fic: metamorphosis 2/10
title: metamorphosis
fandom: xena:warrior princess, canon AU (xena the conqueror)
pairing: several - f/f, m/f, m/m
author: angharad governal
thanks: to vivian darkbloom for beta duties
for: JF- Fyrfeax, fæger heorte, ic þancie þe for ðin léafa, ðin cystig gást, and for lárdóm min heorte hyht mid þy þe hit wæs be-seten mid geomrung
other chapters: found here
2: Hours of lead
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
-- Emily Dickinson, After a great pain, a formal feeling comes-- (Poem 341)
Night descended upon the cobbled alleyways of the Empire’s capital city. The whole of Corinth lay in apprehensive slumber. Sleep, once the haven for troubled souls, became a necessary dread. The Conqueror’s foreboding presence filtered into dreams and turned them into elusive, terrible nightmares. Firelight illuminated a small window in an obscure corner of the city. Its current inhabitants quietly debated a plan that they hoped would rid them of their deadly and oppressive ruler. The small, motley crew gathered around an equally small fire. Weariness and determination were etched across their faces as a desperate plan took shape in the illuminated gloom.
"The only way to stop that mad woman is to kill her!"
"Yes-- From what Gabrielle and Iolaus have told us, that bitch is killing peaceful representatives of other governments. If war breaks out, good people will be conscripted into her hellish army!"
The debate raged for several hours. One member stood up and slowly walked to a nearby window. She looked out into the gloom and a strange melancholy clouded her clear green eyes. The young woman turned to the assembled resistance members and spoke in a voice tinged with fatigue and sadness. "Friends, nothing can be accomplished if we fight amongst ourselves. Why don’t we go back to our homes and rest? Apollo’s chariot will announce the beginning of another day in a few hours."
"Gabrielle’s right. Let’s all go home," a blonde man said as he stood up and walked towards the woman by the window. He gave her arm a squeeze as he turned towards the others in the room. "We’ll meet again tomorrow night."
As the group slowly dispersed from the meeting, Iolaus turned again towards the young woman who continued to look out the small window, which showed a view of the Conqueror’s castle in the distance. "Want to talk about it?"
"By the Gods, Iolaus, you must think I’m crazy." The young woman shook her head and moonlight shone against her red hair, "I don’t know-- maybe I am, but--"
"Gabrielle," Iolaus said as he turned the woman to him. He looked squarely into her eyes. "You trusted me when no one else would. I've learned to trust your instincts on lots of things, so--"
Gabrielle looked at the once thief, now trusted friend, and valued member of the small resistance against the Conqueror and smiled sadly. "Have you ever heard the story of the farmer and the viper?"
Iolaus shook his head and regarded his young friend. It had been a long while since Gabrielle had told a story. Life had been hard and small joys were few and far between. He remembered how Gabrielle once told him that she wanted to be a bard when she was a child. The young woman turned again towards the window and regarded the castle before beginning her tale:
"There once was a farmer who had a large plot of land. He worked diligently to keep his land from the animals that would sneak into his fields for food and shelter. The farmer was kind, however, and he took pity on many an animal wounded or starving near his fields. One day, after a very cold night, the farmer went out to his fields to inspect his grain harvest. Amidst the wheat, he found a viper that was frozen from the cold. He took pity on the creature and picked it up. He put it in his shirt to try to warm the creature; feeling the warmth of the farmer's skin against his scales, the viper came around. Suddenly, the viper bit the farmer on the neck. The viper slithered away as the farmer lay dying among the wheat. As life slowly drained from his body, the farmer realized that he should never have taken pity on the viper. He realized that kindness can never change the truly wicked."
"So, you agree with the others that the only way to help Greece is to kill the Conqueror?" Iolaus asked.
"No, I believe that killing her would give an opportunity for another, more ruthless warlord to take over."
"Then why--"
"I think the only way to help us all is for someone to convince the Conqueror to use less stringent measures on the people."
"Gabrielle, you can't be thinking what I think you're--"
"I can't really explain it, Iolaus. I feel like we're connected somehow, Xena and I. I think I can convince her to--"
"Gabrielle!" Iolaus grabbed the woman by her shoulders and then took hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, "You said so yourself--the farmer was killed when he took pity on the viper. How can you be so sure that you'll survive?"
