A Hopeful Bard (2/?)
Title: A Hopeful Bard (2/?)
Rating: R
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle, Conqueror fic
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: The Conqueror (though she'd really prefer you call her the Empress) meets the Playwright (a title she's totally fine with). There's some verbal sparring. Some physical sparring. Some gods. Some emperors. Maybe some ribald comedy.
The trip from Corinth to Apollonia was uneventful, as were nearly all journeys now in Greece. While the guards she brought drilled up on deck and got in the way of the sailors Xena spent her time in her cabin, appropriated from the captain, and poured over the collective works of the playwright.
She seemed to be a good writer. She had a lot to say and apparently had a number of axes to grind. Some plays were clearly anti-monarchy, others anti-war. Xena preferred that ones that suggested that young Gabrielle had a hatred for Rome rivaled only by Xena’s own.
But the politics were subtle. They weren’t forced. Writers using their work as political soapboxes is what had led to her closing the Academy of Performing Bards in Athens. Xena didn’t go to a play or bard performance to be lectured, but to be entertained. This Gabrielle seemed to do both with as deft a hand as Xena had ever seen.
She looked forward to meeting the clever little thing.
#
When they docked in Apollonia Xena was surprised to find no soldiers at the port waiting to greet them. The lighthouse on the rocks to the south of the harbor should have spotted her ship hours ago and Talmadeus, if not greeting her himself, should have sent an escort down to the docks to meet her. Things were definitely not right in Apollonia.
The dockmaster, a small greasy man dressed in a fine silk shirt and pants was the only remotely official person to meet her as she disembarked. He bowed quite a bit and sent his own men scattering to see that Xena’s men and luggage were dealt with appropriately.
“Welcome to Apollonia,” he grumbled, with a series of bows that had her looking at the top of his bald little head more then at his face.
She waved him off and took stock of the harbor. It was busy and crowded, but it looked to be well run. Customs agents moved from ship to ship with troops of soldiers following them and captains bowed and appeared to be amicable to the invasion of their vessels.
“Things seem to be running smoothly,” she said.
“Oh of course Empress. From your lips to Captain Talmadeus’s hand. The finest governor we’ve ever had.”
“He calls himself that?”
The dockmaster looked puzzled, “Should he not? I know he let’s Philamon’s widow live in the governor’s palace, but he is our lord and has been for nearly five years now.”
“Right.”
She’d let things get out of hand here. She should have known better. Apollonia and the outlying country was prosperous and efficient and never seemed to want for men or money. She’d taken it for granted. Let Talmadeus get a big head on his shoulders. It was a mistake.
“Will you be traveling to the garrison this evening Empress?”
She looked out to the harbor. It faced west-towards the setting sun. The sky and water met in a blaze of orange and red light that reflected off the water and the sails of the ship in harbor. It almost looked like it was all aflame.
And it would be well past night fall before she’d arrive at the garrison. She needed something closer.
“The governor’s palace? Where is it?” She should have known, a better empress would have known every tile and stone that built up the palace. She didn’t even know where it lay in the city.
The dockmaster pointed northeast. “Outside to the northeast. Past the vineyards. Do you need a guide?”
“My men and I can find it.”
The men were behind her, quickly pulling antsy horses off the ship and loading them with her luggage. It was a good and orderly group she brought with her. Draco, the leader of the Imperial Guard, had insisted on traveling with her despite her desire to keep the group small. He tightened the straps on her horse’s saddle and led the tall palomino to Xena.
“We’re ready to leave Empress,” he muttered quietly. Draco was always exceedingly polite. It probably had something to do with the nasty scar that traveled from his left temple and ended at the jawline on the right side of his face. A gift at the end of his career as a warlord and slaver. He’d run into Xena’s army on the border between Macedonia and Thrace. It had been a choice between taking the scar and becoming her soldier or ending his career as a sightless head on a pike.
She took the reigns from him and smoothly mounted the horse. Draco followed suit and watched her for the subtle signal to move out. She nodded her head and he raised his fist. Behind her leather creaked and metal clanged as the soldiers in her retinue mounted their horses and brought them into line behind her.
