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ForevaXena's FanFic . . . A Twist Of Fate
The characters depicted in this
story are the property of Renaissance Pictures, Studios USA, and MCA/Universal.
No profit is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is
intended. Rated NC-17 for the graphic
depiction of sex between a man and a woman. The story takes place sometime
in Season 6 of Xena: Warrior Princess, after "Old Ares Had a Farm." The plot is loosely based on the episode "When Fates
Collide." My thanks to Tango and Taleen
for some very helpful comments on the draft version of this story.
He who saves one life, it is as if he had saved the entire world Sprawled
on the throne in his quarters on Olympus, Ares cursed under his breath. Everything
was in its place: the tapestries of battle scenes, the spectacular displays of
weapons on the walls, the jewel-encrusted goblets ... the human skull ornaments
at which the other gods sniffed in disdain, and which he kept not only as a
matter of personal taste but as his way of saying, I'm not a nice guy -- live
with it. Yes,
everything was in its place. And in
a few minutes, before he had a chance to take a few sips of rich, blood-red wine
from one of those goblets, he'd wake up in that dump of a farmhouse where Xena
had left him with a mutt for company. He'd
be lucky if it wasn't raining and the roof wasn't leaking again. Why
did he have to keep dreaming about this? It
was over and done with, he was a pathetic mortal who would never get his godhood
back -- and, most likely, would never even have the one thing that would have
made mortal life worthwhile ... a chance to spend it with the woman who was his
other source of almost nightly torment. (But those dreams,
at least, sometimes got quite enjoyable before he woke up.)
Well,
if he had to have this dream, he might as well do something in it.
He got up from the throne, walked around, picked up one of the goblets
and thought of fine Falerno wine. The
goblet in his hand filled immediately and he savored the liquor, swirling it in
his mouth and beginning to hope that the dream would last a little longer.
After putting down the empty goblet, he took his Sword of Power out of
its scabbard and made a few moves, sparring with the empty air. If
things were going so nicely, maybe he could try to transport himself somewhere.
Perversely, he thought of the farm.
In the flash of a moment, he was standing in front of -- what the
Tartarus? The surrounding fields
looked pretty much the same, but in place of the dingy shack was a large villa
with a luxurious garden. He
chuckled: talk about wishful thinking. He
made himself visible in mortal form (all the old tricks were working, exactly as
if it were real) and came up to a peasant pushing a cart full of vegetables. "Wasn't
there an old farm over there?" The
man looked up at him. "You
from around here?" "I
used to know the family that lived on this farm." "Really?"
the man eyed him suspiciously. "Well,
mister, you must've been out of touch with them for a while.
Don't you know about the old folks' granddaughter?" "Granddaughter."
"Yeah.
Xena." "Xena,"
he repeated, as if he's never heard the name before. "Right.
As in Xena, Empress of Rome." He
burst out laughing, ignoring the shocked expression on the man's face -- after
all, this idiotic mortal was only a figment of a particularly weird dream -- and
took himself back to Olympus. Everything
was still there, down to the goblet where he had left it. He
tried to remember what he'd been drinking the night before. Just
for the heck of it, he thought he'd try to open up a portal on Xena. There
she was, in a magnificent purple mantle and a golden helmet, atop a black steed,
surveying a Roman legion. He
closed the portal and shook his head. For
a dream, this one had a remarkable if utterly insane consistency.
What next, he wondered? At
that very moment, there were two flashes of light, and he found himself facing
Zeus and Athena -- looking very real and very pissed off.
Of course, that was the way they usually looked whenever he had to deal
with them in the old days. "Oh
buzz off," he said. "Let me enjoy my dream." "Nice
to see you too, bro," said Athena, with her usual air of amused
condescension. "And by the way, you're not dreaming." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By
the time they took him down to the Temple of the Fates, he believed them.
The three goddesses -- the crone, the woman, and the girl -- were chained
up in such a way as to leave them enough freedom to be able to tend to their
loom, but also to hobble and control their movements.
Several Proxidicae, special warriors of the gods, were keeping watch. "Take
a look at this, son." Very
carefully, Zeus lifted one thread and showed Ares a tiny, barely visible knot in
it. "This is where Caesar,
having escaped from Tartarus, pulled loose the thread of his own life and then
re-wove it -- so that, starting at that moment, his destiny took a different
course." Zeus pressed his
fingers lightly to the knot, and an image shimmered over the loom, making Ares
wince and scowl. It was Xena, naked
and moaning in Caesar's arms. Zeus
glanced at his son and released the thread, letting the vision fade. "At
that moment in time," Athena spoke up, "your Xena" (oh, the
blistering scorn she was able to pour into these two words!) "was merely
the leader of a band of pirates which captured Caesar for ransom.
He promised her an alliance, only to deceive her and have her crucified;
but even then, she had an annoying habit of surviving.
Caesar believed it was the resulting enmity between him and Xena that led
to his untimely demise, and so he decided to change his fate -- go back to that
moment and make a different choice. And
his destiny did change, but so did much else.
You see, brother, in this
world, where Xena became not only a commander in Caesar's army but his wife and
the Empress of Rome, she never had that unholy spawn of hers.
