfortable. Aimless and lost. What use was there in going on, in trying for more?
Had she ever been this methodical when taking off her armor? Had she ever paid so much attention to each clasp, each hook?
Xena laid her things into hole in the earth. Her armor, her leathers, her sword. Her chakram. She laid them into the earth and buried them. She didn't say goodbye; she didn't say a thing. Nor did she weep, or feel a need to. She was empty, she was done. What use was there in crying? This was just how it would go.
Heaviness lay upon her hanging, dragging her into the earth. Every step felt weighted; every movement felt as though strings were all around her, pulling and tugging, tightening her into a net. What was there to do but give up? Hadn't she tried her all already? It was too heavy; the weight of her sins was too great.
Xena thought of Argo. She was waiting for her. Would she go back? Or would she go elsewhere?
She'd left her weapons behind. She stood, practically naked, in a world that no longer felt like her own. Wasn't she half-dead already? Was she a ghost, wandering realms that weren't hers?
Sunlight glinted through young leaves of ash and elm. A lark sang a short tune on a nearby branch before flying off eastward. The wind rustled through the trees; the light danced with shadow. Xena kicked a bit more dirt over the mound she'd made and looked around the clearing. She knew she should go now. She'd done what she'd come here to do. She should go, and finish the deed, one way or another. Maybe it was her death that lay so heavy on her shoulders, and not guilt after all. Maybe it bid her to go, to do what must be done. Wasn't death the right answer, after all? She had brought so much terribleness into the world. Wasn't it only right that she remove herself from it? She wasn't made to be a hero, after all. She had thought she could be, but in the end, it had been nothing at all. Wasn't this right? Wasn't this the way?
Xena stood and hesitated. A light breeze tossed some leaves up off the ground. She looked around the clearing again. Her mind wanted her to go; something within her bid her to wait. Had she heard something? Was there someone coming?
She waited. Tension sat within her coiled like a spring, waiting to burst. She was so sure something was going to happen that every rustle, every snapping twig had her jumping up in alertness. But nothing happened. The clearing was just a clearing, empty as could be. There was nothing to see, nothing to wait for. Xena waited a moment more than what felt necessary, and then felt like a fool. She turned on her heel and went, and though something in her bid her to turn, she did not look back.
Gabrielle woke as if from a long, heavy sleep. She wasn't sure when she'd gone to bed; she wasn't sure what time it was now, either. There were no sounds of cooking from the kitchen, nor yet any other sounds from the rest of the house as she would have expected had it been morning. Sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains that covered her window; a lark sprang up in song somewhere nearby.
Her things were where they always were. Her sandals by the bed, her clothes on the stool beside it. Yet though everything was it was, it all felt wrong to Gabrielle as she got up and got dressed. Her body felt wrong, and she wondered if she were ill. Her mind was all muddled; she reached for things that were not there, and moved as though she were in a dream. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she expected something else. She kept thinking she smelled the smoke of a campfire, which of course was ridiculous. She kept thinking she heard the sounds of a horse, which, too was ridiculous. Her family didn't own a horse. Only a few donkeys.
Gabrielle combed her hair as she did every morning and felt it odd. Had she dreamed that her hair was shorter? And her clothes, hadn't they been odd in that dream she'd had? What was it, that dream? What had she seen?
"Oh, you're up."
Lila stood in the doorway, looking shy. Gabrielle gave her a smile and set aside her comb, ignoring the confusion in her mind. She could have sworn Lila was taller.
"I am. What time is it?" she asked, trying to act casual. No use alarming anyone else.
"It's past midday. Mother said to come wake you."
"Why didn't you wake me earlier?"
Lila gave her an odd look. "You've been sick."
So she'd been sick. That explained it all, Gabrielle thought. She accepted the explanation readily and, for a few hours, was happy within the confines of its truth. She helped her father in the fields, though he insisted she rest; she helped her mother make dinner. She didn't think much at all, that day. Every odd or weird feeling she had, she counted as part of her illness. Her family treated her no differently, time passed as it always did. Everything was as it was.
A night and a day passed, and Gabrielle was sure she was lost. She wasn't ill, not as such; everything was just wrong. She was frustrated. She was impatient. She had no interest in the village things, she had no mind for everyday chores and work. Her mother talked of the future in her calm and hopeful manner the way she always did. It should have been a familiar thing. It should have been a comfort. So why was it that, when Gabrielle listened to her mother talk about weaving her a new bedspread as a wedding-present, she felt only dread?