Draco brought his own horse, a dark brown stallion, up beside Xena. She clicked her tongue, and spurred her horse into a canter. If they traveled quickly enough they’d be out of the city and to the governor’s palace before nightfall.
She could see it in the distance, it’s pale marble columns shimmering in the warm glow of the sunset. They were soon out of the busy confines of the city and into a countryside that looked almost unnaturally orderly. Row after row of fig trees lined the fields, their wide leaves casting dark shadows on the rocky ground beneath. Wind whispered through the trees and carried with it the scent of ripe figs. Harvest time was nearly upon them.
The few people on the road all stopped to gaze at her group. And they must have looked rather impressive, glossy horses ridden by soldiers in the finest armor Greece could manufacture. Plumes of horse hair, died a deep purple, sprung from the crest of their Corinthian style helmets. Though their trip was peaceful the men all wore their helmets down so that they covered their faces.
Xena wore armor as well. It was all leather and brass with impressive looking shoulder guards that held up a purple cloak the exact same shade as the purple her soldiers wore. It was the shade worn only by the Empress and her personal guard. Even here in Apollonia, days away from the capitol in Corinth, the people knew what that color meant.
The other travelers ducked their heads in respect and moved off the road to allow her to pass. She did with a smile. It was as genuine as she could muster and she hoped it made her look more like a benevolent ruler and less like the warlord who’d last passed through the area.
They came to the gates of the palace soon enough. Soldiers-Xena’s soldiers-stood guard. There were two of them. Their Corinthian helmets were polished so brightly that they reflected her own image when she looked down. The color of their cloaks and plumes were a deep red. The shade worn by all Grecian soldiers permanently stationed in garrisons. They were Talmadeus’s soldiers. Far away from the fort they should be manning.
They didn’t even try to cross their heavy spears. Instead they leaned them against the wall and hurried to open the heavy wrought iron gate that blocked her path. “Empress,” they murmured with steep bows as she passed.
The path from gate to palace was long and curved and uphill. She had time to study the structure as she rode up. It was nearly too impressive for the area it overlooked, but someone had spent quite a few dinars on landscaping that muted the austerity built into the structure. Tall, well pruned trees and brightly painted statues obfuscated most of the building on approach.
More then two dozens steps of carved marble led from the path up to the door of the main palace. A thin man stood at the bottom step, his head bowed. “Empress,” he said as soon as she was within hearing distance, “we’d heard you had arrived in Apollonia. I apologize for having no one there to greet you.”
“And you’re,” she asked.
He stood up straight. He was taller then he looked; attractive, if maybe a little haggard in appearance. “Diomedes, Empress. I’m the seneschal.”
“Thank you for meeting us, however I’ve come to meet your mistress, Gabrielle.”
He blanched, “Apologies Empress. I’ve sent word for her to come greet you. It can sometimes be difficult to get her attention. If you’ll pardon me one moment-“ He didn’t wait for Xena to excuse him, instead turning and running up the stairs two at a time.
She glanced at Draco who ducked his head in amusement.
They all sat still on their horses. No one appeared. Not the seneschal, not Gabrielle, not even a boy from the stables to take their horses.
“This Gabrielle certainly has an efficient staff,” Draco said, not bothering to cover the sarcastic tone in his voice.
Xena agreed, “I get the feeling she doesn’t have visitors often.”
Just then there was a scream. The high pitched keen of a child in mortal fear. Xena and her soldiers all jerked in their saddles, hands falling to swords as they looked around for the threat.
A girl, no more then five, came running around the corner of the palace at break neck speed. She was covered in dirt and filth and her bright blue eyes were alight with fear. Behind her followed a small blond woman, only slightly less filthy.
The girl stopped abruptly at the sight of Xena. The woman, not yet noticing the horses, continued to chase. She stopped too when she realized the girl was staring ahead. Her eyes caught Xena’s and widened in surprise-but not fear. Odd.
Draco, still spooked by the girl’s earlier scream, yanked at the reigns of his horse and approached the woman and child. “Does your mistress usually condone this sort of screaming when guests arrive?”
The woman’s green eyes narrowed, “what the mistress of this house does or does not condone is none of your concern soldier. Or is Greece now a martial state, obliged to follow the rules of the man with the biggest sword.”
Draco sneered, “You need a lesson in manners.”