There is no Twilight, Ares. Zeus
lives, as you can see, and so do Hera and the rest of the Olympians. Of course, every good thing has its downside -- you're still
a god." "Gee,
Dad" -- Ares pointedly ignored his sister -- "and I thought you were
such a stickler for the rules. I
seem to recall a lecture about how no one gets to interfere with the Fates'
Loom, not even the gods..." "The
gods didn't interfere." Zeus
glared at Ares, pursing his lips. "And
once Caesar lives out his allotted term in this
time, he will pay a price for his trespass.
But fate has been altered, in a way that has brought back our lives --
and our powers. It would be madness
not to take advantage." Ares
rolled his eyes. "The gods
didn't interfere? So I suppose the
chains are for decorative purposes. And
these guys" -- he nodded toward the Proxidicae -- "are just here to
keep the Fates company. You know,
you're a real piece of work, Dad." Old
Atropos lifted her head, her reddened eyes mournful and insistent.
"Zeus, you must listen to us. You
must allow us to undo what Caesar did.
This is a world that was not meant to be. The consequences..." "Silence,
you all!" roared the King of the Gods.
"Son, I didn't bring you here to bicker, only to show you what is at
stake. Nothing less than a chance
to save the rule of the Olympians." "We
remember who screwed it up last time, Ares." There was a touch of steel in the silvery voice of the
Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare. "And
we won't let it happen again." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back
on Olympus, Zeus and Athena finished briefing Ares on how this alternate world
worked. Right now, they should have
been at the point in time at which, in the other
world, Caesar tampered with the loom after chaining the Fates -- about a year
after the death of Hades had left Tartarus so poorly guarded. However, the
disturbance in the timeline had somehow caused it to shift by about twenty-five
years, to the point at which Zeus had died; or, as Zeus put it, "when the
godless child was born." That
explained why Xena looked as young as the last time he'd seen her in the other
world (of which Ares still couldn't help thinking as the real world), even without her twenty-five year nap in the ice cave.
No mortals were aware that their world had ever been any different,
Caesar being one important exception. But
the gods knew, and were somehow able to have memories of both worlds. "Great,"
Ares drawled, his legs draped over the side of the throne in a pose of studied
insolence. "So why's everyone
acting like I'm about to do something to mess up this sweet little deal?
Mortality isn't exactly an experience I'd care to repeat. Olympus or a
filthy farmhouse ... yeah, that's a tough one." "Well,
bro," Athena leaned in, putting her hands on the arms of his throne, her
grey eyes boring into him, "maybe it's because the last memories I have
from the other time are of Xena's sword slicing through my guts -- not a very
pleasant sensation, I assure you -- and you telling me that you had to let me
die because you had, what did you call it?
-- oh yes, 'a thing for her.'" "I'd
told you that if you had only left Xena and Eve alone -- " "Look,
we're not going to rehash that," Athena said. "That world doesn't
exist anymore. The problem is, your
little obsession still does. Still
thinking with that same part of your anatomy, aren't you?" He
shrugged, without bothering to dispute the charge. "What does Xena have to do with any of this?" "The
thread of her fate in this altered time is intertwined with Caesar's.
You start messing with her and no one knows what problems that's going to
create." "Aw,
lighten up, sis -- " "Ares,
you listen to me." Zeus' face
was as dark as one of his own thunderclouds.
"You are my son, but understand this. You put us in jeopardy again, and I will not hesitate to have
you cast into the Abyss of Tartarus, you hear?
You may yet come to regret your filthy farmhouse." "Okay,
okay." He raised his hands.
"I get the message." Athena
arched a brow at him. "Good to
see you two are finally communicating." "Hey
Dad?" Ares called out just as the old man was about to depart. "What
is it now?" "Say,
there isn't any chance that in this brave new world, my favorite half-brother
has met with some nasty -- " Zeus
cut him off, his scowl deepening. "Stay
away from Hercules, Ares. I mean
it." A
second later, the two deities were gone, leaving only a shimmer of sparks behind
them. Ares shook his head. "Great.
The guy goes and kills him, and it's still 'Stay away from Hercules.'
Why won't anyone ever give me a
break?" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A
quick trip to a mountain ridge where Ares was able to test his resurrected
powers by blasting away at some rock considerably improved his mood.
He stretched out on a stony ledge and decided to try out his memories of
this altered past. Some
wars and battles had turned out differently; the Roman Army had been even more
successful in its conquests, and there were far fewer freelance warlords left.
Without Xena the Warlord, the conquering army that had once swept through
the Greek countryside like a wildfire had been a mere shadow of itself; Darphus
was a loser, just as he had always suspected.
He was also intrigued to realize that in this world, he had a far closer
relationship with Caesar and the Romans, despite their irritating habit of
calling him Mars. And
then -- Ares
sat up on the ledge so abruptly that he nearly lost his balance (it was a few
seconds before he remembered that a tumble down a mountainside didn't have to
worry him any longer). His
mind had retrieved a memory from just a week ago. Xena,
straddling him, gloriously naked, her head thrown back, her nipples taut under
his fingers... In
this world, Caesar's wife was also mistress to the God of War. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Probing
his new memories further, Ares was irritated to find that something about them
wasn't right. They lacked full
reality, as if he were watching himself from the outside, and out of focus at
that; his passionate dreams from his other
life seemed more real in some ways. But
no matter -- he would make up for it very soon ... this evening, in fact. He
lay back and closed his eyes, anticipating their meeting.
In a few seconds, his erection was straining so hard against his pants
that he shifted uncomfortably. He
brushed aside the thought of satisfying himself -- good enough for the farm, but
it somehow seemed beneath him now that he was a god, and just a short time from
fulfilling his fantasies -- and forced his thoughts to drift to other matters.