She saw Perdicas, briefly, in passing. The sight of him set cold sweat on her brow, and she had to plead a sudden dizzy spell to escape without her discomfort being seen as anything else. He was alive and well, and yet when Gabrielle looked at him, she expected blood. Her gut twisted with nausea; her heart felt like ice.
In only a few days, Potidaea reduced to a mere heat-day shimmer in Gabrielle's eyes. It all felt too small and too constricting. What had once been predictable was now boring; what had once been comforting, was now anything but. She had always dreamed, and now she dreamed always. Morning to night she dreamed of other places, of adventures, of a life that felt so unlike her own, and yet which felt more true to herself than anything in her . She dreamed of being a warrior, a heroic figure like those women warriors she heard tales told about. Like Hippolyta, or Atalanta…or Xena.
Thinking of Xena made shivers run down Gabrielle's spine. She'd heard some stories of her and thought them interesting; she knew of her evil, and had heard rumors of a change. Was she a hero now, like Hercules was? Could she become like that too, if only she left her village?
Her mother scolded her for daydreaming but she didn't stop. She'd always scolded Gabrielle for having her head in the clouds; now was no different. Only Gabrielle herself was different, changed as if overnight. She didn't fit in to Potidaea. She was of the village but she didn't belong there. Wasn't her life supposed to be something more? Was this really how it was meant to go? Was this really the way?
When being at home got too much, Gabrielle went out into the woods to wander. It was an escape to a quieter place where she could think, and dream in peace.
"Maybe I'll just go," she told herself, picking up a stick for a fake sword and swinging it. "Maybe I'll just pack up my things, and go. Set out into the world and make my own way, my own legends. I can do it, right?"
She wasn't so sure who she spoke to. Herself, perhaps? Or was it someone else?
"I could totally do it," Gabrielle continued, as if trying to convince a ghost whose presence she was only vaguely aware of. "I could go, and I could become a famous archer like Hippolyta. Except I don't know how to shoot with a bow. But I could learn?"
She kept on going, mindless of where she went.
"Or I could learn to wrestle and run like Atalanta. I could find her, and ask her to teach me—"
Gabrielle shook her head. "No, I'm too small. Can't beat grown men in a wrestling match like this."
She kicked a rock. Her mind wandered to where it often went of its own accord — to Xena, the myth, the legend. Gabrielle had only heard a few stories of her, but a few had been enough to fix her interest. A warrior princess, determined to do good and be a hero. That was who Gabrielle wanted to be: a hero.
"Maybe I could be like her," Gabrielle sighed, nudging a loose root with her foot. "If I learned to fight, that is…"
She dug her heel into the ground.
"It's my fate, I know it is…"
Something hard hit her foot. Gabrielle paused, and looked down at the ground; metal glinted back at her, catching the falling light of day. Frowning she crouched down and began to dig. What she unearthed had her fall flat on her ass from astonishment, because for all her talk about fate and becoming a warrior, she hadn't expected to stumble upon a hoard of weapons, quite literally buried at her feet.
"If this isn't fate, then…" Gabrielle said quietly, turning over the dirty leathers in her hands. She spotted a scabbard and grabbed at it; the sword within was pristine as ever. It was heavier than she'd imagined a sword might be. Even holding it up had her shoulders and wrist burning with tell-tale signs of weakness. She wasn't strong enough to wield a sword, not yet anyway.
Still, she swung the sword, stabbing at an imaginary foe. The blade followed an arc and she followed with it, stumbling; the tip of it scraped her shin, drawing blood.
"Ow!"
At least it was sharp. Gabrielle put the sword away into its scabbard and tied a handkerchief around her leg to stop the scrape from bleeding everywhere. Than she sat down and thought. Whoever had left the weapons her was probably long gone. The hole had been deep; for whatever reason, the weapons had been left behind.
"Left for me…" Gabrielle whispered. She knew it was ridiculous, but she wanted to believe it was fate anyway. How many times had she wished she had some reason to go, to leave Potidaea? Now she had the weapons that could make her a warrior. She even had a…ring. Ring-type thing, anyhow. Sharp as the teeth of Cerberos, as she found, and very odd. Was it a weapon? It certainly wasn't a knife.
She tried on the armor and found it hardly suited her. It was no doubt the armor of a woman, that much she could tell; the swirls in bronze were attractive to the eye. Gabrielle sat down on a nearby stone and held the armor in her lap as she thought. She ran her fingers along the pattern almost lovingly; for a moment, she lost herself altogether. Something in her gut twisted, demanding — the tension that had sat within her shifted, reminding her of its presence.