Xena had no idea if he was about to reach for his sword or whip. Neither would be good. She kicked the side of her horse and rode up next to him, grabbing his arm. “Perhaps you do as well Draco. Or do you often threaten to beat our host?”
“Host?”
She looked back to the blond woman. She’d tucked the child behind herself protectively and watched them both with the sort of arrogance just not found in a servant.
“Gabrielle of Apollonia I presume?”
The woman raised an eyebrow, then curtsied, “You presume correctly Empress. What gave me away? The filthy clothes, or the cutting remark.”
“The unbridled arrogance. A common trait in most of your plays.”
The woman’s lips quirked up into something resembling a smile. “I had no idea I could count the Empress of Greece amongst my fans.”
“I never said I was a fan.”
The blond laughed suddenly. When she smiled again it was warm and almost polite.
Just then Diomedes came running back down the stairs two at a time. He looked from Xena to the blond woman and child. Then he quietly whispered a prayer to some god Xena doubt could hear.
“Diomedes, I see you finally arrived,” Gabrielle said. The humor in her voice indicated that she knew full well the seneschal had been running through the palace looking for her. “If you could make sure the guest house is aired out? And that another place is set for dinner.”
Diomedes nodded and then wordlessly headed back up the stairs.
Gabrielle turned her attention back to Xena. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you stay in the main house this evening. The guest house isn’t nearly large enough for you and your guards. And I hope you’ll join me for dinner?”
Xena found herself nodding despite finding the arrangements less then satisfactory. “Of course.”
She quickly dismounted her own horse and handed the reigns to Draco. He leaned down in his saddle. “Should I send guards with you Empress?”
“That won’t be necessary. Enjoy the guest house and get plenty of sleep. We’ll be leaving before dawn in the morning.”
Draco’s dark eyes looked to where the playwright stood waiting, then back to Xena. He nodded. “As you wish Empress.”
Draco righted himself in his saddle and raised his hand again. The guard quickly realigned itself behind him and followed him to the stables. Xena could just make the building out and saw an older man and young boy hurriedly moving toward Draco and her men.
“None of your soldiers are joining us?”
Xena tried not to jump. The little playwright was quiet. She hadn’t even heard her footsteps on the gravel path. She turned and found the playwright and child watching her with nearly identical looks of curiosity. The girl must have been her daughter. They both had their heads cocked just so and their right hands both rested on their hips. But Gabrielle had green eyes, like the water at the shore’s edge. The girl’s were a brilliant blue with an openness not shared by her mother’s.
“Draco thought I ought to have an escort, but we’re in a palace usually reserved for governors I appoint. I told him I’d be safe.”
“And you will be.” Gabrielle clapped her hands together loudly, “Now, let’s go inside and enjoy a feast. Your luggage will be brought to your room shortly.” She turned to escort Xena up the stairs, the small girl trailed distantly behind her. The smaller woman took Xena’s arm in her own and Xena, again, found herself surprised at the liberty being taken and at her own apathy regarding it. “I must apologize for how we were introduced,”
Gabrielle confided, “Eve has just reached that stage where baths are the stuff of nightmares.”
“And you chased her down yourself?”
Gabrielle looked confused.
“Rather then a nanny?” Xena elaborated.
“Oh. No Eve doesn’t have a nanny, just a tutor.”
“Is that very common for women of you station,” Xena ventured.
Gabrielle shook her head, “I wouldn’t know. I just know I was raised without the benefits of nannies or servants and I’d like to see my daughter raised in a similar fashion.”
#
Inside Gabrielle personally saw Xena to her rooms and departed with a deep bow. Xena noticed the way the younger woman’s hair fell around her shoulders as she bowed. It was well kept hair, not a tangle in sight, and not a wig. It was rare to see a woman of Gabrielle’s means with real hair. They all seemed to shave or bind it up and then went traipsing about with hair in unnaturally bright shades of red and yellow and black. Gabrielle’s golden hair was like flax seed, warm and bright and natural. She stood back up to her full height, her head only coming up to Xena’s shoulders. The woman’s hair was long, and Xena thought it made her look much younger then the lines around her mouth and eyes suggested she was.