He was relieved to realize that in this world, Xena (a new and apparently
much improved Xena) had efficiently put an end to the Dahak mess before it
started, wiping out the cult of the dark god and razing the temple just like he
told her. Thank all the gods alive,
she'd also taken care of that peace-and-love freak Eli, who was stashed away in
some Roman prison (preaching his message to the rats, Ares thought with a feral
grin). Dear Old Dad had a point --
this world was looking better and better. He
also realized that this time around, he -- or was it a counterpart of his, who
had somehow been absorbed into himself at the moment when the timeline switch
took place? -- had never experienced two previous brushes with mortality.
Of course not; both those incidents were connected to Xena, and the first
also to Callisto (of whom, in this time, he had no memories at all).
No Callisto ... no Hope ... that meant another difference -- "Hiya,
Unc!" Strife's
pasty white physiognomy wasn't exactly a sight for sore eyes, any more than his
familiar cackle was music for the ears; nonetheless, Ares was barely able to
stop himself from squeezing his idiot nephew in a bear hug.
(Dammit, he had to watch those mortal emotions.) "Strife.
Don't you know better than to sneak up on me?"
He schooled his voice to the chilly tone the godling could expect. Strife's
beady eyes darted every which way. "Hey,
Unc... ya know, that little war we had all planned in Parthia?
Well, guess what ... heh heh ... Hercules is meddling again trying to
work a peace treaty... what are we gonna do about it?" Ares
sighed. Suddenly, the prospect of
going up against Hercules didn't seem at all appealing. He searched his new-world memories for what he could find
about this war in Parthia, and decided that it would be a pretty boring affair
in any event. He yawned
conspicuously. "Tell
you what, I'll leave this one up to you and Discord." (Her annoying head
firmly reattached to her shoulders, of course.) "But
Unc -- what if we screw it up?" "Are
you a god or a total incompetent?" he bellowed, hurling a fireball and
causing a small shower of splintered rocks to come down on Strife's head.
"Can't I delegate anything around here?" "Okay,
okay ... I promise, Unc, I'll do my damnedest," Strife whined as Ares
recalled that abusing his nephew had been a lot of fun after all.
At the moment, though, he was looking forward to entirely different
pleasures. "Good."
He released another fireball into the mountainside.
"You bother me again and the next one's gonna be aimed straight for
your ass. I'm taking the day... no,
the week off." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The
feast at the palace was in full swing. Slaves
scurried around, refilling cups with wine and carrying trays with such decadent
delicacies as roasted swans in apricot glaze; musicians and nearly nude dancers,
male and female, entertained the assembly.
A sudden hush fell over the banquet hall at the sight of a new arrival: a
tall, imposing man in metal-studded black leathers, with a great sword at his
belt. While Ares had chosen to
materialize outside the hall and walk in rather than make a more spectacular
entrance, many guests knew that this was no mere man but the divine patron of
the rulers of Rome -- the God of War himself. The
emperor and the empress promptly rose to their feet; it was not often that the
Lord Mars honored one of their banquets with his presence.
At Caesar's signal, a serving girl, looking down and trying to keep her
hands steady, approached the god with a goblet full of wine; he drained it
quickly, without breaking stride, and walked right up to the imperial couple. Caesar,
in a white toga with red and gold stripes, bowed his head gravely.
"My Lord Mars." Ares
barely acknowledged the emperor with a nod as he looked past him, to the woman
at Caesar's side. The empress was
clad in a slender purple gown bordered with gold, accentuated by austerely
elegant gold forearm bracelets and a necklace.
She was wearing a touch too much makeup perhaps, and he was startled to
see that her hair was styled in frizzy ringlets. But it was her all right, and she was magnificent. "My
Lord Mars," she said, bowing her head. Her
voice was low and sensuous, but the words were so jarring -- Lord?
Mars? For a moment, he would
have preferred to hear her call him a bastard or one of those other choice words
that she used to sling at him. "Can
we entertain you at our humble dinner, my lord?" Caesar asked.
"Or do you wish, perhaps, to talk about the plans for the Egyptian
campaign?" "I'd
love to stay and chat, Caesar." Ares'
eyes flashed unmistakable mockery at the emperor.
"But right now, what I need is to borrow the Empress for -- ah -- a
private consultation." Caesar
didn't flinch, but a slight shadow crossed his face; the liaison between the
empress and the God of War was an open secret in Rome's high circles, but Mars,
or Ares as he preferred to be called, had never yet flaunted it quite so
brazenly. His
voice was unfailingly polite. "Of
course, my Lord Mars." All
eyes followed the god and the empress as they walked toward the doors.
Once outside the hall, he took her hand, feeling the coolness of her
slender fingers, and, in a swirl of sparks, whisked them both away to the inner
chambers of one of his temples. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- She
looked at him, a flicker of cool amusement in her blue eyes. Ares
picked up two goblets and handed one to her.
"By the way, stop calling me Mars." "Oh
yes," she murmured, sipping her wine, "you prefer Ares." So
at least in that respect, he wasn't different in this world. "You
shouldn't forget your Greek roots, my dear.
Besides, I hate 'Mars.' It's
lame." "So,
my lord Ares..." He winced
inwardly -- from her, it still sounded pretty lame -- but in the next instant,
the knowing smile that played on her lips made him forget all about that.