"There's goodness in her, Iolaus. I can feel it. It's like a pearl hidden in an oyster. Dig deep enough, and you'll find the goodness and beauty in her soul."
"And what if you find nothing? What if she truly is a wicked person? You'll end up dying in a field of crosses."
Gabrielle's voice faltered and she quickly turned towards the window. She closed her eyes and a vision swam before her -- a half-remembered dream from her childhood of a woman, a look of concern flashing quicksilver in deep blue eyes, strong arms pulling her to safety as the world lurched and rocked like waves upon the sea. It was the Conqueror's face, she realized later. Knowing that her destiny-- whatever it may be-- lay with that of the hated ruler of Greece made the choice easier, the danger less important. Her eyes opened and a spark of determination animated the once melancholy eyes. She regarded the ominous castle with a mixed sense of excitement and apprehension: "I never liked the ending to that story; I'm determined to change it. The viper doesn't kill the farmer. In appreciation for the farmer's kindness, the viper offers to keep the mice away from his grain bins. It becomes a mutual benefit for both-- the viper gets shelter from the cold and the farmer, help with his daily toil."
***
She screamed. The intensity of the blow should have given her the blessing of unconsciousness, but it didn't. She screamed and the pain wrenched its way through her body-- the sledgehammer shattering both her legs, and what was left of her soul. A vision of another shattering played before her eyes: men and boys dying before her as they vainly defended their village from a ruthless warlord. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire as she ran through the battlefield. She screamed; her voice was hoarse and dry in her throat. Bodies lay strewn about the once fruitful fields-- bodies both old and young-- their lives slowly draining in pools of red about their shattered shields and swords. She screamed again, and a name rose through the tumult: Lyceus! Her eyes focused upon a young man, a boy, really, wielding a small sword and carrying a tattered leather shield; a figured loomed above the boy and the gleam of a sword arcing in deadly intent tore through the air. The sword and the hammer became one and she screamed; her scream echoed through the heavens, her soul shattering as pain invaded every cell of her body.
She awoke in the darkness. The Conqueror sat up, silken sheets pooling around her lap. She shook her head and vestiges of her dream, of her nightmare, faded before her eyes darkened with anger and pain.
***
She awoke with a start. Gabrielle sat up, rough woolen sheets pooling around her lap. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the fleeting images in her mind-- a woman cradling a young boy in her arms while a fierce battle waged all around them, that same woman being crucified on a far away beach, the sound of the woman's scream echoing though her mind. Vestiges of her dream, of things future and past, played before her tightly closed lids. Her eyes opened and they were full of sadness, of understanding. A name came to her lips and was whispered into the gloom: "Xena."
***
The Conqueror sat on her throne gazing impassively at the central square. Her manner was one of a bored predator as her blue eyes surveyed the milling throng. The growing crowd was listless, silent, and almost trance-like as it awaited for the specter of death to make its appearance among them once more. Armed guards kept the crowd in check as the sound of the royal gongs echoed throughout the city. Corinth and her citizens were about to bare witness to yet another public judgement.
"Bring out the prisoner!" a guard shouted.
All eyes turned to a smaller archway that opened onto a small clearing below the dais. The Conqueror's mouth turned up in a small, hard smile as a young woman was forcibly dragged onto the empty space and thrown roughly to the dirt floor. The woman wore peasant garb-- a simple blouse and skirt covered her compact form; shoulder length reddish-blonde hair spilled around her features, hiding her identity to the awaiting crowd.
The Conqueror surveyed the crowd and looked at the woman sprawled at her feet before addressing all that were present:
"What is her crime?"
The woman looked up and quickly glanced at her surroundings: "I spoke."
The guard that announced her arrival spoke up-- elaborating on the answer of the woman at the Conqueror's feet: "She incited the people against you, encouraged them to revolt."
The Conqueror stood up and walked down a flight of steps toward the dirt stage. Her eyes never left the prone form below her and with a voice of pure disgust addressed the woman, who was still on her hands and knees. "Get up!"
She struggled to stand and shakily got to her feet as the dark headed woman reached her side. The Conqueror's eyes raked over her young captive. She reached out and grabbed the woman's chin, her fingers caressing a cheek, her thumb lightly grazing over the red head's mouth. She forced the young captive to meet her crystal blue eyes. "Are you guilty?"