The woman’s voice had gone up an octave or two since coming in the house. Xena wondered if it was the surroundings, or the absence of guards. “I look forward to sharing dinner with you Empress. Now if you’ll excuse me,” and like her seneschal before her she didn’t actually wait for Xena to excuse her, she just shut the heavy, carved oak door and left Xena to a very large, tastefully decorated and empty room.
Just beyond the walls she heard the girl, Eve, screech again. And a smile spread on her face despite how unbecoming the child’s screams should have been. It reminded her of her own childhood. She and Lyceus hiding in the barn for fear of the baths or chores their mother would inflict on them. She wondered if Gabrielle’s hands were as coarse as her mother’s. Did she have siblings? Parents she supported with her obvious wealth?
And why did Xena even care? What drove her to wonder about the slight playwright with the terrible manners and the poorly run home?
She settled onto a settee and closed her eyes. Her fingers ran across the exquisitely carved feet of the seat and her mind wandered. She was sleepy, she realized. Someone had set a large fire in the room to chase away the cool oncoming evening and the room was quiet, absent of the servants that usually bustled in and out of Xena’s quarters in other palaces.
She’d forgotten how peaceful it was to be so alone.
She slept. If just for a little while.
Rating: R
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle, Conqueror fic
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: The Conqueror (though she'd really prefer you call her the Empress) meets the Playwright (a title she's totally fine with). There's some verbal sparring. Some physical sparring. Some gods. Some emperors. Maybe some ribald comedy.
The trip from Corinth to Apollonia was uneventful, as were nearly all journeys now in Greece. While the guards she brought drilled up on deck and got in the way of the sailors Xena spent her time in her cabin, appropriated from the captain, and poured over the collective works of the playwright.
She seemed to be a good writer. She had a lot to say and apparently had a number of axes to grind. Some plays were clearly anti-monarchy, others anti-war. Xena preferred that ones that suggested that young Gabrielle had a hatred for Rome rivaled only by Xena’s own.
But the politics were subtle. They weren’t forced. Writers using their work as political soapboxes is what had led to her closing the Academy of Performing Bards in Athens. Xena didn’t go to a play or bard performance to be lectured, but to be entertained. This Gabrielle seemed to do both with as deft a hand as Xena had ever seen.
She looked forward to meeting the clever little thing.
#
When they docked in Apollonia Xena was surprised to find no soldiers at the port waiting to greet them. The lighthouse on the rocks to the south of the harbor should have spotted her ship hours ago and Talmadeus, if not greeting her himself, should have sent an escort down to the docks to meet her. Things were definitely not right in Apollonia.
The dockmaster, a small greasy man dressed in a fine silk shirt and pants was the only remotely official person to meet her as she disembarked. He bowed quite a bit and sent his own men scattering to see that Xena’s men and luggage were dealt with appropriately.
“Welcome to Apollonia,” he grumbled, with a series of bows that had her looking at the top of his bald little head more then at his face.
She waved him off and took stock of the harbor. It was busy and crowded, but it looked to be well run. Customs agents moved from ship to ship with troops of soldiers following them and captains bowed and appeared to be amicable to the invasion of their vessels.
“Things seem to be running smoothly,” she said.
“Oh of course Empress. From your lips to Captain Talmadeus’s hand. The finest governor we’ve ever had.”
“He calls himself that?”
The dockmaster looked puzzled, “Should he not? I know he let’s Philamon’s widow live in the governor’s palace, but he is our lord and has been for nearly five years now.”
“Right.”
She’d let things get out of hand here. She should have known better. Apollonia and the outlying country was prosperous and efficient and never seemed to want for men or money. She’d taken it for granted. Let Talmadeus get a big head on his shoulders. It was a mistake.
“Will you be traveling to the garrison this evening Empress?”
She looked out to the harbor. It faced west-towards the setting sun. The sky and water met in a blaze of orange and red light that reflected off the water and the sails of the ship in harbor. It almost looked like it was all aflame.
And it would be well past night fall before she’d arrive at the garrison. She needed something closer.
“The governor’s palace? Where is it?” She should have known, a better empress would have known every tile and stone that built up the palace. She didn’t even know where it lay in the city.
The dockmaster pointed northeast. “Outside to the northeast. Past the vineyards. Do you need a guide?”