"Shall we discuss the Egyptian campaign?
Their fleet -- " He
gazed at her, his lips parted, his heart racing so fast that he had to catch his
breath. His warrior princess -- or
was it warrior empress? -- alone with him in his chambers, with that smile and
that glitter in her eye, holding a goblet of wine, the fingers of her other hand
playing with the golden clasp of her gown ... that she wanted to talk to him
about battles could have been the icing on the cake.
But, in truth, this particular cake didn't need any icing. He
threw the half-empty goblet aside and pulled her toward him before she could
continue. "Later."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Her
lips opened to welcome his kiss, her tongue thrusting against his.
Making an effort to stop his hands from trembling, he undid her belt and
the clasp of the gown, and felt the thin fabric slip through his fingers. Ares
took a step back. The soft glow of
the oil lamps gave her skin a golden hue. He'd
seen Xena like this before, when she so unselfconsciously stood up in her bath
at that monk's residence all those years ago ... only this
Xena was no innocent. She came
closer, pressed her palms to his shoulders and kissed him again, running her
tongue over his lips and then probing his mouth before she pulled away, her
teeth tugging a little at his upper lip. His
breath ragged now, he let his sword belt drop.
Her hands slipped the vest off his shoulders and went for the fastenings
on his pants, sending little jolts of shock through his body. His arousal wasn't making her task any easier, and he finally
did it the old-fashioned way and just wished the damn pants off, along with the
boots and gauntlets. The thought
flickered in his mind again -- could it be one of those dreams he'd had so many
times? Well, if it was ... oh, to
Tartarus with it. He clasped her
against him, letting out a guttural groan as his cock jutted against her
stomach. Now
the only question was whether to bury himself inside her right away, or take it
slow and let his mouth make love to every inch of her -- a much more pleasant
set of options than any he'd had to face recently. He
pulled her down on the dark crimson sheets of his bed, his lips roaming over her
neck then sliding lower; her nipple hardened as he rolled it in his mouth, and
she gasped and moaned. He looked up
and saw that he had succeeded in wiping that self-possessed little half-smile
off her face; her eyes were clouded now, her mouth open in need.
None too subtly, she rubbed herself on his leg.
No, not yet. He brought
his mouth to her other breast before kissing his way down to the dark, neatly
trimmed triangle of curls. He had
wanted to toy with her some more and linger on her inner thighs before reaching
his final destination, but his own need to taste her was too overpowering. What
a thrill, to draw those little sounds out of her and hear them grow louder and
more desperate, to feel her quiver as she thrust herself toward him, her fingers
clutching at his hair. He knew all
the little tricks -- sliding in and out, parting the soft folds, flicking the
swollen bud with just a feathery touch and then sucking it hard only to stop
before she was too far gone -- but to have her so out of control, so surrendered to his lovemaking ... it was
almost like enjoying this caress for the first time. She was nearly crying now, and he knew he wouldn't be able to
stand it much longer; this time, he took her over the edge, gripping her hips as
she arched, drinking in the cries and the spasms that shook her body and
wouldn't stop. When
her tremors subsided, he pulled himself up and lay next to her.
Xena finally opened her eyes, the sly coolness returning to her gaze,
then lifted her head and leaned forward to kiss him. "Mmmm
... shall I ... return the favor, my lord?" "Would
you quit calling me 'my lord,'" he whispered hoarsely.
"Just 'Ares.'" She
gave him a rather startled look, and he wondered if he could really be that
pompous in this world -- until he remembered that such deference had never
bothered him in any of the other mortal women he'd bedded. A
few moments later, she could have called him Cupid for all he cared.
Oh, it was too much, she was going to leave him as helpless as she had
been just now ... and, by Olympus, he didn't mind.
Could it be that no woman in thousands of years had made him feel this
good? Or was it simply the giddy knowledge that it was Xena,
ever so lightly scraping his cock with her teeth, swirling her tongue around the
aching tip, teasing him with those butterfly touches, pinching his nipples just
hard enough to sting a bit? He
clenched his fists, arched his body, muttering incoherent words of
encouragement. Just when he thought it couldn't get any more exquisite, she
sucked gently on his balls and he could hear himself making a sound that was
almost like a whimper; the heat was rising in his body, pulsing and tingling as
she took him back in her mouth -- oh yes,
just like that -- right there -- don't stop Xena -- by all the gods don't stop
-- It
took him a while to catch his breath. She
was looking at him, smiling, clearly relishing her power.
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "You
know, if I were still mortal you might have killed me." Oh damn. She
raised her eyebrows. "My lord,
your sense of humor is ... fascinating." "I
mean -- if I were mortal." Ares
paused. "I told you, stop
calling me 'my lord.'" She
nodded and looked at him sideways, obviously trying to figure out what he was up
to. He didn't give her too much
time for that, grabbing her and pulling her on top of him. "Let
me inside you," he said, his voice thick.
"I want you now." She
glanced down and smirked. "Oh
yes -- I sometimes forget that you aren't limited by, ah, the weaknesses of
mortal flesh -- " Well,
he certainly wasn't going to let her forget it tonight. As
she straddled him and he felt her silky warmth enveloping him, Ares knew he was
about to be lost once again. While
he was still able to think, he looked at her and thought that he hated her
hairstyle. He stroked her hair and,
mustering all the concentration he had -- which wasn't very much -- used his
power to straighten out those ridiculous ringlets. He hoped that, in the heat of passion, she wouldn't notice
for a while. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ares
opened his eyes, coming out of the pleasant half-dozing state into which he'd
allowed himself to drift a few hours ago. He
looked at Xena, asleep by his side, breathing softly, her head nestled on his
shoulder. The
chamber had no windows, but he knew it was high noon. He'd really worn her out, hadn't he. Just as he had suspected, Xena had quite an appetite; but he
had godhood on his side, and more than thirty years of frustrated passion.