Green eyes burned into blue and the woman tore her face away from the hand that held it captive. Her gaze never wavered as she looked directly at the woman before her. Her voice rose-- full of anger and conviction-- each word pointedly directed at the Conqueror, as if she were unaware of the great danger of her present circumstances. "I gave voice to the people-- the fearful; the starving; the ones who disappear in the night never to be seen again--"
The Conqueror regarded the fiery prisoner with mock sympathy and wicked bemusement. The captive turned from the dark woman and regarded the gathered throng. Her voice rose again as she addressed the crowd. "Have you no dignity, no rights-- a right to live, to be free from harm?"
Both women regarded the gathered multitude and each turned to face one another again. The Conqueror glanced around the crowd and looked briefly at the young woman before her. "I guess they don't hear your voice."
Determination colored the features of the shorter woman. She raised her chin and looked into the blue spheres before her. "I'm not the only one and you can't break our spirit."
The Conqueror's eyes bore into the young prisoner. Her features no longer held the look of tolerated amusement, but one of cruelty and hatred. "The cure for spirit is fear. You'll serve as an example."
Guards took hold of the rebel and pulled her away from the retreating form of the dark woman. The Conqueror glanced behind her shoulder as she walked up the steps to her throne. Her face held a feral grin and her eyes sparkled with evil intent. "Put her on the cross."
She turned towards her throne and made her way up the steps. Guards dragged the prisoner to a nearby cross and began to bind her limbs to the wooden posts. As the Conqueror reached the top of the steps and was inches from her throne, she glanced back towards the bound prisoner. She spoke again, as if it were an afterthought: "Break her legs."
A look of horror covered the features of the woman bound on the cross. She raised her head-- shaking it back and forth-- a look of incomprehension in her green eyes. Her mind didn't have time to understand what had suddenly occurred as her peripheral vision picked up movement-- a guard swinging a sledgehammer towards her bound legs.
For a brief moment, time stopped; images of her dream floated before her eyes.
She screamed as her world swirled into darkness.
end ch 2
fandom: xena:warrior princess, canon AU (xena the conqueror)
pairing: several - f/f, m/f, m/m
author: angharad governal
thanks: to vivian darkbloom for beta duties
for: JF- Fyrfeax, fæger heorte, ic þancie þe for ðin léafa, ðin cystig gást, and for lárdóm min heorte hyht mid þy þe hit wæs be-seten mid geomrung
other chapters: found here
2: Hours of lead
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--
-- Emily Dickinson, After a great pain, a formal feeling comes-- (Poem 341)
Night descended upon the cobbled alleyways of the Empire’s capital city. The whole of Corinth lay in apprehensive slumber. Sleep, once the haven for troubled souls, became a necessary dread. The Conqueror’s foreboding presence filtered into dreams and turned them into elusive, terrible nightmares. Firelight illuminated a small window in an obscure corner of the city. Its current inhabitants quietly debated a plan that they hoped would rid them of their deadly and oppressive ruler. The small, motley crew gathered around an equally small fire. Weariness and determination were etched across their faces as a desperate plan took shape in the illuminated gloom.
"The only way to stop that mad woman is to kill her!"
"Yes-- From what Gabrielle and Iolaus have told us, that bitch is killing peaceful representatives of other governments. If war breaks out, good people will be conscripted into her hellish army!"
The debate raged for several hours. One member stood up and slowly walked to a nearby window. She looked out into the gloom and a strange melancholy clouded her clear green eyes. The young woman turned to the assembled resistance members and spoke in a voice tinged with fatigue and sadness. "Friends, nothing can be accomplished if we fight amongst ourselves. Why don’t we go back to our homes and rest? Apollo’s chariot will announce the beginning of another day in a few hours."
"Gabrielle’s right. Let’s all go home," a blonde man said as he stood up and walked towards the woman by the window. He gave her arm a squeeze as he turned towards the others in the room. "We’ll meet again tomorrow night."
As the group slowly dispersed from the meeting, Iolaus turned again towards the young woman who continued to look out the small window, which showed a view of the Conqueror’s castle in the distance. "Want to talk about it?"