“My men and I can find it.”
The men were behind her, quickly pulling antsy horses off the ship and loading them with her luggage. It was a good and orderly group she brought with her. Draco, the leader of the Imperial Guard, had insisted on traveling with her despite her desire to keep the group small. He tightened the straps on her horse’s saddle and led the tall palomino to Xena.
“We’re ready to leave Empress,” he muttered quietly. Draco was always exceedingly polite. It probably had something to do with the nasty scar that traveled from his left temple and ended at the jawline on the right side of his face. A gift at the end of his career as a warlord and slaver. He’d run into Xena’s army on the border between Macedonia and Thrace. It had been a choice between taking the scar and becoming her soldier or ending his career as a sightless head on a pike.
She took the reigns from him and smoothly mounted the horse. Draco followed suit and watched her for the subtle signal to move out. She nodded her head and he raised his fist. Behind her leather creaked and metal clanged as the soldiers in her retinue mounted their horses and brought them into line behind her.
Draco brought his own horse, a dark brown stallion, up beside Xena. She clicked her tongue, and spurred her horse into a canter. If they traveled quickly enough they’d be out of the city and to the governor’s palace before nightfall.
She could see it in the distance, it’s pale marble columns shimmering in the warm glow of the sunset. They were soon out of the busy confines of the city and into a countryside that looked almost unnaturally orderly. Row after row of fig trees lined the fields, their wide leaves casting dark shadows on the rocky ground beneath. Wind whispered through the trees and carried with it the scent of ripe figs. Harvest time was nearly upon them.
The few people on the road all stopped to gaze at her group. And they must have looked rather impressive, glossy horses ridden by soldiers in the finest armor Greece could manufacture. Plumes of horse hair, died a deep purple, sprung from the crest of their Corinthian style helmets. Though their trip was peaceful the men all wore their helmets down so that they covered their faces.
Xena wore armor as well. It was all leather and brass with impressive looking shoulder guards that held up a purple cloak the exact same shade as the purple her soldiers wore. It was the shade worn only by the Empress and her personal guard. Even here in Apollonia, days away from the capitol in Corinth, the people knew what that color meant.
The other travelers ducked their heads in respect and moved off the road to allow her to pass. She did with a smile. It was as genuine as she could muster and she hoped it made her look more like a benevolent ruler and less like the warlord who’d last passed through the area.
They came to the gates of the palace soon enough. Soldiers-Xena’s soldiers-stood guard. There were two of them. Their Corinthian helmets were polished so brightly that they reflected her own image when she looked down. The color of their cloaks and plumes were a deep red. The shade worn by all Grecian soldiers permanently stationed in garrisons. They were Talmadeus’s soldiers. Far away from the fort they should be manning.
They didn’t even try to cross their heavy spears. Instead they leaned them against the wall and hurried to open the heavy wrought iron gate that blocked her path. “Empress,” they murmured with steep bows as she passed.
The path from gate to palace was long and curved and uphill. She had time to study the structure as she rode up. It was nearly too impressive for the area it overlooked, but someone had spent quite a few dinars on landscaping that muted the austerity built into the structure. Tall, well pruned trees and brightly painted statues obfuscated most of the building on approach.
More then two dozens steps of carved marble led from the path up to the door of the main palace. A thin man stood at the bottom step, his head bowed. “Empress,” he said as soon as she was within hearing distance, “we’d heard you had arrived in Apollonia. I apologize for having no one there to greet you.”
“And you’re,” she asked.
He stood up straight. He was taller then he looked; attractive, if maybe a little haggard in appearance. “Diomedes, Empress. I’m the seneschal.”
“Thank you for meeting us, however I’ve come to meet your mistress, Gabrielle.”
He blanched, “Apologies Empress. I’ve sent word for her to come greet you. It can sometimes be difficult to get her attention. If you’ll pardon me one moment-“ He didn’t wait for Xena to excuse him, instead turning and running up the stairs two at a time.
She glanced at Draco who ducked his head in amusement.
They all sat still on their horses. No one appeared. Not the seneschal, not Gabrielle, not even a boy from the stables to take their horses.
“This Gabrielle certainly has an efficient staff,” Draco said, not bothering to cover the sarcastic tone in his voice.