He wasn't sure how many times they had enjoyed each other last night, or
in how many ways. He would collapse on top of her, shaking and groaning, and
start again almost immediately -- flipping her over on her hands and knees and
slipping a hand down to stroke her until she cried out and bucked against him,
or kneeling and lifting her supple legs up on his shoulders so he could thrust
even deeper into her and watch those lovely full breasts bounce with each move.
Then he would lie back and let her take charge, riding him, sometimes
ceasing all motion and using just her inner muscles to drive him wild -- keeping
him on the brink of release until he rasped, "Xena ... please," not
quite sure if he was begging her to end the torture or draw it out even longer. Now,
as he looked at his sleeping princess, Ares ran his fingers through her hair and
idly wondered if, some day, he should get Uncle Hades to reduce Caesar's
punishment for tampering with the Fates' Loom. It
would soon be time to get her back to the palace; during one of their rare
breaks last night, she had mentioned a meeting with the high command to discuss
the campaign in Egypt. He bent
down, ran his tongue over her right nipple and sucked lightly, feeling the
little nub stiffen in his mouth. She
sighed and muttered, then stirred and finally opened her eyes. "Your
wake-up call, madam." Xena
stretched luxuriously. "Ah ...
my l- -- uh, Ares... good morning..." "Good
afternoon, my dear." "Have
I slept that long?" She
smiled, catlike. "You were ...
ummm ... unusually enthusiastic last night... did some battle go especially
well?" "No,
I've just missed you, that's all." He
drew her toward him. "Oh?"
There was a note of sarcasm in her voice, but before she could say
anything else, he covered her mouth with his. "I'm
still enthusiastic," he whispered, breaking the kiss. "Oh
no -- Ares ..." she laughed, "I'll barely be able to walk... let alone
ride..." "Come
on, you're much tougher than that." After
a moment's hesitation, she kissed him back.
He eased himself inside her; this time he was slow and gentle, stroking
her face, planting little kisses on her eyelids and her nose, pressing his mouth
to her neck and shoulders where he had left purplish marks the night before. And
then, as they lay quietly in the afterglow of their lovemaking, their fingers
intertwined, his face buried in her fragrant hair, he murmured, "I love
you, Xena." He
heard her low chuckle. "My
Lord Ares -- as I've said ... your sense of humor is exquisite ... but I
confess, at times my poor mortal mind just doesn't get the joke." The
sweat on their bodies felt sticky and clammy, and he was acutely aware that a
strand of her hair was in his mouth. By
the time Ares raised his head and looked at her, he had managed a mischievous
smirk. "I just wanted to see
what it would be like -- you know, to say one of those silly things you
sentimental mortals say at moments like these." The
Empress rolled her eyes and sat up. "Well,
you should have tried it on one of your other girls, then.
I may be a mortal, but you ought to know that I am no sentimentalist...
In any case -- I think it's time for me to get back to the palace.
I must look a total mess." She
ran a hand over her hair and gasped. "What
happened to my hair?" He
grinned a little sheepishly. "I
thought it looked better this way." "Better?"
Her eyes flashed with anger. "I
didn't know you doubled as the God of Beauty Tips.
Do you realize it took hours to style?"
The deference was momentarily gone, and she sounded very much like the
old Xena ... the other Xena ... whatever ... berating him over some dirty rotten
thing he'd done. Dammit, it was
refreshing. "Hey.
Those silly curls make you look like a simpering Roman socialite, not a
warrior." Xena
glanced at him, obviously taken aback by her own outburst, but then saw that he
wasn't angry and shook her head. "I
can't go around the palace like this ... I look like some barbarian queen." "A
gorgeous barbarian queen." She
chuckled and went over to pick up her gown. When
she had finished dressing, Ares took them back to her quarters at the palace.
"Still
mad about the hair?" He nuzzled her neck. The
War God's mistress ran her hand up his chest and brushed her lips against his.
"Thank you for a lovely night ... Ares." He
pulled her toward him. "I want
to see you again tonight." She
laughed huskily. "Have mercy.
I must save something for my lawfully wedded husband, you know." "I
outrank him," growled the God of War, crushing the Empress's lips under
his. He no longer felt like trying
to get Caesar any breaks in Tartarus. Back
in his throne room on Olympus, Ares reflected on the situation. Okay,
maybe this world wasn't quite as perfect as it had seemed. But
it was still pretty good. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The
battle had not yet wound down when Ares transported himself to the top of a hill
a short distance away. He'd always
gotten a kick out of assuming the form of a common soldier and throwing himself
into the action, often taking turns on both sides if he wasn't backing one of
the combatants. Yet now, the fun
just didn't seem to be there. He
wasn't quite sure why. After all,
both Egyptian armies -- the one backing Queen Cleopatra and the one championing
her rival brother and nominal husband, young Ptolemy -- really fought quite
well, for non-Greeks. Besides, he
should have been taking an interest in the matter; after all, his protegees
planned to take Ptolemy's side and use the civil war to bring Egypt under Rome's
thumb. This time around, Xena's
presence had apparently prevented Caesar's alliance with the queen -- hardly
surprising, considering how it had been cemented -- and the Romans had obviously
calculated that the boy king would be easier to handle. Maybe
everything in this new world still seemed a little fake to him, staged, like the
Romans' gladiator fights. Or ...