The armor had to be a sign. The sword, the ring-thing, the armor, it all had to be a sign. It couldn't be anything else, and it had to be for her. Gabrielle couldn't even doubt the conviction she had; the things she held in her hands felt more right than anything else had for days. Her heart swelled with warmth when she held them, her mind felt correct and focused. They had to be right.
"I guess that's it, then," Gabrielle smiled to herself. "It's fate."
She buried the things again and made sure to hide the burial-place better than it had been. There was no way she could have brought them home to Potidaea. If her mother, or gods forbid her father saw her with woman's armor and a sword, she was sure they would pitch a fit and lose their minds. No, she had to do this subtly, but quickly; she had to make a plan.
Money, she would need money. There wasn't much in her savings, which she kept in an old sock at the foot of her bed. A few dinars and nothing more, but at least it was something. Gabrielle was sure she'd figure things out somehow. She could work for food and maybe tell stories. She would do whatever it took. She could do it; fate wanted her to do it, and so she believed she could.
Her family had three donkeys. The smallest was hers. His mother had refused him and Gabrielle had taken care of him; his name was Jason, and he would only ever work for her. Her father could not even bring him out of the stable, let alone into the fields. She'd take Jason, Gabrielle decided. He could carry her things and keep her company, even if he was too small to ride.
The light was failing as she made her way home. She watched the sunset from the hill behind her house and wondered if it was the last she'd see for a while. She'd made her decision, after all. She was going. What use was there to linger? Tonight was as good a night as any, and besides — she really felt as though she'd overstayed her welcome. She should have gone some time ago; that, Gabrielle thought, had to be the reason why everything felt wrong.
Her mother greeted her with a smile when she came in and told her they'd have rabbit stew for dinner. Her father told her about his plans for the roof repair while they ate. Guilt tried to gnaw at Gabrielle as she realized that she'd not be there to help. She was determined to not let it take full hold. There was always something to do on the farm. If she stayed for this one, there'd be a next chore, a next project. Always something more, and then she'd be married whether she wanted to be or not, and all would be settled for her, with little use in her saying a thing for or against a thing at all. No, she had to go, and soon.
She took her cloak out with the excuse that she meant to mend it. She found her new sandals and explained that she only wanted to admire them — there wasn't anything wrong with her old sandals, not yet, but they were wearing thin. She went to bed early, pleading a headache; she snuck out of bed when everyone else had gone to sleep. Gabrielle took what she dared from the pantry, as well as an old pan she knew her mother hardly used. And a knife, she needed a knife. And a bowl—
"What are you doing?"
Gabrielle just about yelped from the surprise. "Lila—" she whispered hurriedly, hushing her. "Not so loud. Don't wake them."
She nodded towards the door of their parents' room.
Lila crossed her arms. "What are you doing?" she repeated, whispering now.
Gabrielle saw no way out but the truth. "I'm leaving, Lila. I have to go."
"Go where?"
"Somewhere. Out there, into the world," Gabrielle whispered. She was wrapping up the food she'd taken into a cloth when Lila came up to her side looked into the bundle.
"What do you mean go? For good?" Lila asked. Her arms were still crossed; her face was all screwed up in confusion and upset.
Gabrielle sighed. "I…I feel like there's more out there for me, Lila. I have to go see what it is. I want to be a warrior, a hero — I can't do that here. You see that, don't you?"
Lila chewed her lip. "You're leaving me."
Had she always been so young? So little, so pouty? Gabrielle shook her head.
"I'll come back. But I have to go. It feels like my destiny…"
"Is this like when you know things beforehand?" Lila asked. "Your visions?"
Gabrielle hadn't thought of that. "It might be. But I have to go. I won't be gone forever, I promise."
She picked up the bundle and went to the room she shared with Lila. Her sister followed; she didn't say a word as she watched Gabrielle pack up her things.
"What do I say to mother? To father?" Lila finally asked when Gabrielle had everything ready.
"You say you don't know a thing about it, Lila," Gabrielle said firmly. "I've left them a note. Now go to bed."
Her sister hugged her instead. Gabrielle let the bag fall to the ground and hugged her back. She was so young, still. She had so much growing to do.
"I'll be back," she sighed, guiding Lila to the bed. "I promise."
Lila settled, though she did look half like she did whenever she was about to go and tattle. Gabrielle left her there and hoped she wouldn't tell. This was her thing. Surely she was allowed to go? It wasn't as though she was still a child. She was old enough to be married. Surely that meant she was old enough to go out on her own?
