A State of Grace (7/?)
A STATE OF GRACE 7
SyrenSoul_Red
Pairing: Gabrielle/Xena (Classic)
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess
Rating: This part M(15+) for coarse language and violence. Overall, NC-18.
Summary: Set about a year-and-a-half post-finale. Gabrielle is back in Greece after her time in Egypt. She's headed to Thebes to watch Sappho perform. Xena, as always, is at her heels. A guest appearance is made. This is NOT a ghost story.
Spoliers: In particular, Many Happy Returns and A Friend in Need I & II, but this is post-FIN so everything is up for grabs.
A/N: We are still in the world of the FLASHBACK. (Again, I avoided using italics for this entire section due to worry of neck-kinkage, but thoughts are still in italics.) We're in the middle of a bumpy ride, folks. Once upon a time…
Disclaimer: I don't own Xena or Gabrielle, which is why they are neither rumpled nor moist on your TV screen.
Archiving: Yes to P&P. Anywhere else just drop me a line: syrensoul (at) g mail (dot) com.
POV: Perving over Gabby's shoulder.
~ Always open to concrit and very grateful for feedback. ~
Dedicated to sr_m_grammatica .
Part I is here.
Part II is here.
Part IIIa is here.
Part IIIb is here.
Part IV is here.
Part V is here.
Part VIa is here.
Part VIb is here.
Remember: FLASHBACK.
*****
Skills seldom used often rusted.
Gabrielle’s throat ached with the scratch of words, her mouth was dry, her head sore with the effort of retelling a story she’d tried to forget.
Across the table, a poet sat enthralled.
Gabrielle reached for wine and drank deeply, and its smooth fog filled her head. The poet grew restless, fidgeted in her seat; her eyes wide and hungry.
Gabrielle cleared her throat.
She returned.
***
“My bones are shifting in my skin
And you, my love, are gone.
My room feels wrong, the bed won't fit,
I cannot seem to operate,
And you, my love, are gone.”
-- “The Chain”, Ingrid Michaelson
***
Egypt
***
In the morning, she was alone.
It was the strangest feeling - Though she had woken up alone every day since Xena had died, always there had been this sense of... not. Not alone. There had been comfort in her madness. Doing ordinary things with an imaginary Xena had still been doing them together.
But this morning, she was alone.
Gabrielle didn’t know how she felt about that.
She knew she was hungry.
The healer was nowhere to be seen and Gabrielle’s wasted legs would not support her. She did not call for help. She dragged her half-broken body from the bed and across the floor, cursed and grunted as her mouth and eyes filled with sand but she did not call for help. It took her an age - villages had been built and razed faster than she moved, but she did not call for help. She made it to the door of the tent alone.
There, she collapsed, and the stark heat of daylight bit her bruised skin.
She was alive.
“Took you long enough.” The healer towered over her and blocked out the sun. Gabrielle lifted her head, shielded her eyes to make out the woman’s silhouette. “Thought I would have to send Soran to carry you out again, like a baby.”
Gabrielle let her head drop and breathed sand. “Horse fucker.”
The healer released a cackled bark of glee. “Yes. Yes, horse fucker. You are learning.” She clicked her tongue and Gabrielle felt strong hands wrap around her shoulder and she was lifted.
“I can do it,” she argued, but the wall of man would not be moved.
“You cannot. Soran will help you until you can.” Gabrielle stumbled on her useless feet and the woman clucked her tongue. “I did not know you were so stubborn, little girl. It is lucky you have decided to live.”
Lucky...
Gabrielle struggled to move her legs, to use her limp arm as Soran manoeuvred her onto a log in a circle of wood, where the healer had returned to weave baskets from dried desert grass. Her hands moved quickly across her work as though she had always sat right there, had never done anything else.
“How long was I...” Gabrielle stopped, cleared her throat. “How long have I been here?”
The old woman shrugged. “A few months, maybe?” She thought on it as her hands twisted layer upon layer, built a base. “The moon was full last night. A little more than two.”
Gabrielle couldn’t fathom so much time having passed with her being... here. Broken. But in truth, she knew she had been like this much longer. “I need to ask you about what happened last night.”
The old woman snorted, shrugged and did not look up from her work. “You do not. You need to get better. You need to walk.”
“No, you don’t understand --”
“-- I understand more than you know,” the healer snapped, her hands frozen among the weave. “Don’t you be telling me what we are doing next - I know.” Her glare was fierce and Gabrielle looked away, but her need could not be curbed.
“I need to know what she is.”