what if he wasn't up to the job anymore? He
hadn't even gotten all that upset when Strife had -- naturally -- botched the
job in Parthia and let Hercules work out the peace deal; sure, he had blasted
his nephew with a couple of fireballs and sent him scurrying away whimpering,
but that was more of a formality. And
down there just now, while chopping his way through Cleopatra's ranks, he was
aghast to find, somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that this wasn't
very sporting -- while he exulted in his skill at parrying his opponents' blows,
he was invulnerable to them anyway. This latest, extended stint as a mortal must have really
messed with his head. Maybe
that was also why this business with Xena was such a distraction. It
had been three weeks since their first meeting. There had been many more, not only in bed but in the council
chambers, where they had discussed war strategy -- sometimes along with Caesar,
which couldn't be avoided since he was the Emperor after all -- and in a
training arena where they enjoyed bouts of swordplay, much like he'd once done
with Livia. (To his amusement, he
had discovered that the non-existent Livia's old nickname, the Bitch of Rome,
had now stuck to Xena in those parts of the world where Rome wasn't well liked.)
The swordplay, of course, would usually have a follow-up in bed. She
was everything he could want in his warrior queen: a fighter of superior skill;
a strong leader who wholeheartedly embraced the idea of world domination through
force on which he had tried in vain to sell the original Xena; a lover of whom
he couldn't imagine ever tiring. Except
that... For
one thing, he found that sharing her with that bastard, her lawfully wedded
husband, enraged him. His
imagination painted such vivid scenes of Xena and Caesar together that he
finally decided the real thing would be easier to deal with and opened up a
viewing portal into the imperial couple's bedroom; a few seconds later, he
blasted a hole in the wall of his own temple where he happened to be at the
time. But,
perhaps worse, every time he saw her, there was some fresh reminder of all the
ways in which she wasn't the original Xena. The
hair -- the silly ringlets were back -- was the least of it. In
the other world, he had long reconciled himself to the fact that, however much
Xena the dark warlord had drawn and excited him, the Warrior Princess he loved
was the one who had channeled her fire and rage into self-sacrificing heroics,
into fighting against him and atoning for everything she had done in his
service. The irritating blonde, he
had to admit, was on to something back there in Amphipolis -- when, in response
to his taunt about how much he'd liked the old Xena, she asked why, in that
case, he was so obsessed with the new one. But
this Xena was neither of those women.
In this life, Cortese's raid and her brother's death had still forged her
into a warrior; the union with Caesar, though, had turned her into a politician.
There had been no betrayal by a man she had fallen for, no agonizing
near-death to send her careening into true darkness, no need to fight her way
out that darkness as violently as she had once embraced it.
Instead, she had gained power, and had worked carefully and cleverly to
preserve and expand it. Whatever
rage she'd ever possessed had been subsumed into ambition; whatever fire burned
within her was a controlled, well-behaved little flame.
And love ... ? The memory came back to him of how, in his other life, after
the Furies had nearly driven him to kill Xena, she came up to examine the
bruises and scrapes on his face where she had punched him during their fight,
and then leaned in and kissed him softly. It
was much too chaste a kiss, and seconds later she told him he had a
one-in-a-billion chance of ever being with her. But there was an even smaller chance that, in all those hours
of rolling around in bed, Empress Xena would give him a fraction of the
tenderness that had been in her kiss and in her eyes just then. So
now he was fantasizing about his life as a mortal. Great, just great. Ares
snapped out of his reverie when a human stampede came charging toward where he
sat invisible to mortal eyes. Ptolemy's
men were on the run; it was too late to turn the tide of the battle now ...
godsdammit, he had promised the Romans to swing this one Ptolemy's way.
All this nonsense was indeed affecting his job. Moments
later, he was thousands of miles away from Egypt and in his temple in Rome,
pacing back and forth in the inner chamber.
It was time to admit it; he wanted his girl back. Easier
said than done, of course. What
could he possibly do? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The
Empress opened her eyes and closed them again, feeling the heat of her divine
lover's body beside her. Well, that
had been one weird dream... She
didn't know what time it was, but she needed some more sleep; she wasn't getting
nearly enough of it in the past weeks, ever since ... well, ever since whatever
had gotten into Ares had gotten into him. She
shifted a little to get more comfortable. "What
were you dreaming about?" She
started and turned her head toward him. "What?" He
was staring at her with a quizzical smile.
"You said some very interesting things in your sleep, my dear." Damn.
"Such as what?" "Something
about wanting me to kill a chicken. That's
generally not my specialty, you know. And I think you wanted me to fix the roof or something." She
cursed inwardly. Did she actually
talk in her sleep? "Oh
it was nothing..." She smiled
coyly. "Just some ridiculous
nonsense..." "Tell
me." He propped himself up on
an elbow, looking at her. "I
like hearing about dreams. Even
ridiculous ones." "You
do?" "You
learn new things about me every day, don't you?" He chucked her lightly under the chin. "Come on, I want to hear this. Sounds funny." "Well
all right..." She hoped he
wouldn't take offense. "It was
funny but -- in a way -- it was almost ... blasphemous." Ares
cocked an eyebrow. "Blasphemous?" "In
my dream, you -- you were mortal." He
seemed to take that in stride. "Go
on." "And
we were on my grandparents' old farm outside Amphipolis..." "You
and me?" "And
some blonde girl... I don't even know where that came from, she didn't look like
anyone I'd ever met." "You
and me and a blonde, on a farm together? That
does sound like fun." "Oh
it wasn't that kind of thing."