Jason was awake when Gabrielle went to the stable. She tried to hush his excited noises and failed miserably. If he'd been heard, she was sure her father would soon be out to see what all the fuss was about. She was quick when she packed up her things onto Jason's back and led him out of the stable. The moon was on the rise, peeking through the trees to the east. Silvery light bathed the path she set upon and cast long shadows ahead of her feet. She looked back more than once as she went. It wasn't as though she were hesitating, not really; it was more like a long, drawn-out goodbye.
The things were still there when she went to get them. Gabrielle knelt on the damp earth and dug with her bare hands, cursing herself for not thinking far enough to bring a shovel. She dusted off the leathers and the armor before putting them in a bag she'd brought, which she fixed onto Jason's back. The sword she stuck into the sack that held her clothes and cloak; the odd ring-shaped knife she fixed to her belt.
"Right, Jason," Gabrielle said firmly, setting her eyes on the line of trees in the distance. "Guess any direction's as good as any, so long as it doesn't lead home?"
Jason didn't answer. Gabrielle didn't expect him to; she tugged at his lead, and with Jason at her side and a strange, tense sensation in her stomach she set out, heading towards the open fields and the roads that would lead her anywhere but here.
A full moon hung low in the sky, looming. Xena shifted uncomfortably where she sat, leaning against a crumbling piece of stone. The stone was rough and overgrown with caper vines that stuck her with sharp thorns whenever she moved. The pale light of the night sky painted everything in something of a gloom; the forest was blue, and lost to darkness. Nothing had true form, only whispers of shape. Yet though Xena could not make out a shape or thing with her eyes, she heard plenty and more. Birds, singing in the depths of the wood; the wind, rustling in the trees. The snapping of a twig, the howl of some dog, far in the distance. Or maybe it was a wolf.
Where am I going?
Truly, she did not know. Days had gone by since she'd left behind her weapons, and she'd failed at every turn in making the final decision. She'd killed plenty; surely, killing herself couldn't be much different. Right?
Xena picked at a scab below her knee until it bled. It didn't hurt. She watched the blood push up into a bead before it broke tension and ran down along her shin, drawing a red line down to her ankle. She kept watching until the blood dried up. Not that it did her any good. It brought her no closer to an answer.
"I need help," she sighed, and the words brought up a flood she was only barely able to push down. She swallowed, and felt her stomach twist. "I don't think I want to die."
"Don't you?"
Had Xena had any mind for her safety, she might have sprang up in surprise when a voice picked up where she'd thought she was alone. As it was, she was mostly just embarrassed; she didn't much care if she was in danger, or not.
Footsteps approached her from behind. Xena looked over her shoulder and saw a woman, neither young nor old; tall and lithe, visibly strong and healthy. Her light hair was swept up into a braided knot at the nape of her neck, though a few curls had escaped and hung at her jaw, framing her face. She was handsome, Xena thought. Straight features, clean lines. Keen eyes that seemed to see clearly even in the darkness.
The stranger came up and took a seat on the stone. She hung one leg over the edge; her foot dangled not far from Xena's elbow. Even in the darkness it was hard to not notice the fact that the stranger's sandal was wrought from silver, and had to it an ethereal shimmer.
"Who are you?" Xena asked.
"Don't you know?" came the reply. Xena looked again, and watched as the stranger set aside the bow she had been carrying, and unslung her quiver to lay it down beside the bow upon the stone. The quiver was full of arrows, each tipped with silvery feathers that glinted in the moonlight with an odd, unnatural glow.
"What business has the Huntress with me?" Xena muttered, settling back to sit against the stone. A thorn dug into her shoulder and she let it, unwilling to shift or move. Tension lay heavy upon her now that she knew that she was in the presence of an Olympian. Not just any Olympian, either, but Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon.
"What business have I with any woman who is suffering?" questioned the goddess. "You asked for help; I'm here."
"I didn't mean you, specifically," Xena said quietly. "Or anyone."
The goddess let out a laugh, and Xena felt some relief that she'd taken no offense. Even at her worst, she was not foolish enough to offend Artemis, whose punishments were widely known, and oftentimes inescapable.
"Then you might have been wiser to look where you were before you made any such requests," said Artemis, and though Xena was not looking at her, she heard that she was smiling. For some reason, that only made her feel comfort; it should have irked her, but it did not.