The healer sighed, pulled her fingers from the basket. She folded them in her lap and examined her nails. “What she is...” She picked a splinter of grass from the pad of her finger. When she finally looked at Gabrielle, grey eyes drowned her. “You need to know what she is not. The rest will come in time.” When she looked away, Gabrielle pulled at the bandage around her chest. It dripped with sweat. “For now, you need to walk.”
Gabrielle had been dismissed and it couldn’t have been clearer. She opened her mouth to argue but the words wouldn’t come. A shadow was cast and it was Soran, his arm outstretched for her to lean on. His face was stony, but his eyes - they encouraged her to go with it, to do as she was expected, because the old woman would not be pushed into anything.
Gabrielle inclined her head regally at him, though she was forced to wrap both arms around his bicep and be lifted from the log. She concentrated on one foot after the other, and together they stumbled away from the healer.
***
She could not walk unassisted. It bothered her more than it should.
Gabrielle had let Soran put her through her paces, had let him walk her in large circles like an unbroken horse but she could do it no longer. She let his arm slip from her sweaty grasp and was on the ground a moment later. Frustrated tears burned her eyes, desert heat burned her back and she sobbed her feelings into the sand because she knew it would swallow them without a trace.
The man said nothing and for that, she was grateful.
Time passed, time alone, brief moments stolen with something larger and she realised the healer was probably right: She needed to walk. She needed to do this before she could grasp what lay before her.
Gabrielle raised her head and nodded, and Soran collected her from the ground. He dragged her into the shade of a tent. She lingered, wondered how long they could spend in silence before the triangular man said something. Longer than she could hold out, Gabrielle guessed.
“How did I get here?” She asked an innocuous question because it was respectful of their time together. She knew no more than his name. Gabrielle had thought she would die out there in the desert, beneath the fists and boots of marauders. Yet here she was, alive.
He didn’t answer quickly, but Gabrielle was not uncomfortable with his silence. He was steadfast; a thoughtful man, and like all the desert people she had met, not forthcoming with conversation. Gabrielle had learned to appreciate that.
“My mother...” His voice was so strongly accented that it took Gabrielle a moment to decipher what he had said. “She... foretold, that you were coming.” His strong head nodded, long hair curved around his face.
“I don’t...” Gabrielle shook her head. “She can see the future?”
Soran nodded slowly, then shook his head. “No. She... knows things.”
“Like a wise woman.”
Soran paused, shrugged. “She is wise.”
Gabrielle nodded. She thought she understood.
“We rode out,” Soran said, “And the Sh’douin were there.”
It was not a word Gabrielle recognised, but she knew he referred to the group of men that had beaten her.
“They were... You were very hurt.” Soran pointed across the tent village. “We put you on your horse and brought you here.”
“My horse? He’s here?” Gabrielle tried to stand but had forgotten she could not. She stumbled, and Soran caught her. She looked up into his face. “My packs, are they...?”
The man took a moment, then he nodded. “Your things were on your horse. You were holding, a...” He mimed a breast plate with a juggled hand and Gabrielle let tears rush to the surface. She covered her mouth with her hand. She pulled it away to speak.
“Can I...” She sobbed against her best efforts. “Can I... see it?”
Soran stared at her, then nodded and offered his arm. Gabrielle wanted to shake her head, to let him scoop her up and race her across the distance but she knew it was not an option. She let him support her fragile legs and put one determined foot in front of another until her knee burned and her ribs wailed for mercy.
And there was the horse - a non-descript pack beast that ate more grass than it was worth, except that her whole life was on its back. She reached out a hand that shook and unhooked a leather strap. It revealed leather strips, a breast plate covered in blood - she didn’t care, it wasn’t what she looked for - and buried beneath, a circle of metal, a leather scabbard and a sword. My life. My love. My reason for living.
Gabrielle cried, leaned heavily against the horse and forgot anyone else was there. Forehead buried in a shivering hide, she could have been wandering through the middle of Greece, aboard a ship in a roiling sea, perched on a rock at the edge of the world and nothing would have mattered but this - solid reminders of a life ended, of a path walked, of a love lost.
Gabrielle cried and the horse whickered uncomfortably and moved away from her, and Soran caught her before she fell to her knees. He held her at an angle and she cried into chaff and didn’t care that it was stupid because it meant something to her and that was all that mattered.
She was alone, but they were there.
She is here.
Gabrielle wiped her eyes and threw her arm around Soran’s neck in one continuous movement.
“Take me back,” she said, the chakram held tightly in her hand. “I need to know.”
He nodded, and whether he understood or not, Soran scooped her up and carried her away.
***
I really do appreciate your comments.