"By the Gods, Iolaus, you must think I’m crazy." The young woman shook her head and moonlight shone against her red hair, "I don’t know-- maybe I am, but--"
"Gabrielle," Iolaus said as he turned the woman to him. He looked squarely into her eyes. "You trusted me when no one else would. I've learned to trust your instincts on lots of things, so--"
Gabrielle looked at the once thief, now trusted friend, and valued member of the small resistance against the Conqueror and smiled sadly. "Have you ever heard the story of the farmer and the viper?"
Iolaus shook his head and regarded his young friend. It had been a long while since Gabrielle had told a story. Life had been hard and small joys were few and far between. He remembered how Gabrielle once told him that she wanted to be a bard when she was a child. The young woman turned again towards the window and regarded the castle before beginning her tale:
"There once was a farmer who had a large plot of land. He worked diligently to keep his land from the animals that would sneak into his fields for food and shelter. The farmer was kind, however, and he took pity on many an animal wounded or starving near his fields. One day, after a very cold night, the farmer went out to his fields to inspect his grain harvest. Amidst the wheat, he found a viper that was frozen from the cold. He took pity on the creature and picked it up. He put it in his shirt to try to warm the creature; feeling the warmth of the farmer's skin against his scales, the viper came around. Suddenly, the viper bit the farmer on the neck. The viper slithered away as the farmer lay dying among the wheat. As life slowly drained from his body, the farmer realized that he should never have taken pity on the viper. He realized that kindness can never change the truly wicked."
"So, you agree with the others that the only way to help Greece is to kill the Conqueror?" Iolaus asked.
"No, I believe that killing her would give an opportunity for another, more ruthless warlord to take over."
"Then why--"
"I think the only way to help us all is for someone to convince the Conqueror to use less stringent measures on the people."
"Gabrielle, you can't be thinking what I think you're--"
"I can't really explain it, Iolaus. I feel like we're connected somehow, Xena and I. I think I can convince her to--"
"Gabrielle!" Iolaus grabbed the woman by her shoulders and then took hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, "You said so yourself--the farmer was killed when he took pity on the viper. How can you be so sure that you'll survive?"
"There's goodness in her, Iolaus. I can feel it. It's like a pearl hidden in an oyster. Dig deep enough, and you'll find the goodness and beauty in her soul."
"And what if you find nothing? What if she truly is a wicked person? You'll end up dying in a field of crosses."
Gabrielle's voice faltered and she quickly turned towards the window. She closed her eyes and a vision swam before her -- a half-remembered dream from her childhood of a woman, a look of concern flashing quicksilver in deep blue eyes, strong arms pulling her to safety as the world lurched and rocked like waves upon the sea. It was the Conqueror's face, she realized later. Knowing that her destiny-- whatever it may be-- lay with that of the hated ruler of Greece made the choice easier, the danger less important. Her eyes opened and a spark of determination animated the once melancholy eyes. She regarded the ominous castle with a mixed sense of excitement and apprehension: "I never liked the ending to that story; I'm determined to change it. The viper doesn't kill the farmer. In appreciation for the farmer's kindness, the viper offers to keep the mice away from his grain bins. It becomes a mutual benefit for both-- the viper gets shelter from the cold and the farmer, help with his daily toil."
***
She screamed. The intensity of the blow should have given her the blessing of unconsciousness, but it didn't. She screamed and the pain wrenched its way through her body-- the sledgehammer shattering both her legs, and what was left of her soul. A vision of another shattering played before her eyes: men and boys dying before her as they vainly defended their village from a ruthless warlord. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire as she ran through the battlefield. She screamed; her voice was hoarse and dry in her throat. Bodies lay strewn about the once fruitful fields-- bodies both old and young-- their lives slowly draining in pools of red about their shattered shields and swords. She screamed again, and a name rose through the tumult: Lyceus! Her eyes focused upon a young man, a boy, really, wielding a small sword and carrying a tattered leather shield; a figured loomed above the boy and the gleam of a sword arcing in deadly intent tore through the air. The sword and the hammer became one and she screamed; her scream echoed through the heavens, her soul shattering as pain invaded every cell of her body.