She winked at him. "And
then we found a dog, a funny-looking little mutt with one blue eye and one grey...
Anyway, the roof was leaking and..." -- she laughed almost girlishly
-- "I asked you to fix it... and then you were supposed to kill a chicken
for dinner and you were chasing chickens around with your sword and the dog was
chasing after you..." She
decided to skip the part where he had tripped and fallen flat on his face in the
chicken pen; so far he was being good-humored, but that might be too
undignified. "Fascinating.
So what were we doing on your grandparents' farm?" Could
that part get him angry, too? "Uh...
I don't remember. You know how it
is with dreams -- " "Oh,
I think you do." He was
smiling but there was just a hint of danger in his eyes. "Go on." Xena
scrunched her eyebrows, as if straining to remember. "Oh yes -- it's coming back to me now ... well, this is really
funny ... some warlords who had old scores to settle with you had found out that
you were mortal and they were trying to kill you... and that blonde girl and I
decided to hide you on the farm until we could lure them away." "Really.
Well, that was quite a dream." They
lay in silence for a while as he put an arm around her and ran his fingers
through her curls; she wondered what he was thinking.
Then he asked, "Would you do that for me?" "Would
I do what for you?" "If
I became mortal and some vengeful warlords were after me, would you protect
me?" To
hear him speak of her protecting him
was not just laughable but disconcerting. Still,
he was obviously in one of his strange moods again, and she'd have to play
along. She coaxed her voice into
its most tender expression. "Of
course I would, Ares." He
stared at her intently, brushing the hair away from her face. "Liar." His
voice was quiet but she still felt a chill as her stomach tightened.
His sardonic smile did little to soothe her nerves. "You're
a military strategist, my dear. As
a mortal, I wouldn't be of much use to you, would I? And suppose you needed an alliance with one of those warlords
who were after me. Wouldn't you
personally separate my head from my shoulders and have it delivered to him in a
gift box tied up with a nice ribbon? Come
on. Tell me." The
chill gave way to a feverish warmth, and the Empress felt tiny beads of sweat
breaking out on her forehead. What
answer did he want to hear? Damn
him and his little mind games. "Wouldn't
you?" he repeated. She
made an effort to compose herself. "I'm
sure I'd find -- some use for you as a mortal," she purred, stroking his
chest and then moving lower, feeling him stiffen instantly at her touch.
Ares shuddered slightly and drew in his breath; unfortunately, it still
didn't distract him from his line of questioning. "You
mean, you couldn't find anyone else who'd fuck you so good?
Yeah, I'm sure you're right. But
you're a warrior and an empress, aren't you?
You know where your priorities are.
Would you put some hot action in the sack ahead of your strategic
interests? So tell me again.
The truth, Xena. Would
you?" "Would
I what?" His
hand in her hair, he pulled her head back a little; his breath was hot on her
face. "Kill
me, my dear. If it would serve your
purposes. Or turn me over to the
tender mercies of those warlords." "Yes,
I probably would," she said slowly. "But
I would say good-bye to you very nicely."
She leaned forward and kissed him, draping a leg over his hip, guiding
him inside. He looked at her, his
eyes misty with desire but still inscrutable, and then rolled her over, biting
her lips hard enough to draw blood and ramming into her so brutally that, for
once, she cried out with pain rather than pleasure. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He
lay stretched out on his bed, fully dressed now. Dammit, at least a part of him should have been proud of her
answer; she was no sentimentalist, just as she'd said.
And yet ... the ice in her stare when she told him she'd kill him if she
had to -- and of course it was true, she might as well have left out the
"probably" ... In a fit of morbid self-torture, Ares imagined himself
on his knees, hands bound behind his back, trying desperately to get one more
glimpse of his beloved's face before the blade came down on his neck, and seeing
that look in her eyes. He
thought of how he had felt when Xena, the other -- the real Xena, had offered him her help, rejecting his plea that they
fight the warlords together, telling him that he would forever be a hunted man
unless he let her hide him and help him assume a new identity.
He vividly remembered the hot flash of humiliation, and then the tiny
feeling that spread inside him like the warmth of a fine wine ... one of those
new feelings he still wasn't entirely sure how to handle ... the knowledge that
she cared enough to, to -- all right, then -- to protect him. Well,
at least she'd fallen for that talking-in-her-sleep line and told him about the
dream -- so now he knew that the dream trick worked and he could, in fact, make
her have visions of her other life. Maybe
this meant that somewhere, hidden deep inside the Empress, his
Xena still existed. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The
Empress slipped out of bed, glancing back at her husband, listening to his soft
breath to make sure he was asleep. She
picked up a stole, wrapped it around her shoulders and walked out on the
balcony, the coolness of the floor on her bare feet bringing her back to
reality. The night breeze might
help her gather her thoughts. She
didn't know what was going on anymore. First
there was this weirdness with Ares, wanting all of a sudden to act like her
boyfriend rather than her god (she felt certain, although she'd never ask, that
she was the only woman he'd had in the past five weeks or so), going all clingy
and moody on her, and paying little attention to important matters like the
Egyptian campaign ... he'd blown it at Naukratis, letting Cleopatra's forces
carry the day, and then given her some bullshit story about being called away on
urgent business. Of course, Caesar
was getting to be a problem too; he'd never objected to her affair with Ares
before, knowing how advantageous it was -- but he didn't like having it flaunted
and he didn't like having his wife away from the marital bed every other night,
and often too tired for anything but sleep when she was there.