TBC in Part VIII...
SyrenSoul_Red
Pairing: Gabrielle/Xena (Classic)
Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess
Rating: This part M(15+) for coarse language and violence. Overall, NC-18.
Summary: Set about a year-and-a-half post-finale. Gabrielle is back in Greece after her time in Egypt. She's headed to Thebes to watch Sappho perform. Xena, as always, is at her heels. A guest appearance is made. This is NOT a ghost story.
Spoliers: In particular, Many Happy Returns and A Friend in Need I & II, but this is post-FIN so everything is up for grabs.
A/N: We are still in the world of the FLASHBACK. (Again, I avoided using italics for this entire section due to worry of neck-kinkage, but thoughts are still in italics.) We're in the middle of a bumpy ride, folks. Once upon a time…
Disclaimer: I don't own Xena or Gabrielle, which is why they are neither rumpled nor moist on your TV screen.
Archiving: Yes to P&P. Anywhere else just drop me a line: syrensoul (at) g mail (dot) com.
POV: Perving over Gabby's shoulder.
~ Always open to concrit and very grateful for feedback. ~
Dedicated to sr_m_grammatica .
Part I is here.
Part II is here.
Part IIIa is here.
Part IIIb is here.
Part IV is here.
Part V is here.
Part VIa is here.
Part VIb is here.
Remember: FLASHBACK.
*****
Skills seldom used often rusted.
Gabrielle’s throat ached with the scratch of words, her mouth was dry, her head sore with the effort of retelling a story she’d tried to forget.
Across the table, a poet sat enthralled.
Gabrielle reached for wine and drank deeply, and its smooth fog filled her head. The poet grew restless, fidgeted in her seat; her eyes wide and hungry.
Gabrielle cleared her throat.
She returned.
***
“My bones are shifting in my skin
And you, my love, are gone.
My room feels wrong, the bed won't fit,
I cannot seem to operate,
And you, my love, are gone.”
-- “The Chain”, Ingrid Michaelson
***
Egypt
***
In the morning, she was alone.
It was the strangest feeling - Though she had woken up alone every day since Xena had died, always there had been this sense of... not. Not alone. There had been comfort in her madness. Doing ordinary things with an imaginary Xena had still been doing them together.
But this morning, she was alone.
Gabrielle didn’t know how she felt about that.
She knew she was hungry.
The healer was nowhere to be seen and Gabrielle’s wasted legs would not support her. She did not call for help. She dragged her half-broken body from the bed and across the floor, cursed and grunted as her mouth and eyes filled with sand but she did not call for help. It took her an age - villages had been built and razed faster than she moved, but she did not call for help. She made it to the door of the tent alone.
There, she collapsed, and the stark heat of daylight bit her bruised skin.
She was alive.
“Took you long enough.” The healer towered over her and blocked out the sun. Gabrielle lifted her head, shielded her eyes to make out the woman’s silhouette. “Thought I would have to send Soran to carry you out again, like a baby.”
Gabrielle let her head drop and breathed sand. “Horse fucker.”
The healer released a cackled bark of glee. “Yes. Yes, horse fucker. You are learning.” She clicked her tongue and Gabrielle felt strong hands wrap around her shoulder and she was lifted.
“I can do it,” she argued, but the wall of man would not be moved.
“You cannot. Soran will help you until you can.” Gabrielle stumbled on her useless feet and the woman clucked her tongue. “I did not know you were so stubborn, little girl. It is lucky you have decided to live.”
Lucky...
Gabrielle struggled to move her legs, to use her limp arm as Soran manoeuvred her onto a log in a circle of wood, where the healer had returned to weave baskets from dried desert grass. Her hands moved quickly across her work as though she had always sat right there, had never done anything else.
“How long was I...” Gabrielle stopped, cleared her throat. “How long have I been here?”
The old woman shrugged. “A few months, maybe?” She thought on it as her hands twisted layer upon layer, built a base. “The moon was full last night. A little more than two.”
Gabrielle couldn’t fathom so much time having passed with her being... here. Broken. But in truth, she knew she had been like this much longer. “I need to ask you about what happened last night.”
The old woman snorted, shrugged and did not look up from her work. “You do not. You need to get better. You need to walk.”
“No, you don’t understand --”
“-- I understand more than you know,” the healer snapped, her hands frozen among the weave. “Don’t you be telling me what we are doing next - I know.” Her glare was fierce and Gabrielle looked away, but her need could not be curbed.
“I need to know what she is.”