"Where…?" she began, looking around the little clearing she'd made camp in. She hadn't thought much when she stopped for the night. Argo had seemed tired and there'd been a nice patch of grass for her to feast on. Xena hadn't looked much beyond scouring for firewood, which lay in a pile at her feet, unused. She hadn't had an appetite for dinner, and the night wasn't so cold, and so she hadn't made the fire. Now she looked a the stone she leaned on and saw, in passing moonlight before a cloud cast it back into shadow, writing etched into its surface.
"Don't tell me it's your altar."
"Well, it is," replied the goddess, smirking. "Usually people kneel, but you're on the ground, so it'll do."
"Do for what?"
"For prayer."
"I'm not praying—
"Aren't you?"
There was something deliberate, something sharp about the way the goddess spoke. It silenced Xena; like an arrow, the goddess's point had driven straight to the core, and struck true.
"Haven't you been meaning to die all of this past week?" Artemis continued, leaning forward and keeping Xena within her gaze. "Haven't you tried, and fallen short each time? Isn't it because truly, in your heart, you do not want to? You feel helpless, but you don't want to die?"
"I'm not helpless—"
"Lost, then."
"I'm not lost!" Xena snapped. "I'm just—"
"Just what, warrior princess?"
Xena shot the goddess a glare. "I'm no longer that."
"Right, yes, because you buried your weapons. You think that's enough to erase a lifetime of accomplishments that earned you that title?"
"Title?" Xena exclaimed, turning around in full. The thorn that had snagged in her shoulder dragged a line of pain into her flesh; a trickle of blood ran down her arm, but Xena could not have cared less. "Accomplishments?"
"What, you don't think of them as such?"
"What I've done, what I've been, it's…" Xena shook her head. "I should have been killed when I first showed urges to do harm. What have I done, except bring evil into the world?"
"Good, evil," sighed the goddess, shrugging. "Such mortal terms. So you've been worse than you would have liked to be. So what? Do you think death a cleansing act? Do you think it will be any easier to bear the consequences of your evil when you're down in Tartarus being tortured?"
Xena pursed her lips. She wanted to look away; some instinct in her told her to shrug off the very presence of the goddess. Yet though she might have wanted to, she wasn't quite that big a fool. It was one thing to challenge Artemis, and another entirely to offend her.
"You have a better idea, then?"
Even as she spoke the challenge, Xena sensed that there was a natural answer; an affirmative one, one which she'd be bound to take. She knew and guessed it as she knew and guessed most of what happened on the battlefield, and knew as well what her answer would be, even before the choice was put to her.
"Why not do good?" Artemis asked her, batting back the challenge she'd thrown with barely any effort. "Why not dedicate yourself to a lifetime of helping others? Haven't you already had a taste of that, and found it good?"
Xena gritted her teeth. "It isn't as simple as 'going out and doing good', you know."
"If it's guidance you seek, go to Brauron," Artemis quipped.
"To Brauron? What's there for me to find at Brauron?"
A strange glint danced up into the goddess's eye. It was puckish and it was all-knowing; Xena saw it, and felt an odd lightness leap up in her own heart in response. Was it eagerness, or ease that made her feel suddenly so light? Was it this she'd been waiting for? A purpose, handed to her by a god?
"Go to Brauron," Artemis told her. "And seek out Iphegeneia. She leads the temple there, and has turned their purpose to good, and only good. They have need of good-hearted warriors."
Had Xena looked up just at that moment, she would have seen a shining star shooting across the sky. Instead she looked at the moon goddess and thought she saw, for the first true time, the face of salvation. Not a full promise, but a whisper of it; the beginning of a path that felt truly, honestly good.
"I'll go," she heard herself say, and felt nothing odd about it. "Though I'm not sure if my heart's good enough."
Artemis laughed. "If it's my reassurance you seek, then you are digging in the wrong place. I do not care if your heart is good or not. It is your business, and your charge; it is yourself who you have to convince of your goodness, not I. Now, if you were trying to join me in the hunt, that would be a different matter entirely...so think carefully, warrior princess. There are wounds within that seem in need of healing."
Xena wanted to argue, but just as she opened her mouth, the moon went into shadow. Sudden darkness caused her to blink; when she looked again, the goddess was gone.
The cogs that make up the machinery of existence turned as time dictated they would. Fate sprawled over them, tweaking, turning, adjusting; all-seeing eyes of many looked at all, and perceived everything that happened, all at once. With glee fate saw Gabrielle leave Potidaea, while with another eye it watched Xena converse with the moon goddess. Even now they were only a valley apart, and soon, if all went as it ought, there wouldn't be room for a thread between them.
Fate curled up in the heart of existence and listened to time creak and groan as it went on and on. Things were moving now; everything that was meant to be, was already in motion.