She couldn't say she blamed him for being cranky. And
now there were those dreams, more vivid and lifelike than any she'd ever had.
There was that awful one in which she was a pirate, back when she and her
men had captured Caesar for ransom and he had won her over and gotten her to
take him to Rome -- only in the dream, he betrayed her, and mocked her cruelly
as she was being crucified on a beach ... mercifully, she'd jerked awake just as
her legs were about to be broken on his orders and her body tensed in
anticipation of the pain. It
occurred to her that it actually could have happened that way -- she had trusted
Caesar so completely, had made herself such easy prey ... she shivered and knew
that it wasn't from the breeze. That
nightmare, at least, could be explained as a reflection of her hidden mistrust
of her husband; but what about the rest? She'd
had yet another dream in which Ares was mortal, and had been driven mad by the
Furies -- they got into a vicious fistfight, and when it was over and he had
recovered she stroked his bruised face and kissed him; she could still remember
how tender she felt, how her heart ached for him because ... well, that's when
it got really bizarre ... she knew he had given up his godhood for her, and he
told her that mortality might be worthwhile if he could have her love -- and a
part of her yearned to melt into his arms but she had to tell herself he would
be bad for her. It
got worse. In the other dreams, she
had a child, a baby girl whose birth -- she shuddered at the sacrilege -- was
supposed to herald the end of the Olympian gods. She was on the run from gods and priests and killers, and the
blonde girl from the farm was there again (now she had a name, Gabrielle), and
Ares was after her, telling her he would protect her and her child and willingly
become mortal if they could only be together; but she didn't trust a word he
said, not even after he had her baby's life in his hands and chose to save it. And
then tonight... she shook her head, as if trying to get rid of those appalling
visions, and rubbed her face. She
really needed sleep, she was supposed to meet with the ambassadors from Ch'in in
the morning -- but how could she possibly go back to sleep after this? ...
Her daughter was all grown, which was absurd because she and Gabrielle hadn't
aged a bit, and somehow ... even to think this was blasphemy ... she, Xena, had
the power to -- kill gods as long as
her daughter lived. The gods were
still after them, and she'd already killed several; then Gabrielle and Eve, her
daughter, were badly hurt, and she'd somehow persuaded the goddess Venus, or
Aphrodite rather, to take them to Olympus so she could get Athena to heal them.
Ares stood in her way and she shot him in the leg with a crossbow... then
she and Athena battled fiercely as Olympus trembled, and the two wounded women
lay near death on the floor ... her sword slid harmlessly through Athena's
smooth flesh and the goddess taunted her about losing her god-slaying powers,
and she knew her daughter was dead. She
still fought, until she was on her knees with Athena's sword over her, and in
desperation she thrust her blade forward once more -- and saw the crimson blood
and the goddess's face contorted in shock and pain.
And it was Ares who'd saved her, healing her daughter and her friend
without Athena's blessing at the cost of his own immortality.
She heard Athena's dying gasp, "Why?" and Ares' voice, sad and
gentle, "I'm sorry, but I have a thing for her." She
rushed to embrace Eve and Gabrielle and then remembered ... she had been wrong
about Ares, he truly did love her -- she felt stunned and moved and a little
guilty ... as she approached, he stood there looking at her almost fearfully,
and with so many emotions whirling inside her, all she could say was,
"Thank you." And yet it
seemed to be enough for him -- he nodded a little and swallowed, his face and
eyes almost radiant with quiet joy. ...
What could it all mean? The Empress
looked up at the stars, and down into the dark and silent garden below.
She had a sneaking suspicion that Ares had something to do with these
dreams, was trying to screw with her mind for some reason ... get her to fall in
love with him, perhaps? But why? And
what if it wasn't Ares, what if these dreams were omens of something terrible?
A practical-minded woman, she had always been inclined to scoff at the
superstitions so common among the Romans, at their obsession with signs and
dreams; but now, she wasn't so sure. She
had to go and talk to the priests. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Mom
-- Dad -- Sis -- to what do I owe the pleasure?" They
stood in the War God's throne room on Olympus -- Zeus fuming, Hera's face coolly
disdainful, and Athena wearing an expression of controlled fury and yet also of
near-glee, as though she relished the fact that her no-good brother had lived
down to her worst expectations. "I
think you know what the occasion is, Ares," said the Goddess of Wisdom.
"You were warned not to mess with Xena, weren't you?" He
lifted his eyes with a "Who, me?" look of surprised innocence. "What
exactly do you mean by 'mess,' sister dear?" The mock innocent expression gave way to a deliberately lewd
grin. "You seem to forget that
in this wonderful World According to Caesar, Xena has been my very intimate
friend for the past five years." "And
you seem to forget what Father and I told you." Athena pursed her thin lips.
"We won't have you endangering the rule of the Olympians
again." |