The healer sighed, pulled her fingers from the basket. She folded them in her lap and examined her nails. “What she is...” She picked a splinter of grass from the pad of her finger. When she finally looked at Gabrielle, grey eyes drowned her. “You need to know what she is not. The rest will come in time.” When she looked away, Gabrielle pulled at the bandage around her chest. It dripped with sweat. “For now, you need to walk.”
Gabrielle had been dismissed and it couldn’t have been clearer. She opened her mouth to argue but the words wouldn’t come. A shadow was cast and it was Soran, his arm outstretched for her to lean on. His face was stony, but his eyes - they encouraged her to go with it, to do as she was expected, because the old woman would not be pushed into anything.
Gabrielle inclined her head regally at him, though she was forced to wrap both arms around his bicep and be lifted from the log. She concentrated on one foot after the other, and together they stumbled away from the healer.
***
She could not walk unassisted. It bothered her more than it should.
Gabrielle had let Soran put her through her paces, had let him walk her in large circles like an unbroken horse but she could do it no longer. She let his arm slip from her sweaty grasp and was on the ground a moment later. Frustrated tears burned her eyes, desert heat burned her back and she sobbed her feelings into the sand because she knew it would swallow them without a trace.
The man said nothing and for that, she was grateful.
Time passed, time alone, brief moments stolen with something larger and she realised the healer was probably right: She needed to walk. She needed to do this before she could grasp what lay before her.
Gabrielle raised her head and nodded, and Soran collected her from the ground. He dragged her into the shade of a tent. She lingered, wondered how long they could spend in silence before the triangular man said something. Longer than she could hold out, Gabrielle guessed.
“How did I get here?” She asked an innocuous question because it was respectful of their time together. She knew no more than his name. Gabrielle had thought she would die out there in the desert, beneath the fists and boots of marauders. Yet here she was, alive.
He didn’t answer quickly, but Gabrielle was not uncomfortable with his silence. He was steadfast; a thoughtful man, and like all the desert people she had met, not forthcoming with conversation. Gabrielle had learned to appreciate that.
“My mother...” His voice was so strongly accented that it took Gabrielle a moment to decipher what he had said. “She... foretold, that you were coming.” His strong head nodded, long hair curved around his face.
“I don’t...” Gabrielle shook her head. “She can see the future?”
Soran nodded slowly, then shook his head. “No. She... knows things.”
“Like a wise woman.”
Soran paused, shrugged. “She is wise.”
Gabrielle nodded. She thought she understood.
“We rode out,” Soran said, “And the Sh’douin were there.”
It was not a word Gabrielle recognised, but she knew he referred to the group of men that had beaten her.
“They were... You were very hurt.” Soran pointed across the tent village. “We put you on your horse and brought you here.”
“My horse? He’s here?” Gabrielle tried to stand but had forgotten she could not. She stumbled, and Soran caught her. She looked up into his face. “My packs, are they...?”
The man took a moment, then he nodded. “Your things were on your horse. You were holding, a...” He mimed a breast plate with a juggled hand and Gabrielle let tears rush to the surface. She covered her mouth with her hand. She pulled it away to speak.
“Can I...” She sobbed against her best efforts. “Can I... see it?”
Soran stared at her, then nodded and offered his arm. Gabrielle wanted to shake her head, to let him scoop her up and race her across the distance but she knew it was not an option. She let him support her fragile legs and put one determined foot in front of another until her knee burned and her ribs wailed for mercy.
And there was the horse - a non-descript pack beast that ate more grass than it was worth, except that her whole life was on its back. She reached out a hand that shook and unhooked a leather strap. It revealed leather strips, a breast plate covered in blood - she didn’t care, it wasn’t what she looked for - and buried beneath, a circle of metal, a leather scabbard and a sword. My life. My love. My reason for living.
Gabrielle cried, leaned heavily against the horse and forgot anyone else was there. Forehead buried in a shivering hide, she could have been wandering through the middle of Greece, aboard a ship in a roiling sea, perched on a rock at the edge of the world and nothing would have mattered but this - solid reminders of a life ended, of a path walked, of a love lost.
Gabrielle cried and the horse whickered uncomfortably and moved away from her, and Soran caught her before she fell to her knees. He held her at an angle and she cried into chaff and didn’t care that it was stupid because it meant something to her and that was all that mattered.
She was alone, but they were there.
She is here.
Gabrielle wiped her eyes and threw her arm around Soran’s neck in one continuous movement.
“Take me back,” she said, the chakram held tightly in her hand. “I need to know.”
He nodded, and whether he understood or not, Soran scooped her up and carried her away.
***
I really do appreciate your comments.
TBC in Part VIII...