She awoke in the darkness. The Conqueror sat up, silken sheets pooling around her lap. She shook her head and vestiges of her dream, of her nightmare, faded before her eyes darkened with anger and pain.
***
She awoke with a start. Gabrielle sat up, rough woolen sheets pooling around her lap. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the fleeting images in her mind-- a woman cradling a young boy in her arms while a fierce battle waged all around them, that same woman being crucified on a far away beach, the sound of the woman's scream echoing though her mind. Vestiges of her dream, of things future and past, played before her tightly closed lids. Her eyes opened and they were full of sadness, of understanding. A name came to her lips and was whispered into the gloom: "Xena."
***
The Conqueror sat on her throne gazing impassively at the central square. Her manner was one of a bored predator as her blue eyes surveyed the milling throng. The growing crowd was listless, silent, and almost trance-like as it awaited for the specter of death to make its appearance among them once more. Armed guards kept the crowd in check as the sound of the royal gongs echoed throughout the city. Corinth and her citizens were about to bare witness to yet another public judgement.
"Bring out the prisoner!" a guard shouted.
All eyes turned to a smaller archway that opened onto a small clearing below the dais. The Conqueror's mouth turned up in a small, hard smile as a young woman was forcibly dragged onto the empty space and thrown roughly to the dirt floor. The woman wore peasant garb-- a simple blouse and skirt covered her compact form; shoulder length reddish-blonde hair spilled around her features, hiding her identity to the awaiting crowd.
The Conqueror surveyed the crowd and looked at the woman sprawled at her feet before addressing all that were present:
"What is her crime?"
The woman looked up and quickly glanced at her surroundings: "I spoke."
The guard that announced her arrival spoke up-- elaborating on the answer of the woman at the Conqueror's feet: "She incited the people against you, encouraged them to revolt."
The Conqueror stood up and walked down a flight of steps toward the dirt stage. Her eyes never left the prone form below her and with a voice of pure disgust addressed the woman, who was still on her hands and knees. "Get up!"
She struggled to stand and shakily got to her feet as the dark headed woman reached her side. The Conqueror's eyes raked over her young captive. She reached out and grabbed the woman's chin, her fingers caressing a cheek, her thumb lightly grazing over the red head's mouth. She forced the young captive to meet her crystal blue eyes. "Are you guilty?"
Green eyes burned into blue and the woman tore her face away from the hand that held it captive. Her gaze never wavered as she looked directly at the woman before her. Her voice rose-- full of anger and conviction-- each word pointedly directed at the Conqueror, as if she were unaware of the great danger of her present circumstances. "I gave voice to the people-- the fearful; the starving; the ones who disappear in the night never to be seen again--"
The Conqueror regarded the fiery prisoner with mock sympathy and wicked bemusement. The captive turned from the dark woman and regarded the gathered throng. Her voice rose again as she addressed the crowd. "Have you no dignity, no rights-- a right to live, to be free from harm?"
Both women regarded the gathered multitude and each turned to face one another again. The Conqueror glanced around the crowd and looked briefly at the young woman before her. "I guess they don't hear your voice."
Determination colored the features of the shorter woman. She raised her chin and looked into the blue spheres before her. "I'm not the only one and you can't break our spirit."
The Conqueror's eyes bore into the young prisoner. Her features no longer held the look of tolerated amusement, but one of cruelty and hatred. "The cure for spirit is fear. You'll serve as an example."
Guards took hold of the rebel and pulled her away from the retreating form of the dark woman. The Conqueror glanced behind her shoulder as she walked up the steps to her throne. Her face held a feral grin and her eyes sparkled with evil intent. "Put her on the cross."
She turned towards her throne and made her way up the steps. Guards dragged the prisoner to a nearby cross and began to bind her limbs to the wooden posts. As the Conqueror reached the top of the steps and was inches from her throne, she glanced back towards the bound prisoner. She spoke again, as if it were an afterthought: "Break her legs."
A look of horror covered the features of the woman bound on the cross. She raised her head-- shaking it back and forth-- a look of incomprehension in her green eyes. Her mind didn't have time to understand what had suddenly occurred as her peripheral vision picked up movement-- a guard swinging a sledgehammer towards her bound legs.
For a brief moment, time stopped; images of her dream floated before her eyes.
She screamed as her world swirled into darkness.
end ch 2