Xena agreed, “I get the feeling she doesn’t have visitors often.”
Just then there was a scream. The high pitched keen of a child in mortal fear. Xena and her soldiers all jerked in their saddles, hands falling to swords as they looked around for the threat.
A girl, no more then five, came running around the corner of the palace at break neck speed. She was covered in dirt and filth and her bright blue eyes were alight with fear. Behind her followed a small blond woman, only slightly less filthy.
The girl stopped abruptly at the sight of Xena. The woman, not yet noticing the horses, continued to chase. She stopped too when she realized the girl was staring ahead. Her eyes caught Xena’s and widened in surprise-but not fear. Odd.
Draco, still spooked by the girl’s earlier scream, yanked at the reigns of his horse and approached the woman and child. “Does your mistress usually condone this sort of screaming when guests arrive?”
The woman’s green eyes narrowed, “what the mistress of this house does or does not condone is none of your concern soldier. Or is Greece now a martial state, obliged to follow the rules of the man with the biggest sword.”
Draco sneered, “You need a lesson in manners.”
Xena had no idea if he was about to reach for his sword or whip. Neither would be good. She kicked the side of her horse and rode up next to him, grabbing his arm. “Perhaps you do as well Draco. Or do you often threaten to beat our host?”
“Host?”
She looked back to the blond woman. She’d tucked the child behind herself protectively and watched them both with the sort of arrogance just not found in a servant.
“Gabrielle of Apollonia I presume?”
The woman raised an eyebrow, then curtsied, “You presume correctly Empress. What gave me away? The filthy clothes, or the cutting remark.”
“The unbridled arrogance. A common trait in most of your plays.”
The woman’s lips quirked up into something resembling a smile. “I had no idea I could count the Empress of Greece amongst my fans.”
“I never said I was a fan.”
The blond laughed suddenly. When she smiled again it was warm and almost polite.
Just then Diomedes came running back down the stairs two at a time. He looked from Xena to the blond woman and child. Then he quietly whispered a prayer to some god Xena doubt could hear.
“Diomedes, I see you finally arrived,” Gabrielle said. The humor in her voice indicated that she knew full well the seneschal had been running through the palace looking for her. “If you could make sure the guest house is aired out? And that another place is set for dinner.”
Diomedes nodded and then wordlessly headed back up the stairs.
Gabrielle turned her attention back to Xena. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you stay in the main house this evening. The guest house isn’t nearly large enough for you and your guards. And I hope you’ll join me for dinner?”
Xena found herself nodding despite finding the arrangements less then satisfactory. “Of course.”
She quickly dismounted her own horse and handed the reigns to Draco. He leaned down in his saddle. “Should I send guards with you Empress?”
“That won’t be necessary. Enjoy the guest house and get plenty of sleep. We’ll be leaving before dawn in the morning.”
Draco’s dark eyes looked to where the playwright stood waiting, then back to Xena. He nodded. “As you wish Empress.”
Draco righted himself in his saddle and raised his hand again. The guard quickly realigned itself behind him and followed him to the stables. Xena could just make the building out and saw an older man and young boy hurriedly moving toward Draco and her men.
“None of your soldiers are joining us?”
Xena tried not to jump. The little playwright was quiet. She hadn’t even heard her footsteps on the gravel path. She turned and found the playwright and child watching her with nearly identical looks of curiosity. The girl must have been her daughter. They both had their heads cocked just so and their right hands both rested on their hips. But Gabrielle had green eyes, like the water at the shore’s edge. The girl’s were a brilliant blue with an openness not shared by her mother’s.
“Draco thought I ought to have an escort, but we’re in a palace usually reserved for governors I appoint. I told him I’d be safe.”
“And you will be.” Gabrielle clapped her hands together loudly, “Now, let’s go inside and enjoy a feast. Your luggage will be brought to your room shortly.” She turned to escort Xena up the stairs, the small girl trailed distantly behind her. The smaller woman took Xena’s arm in her own and Xena, again, found herself surprised at the liberty being taken and at her own apathy regarding it. “I must apologize for how we were introduced,”
Gabrielle confided, “Eve has just reached that stage where baths are the stuff of nightmares.”
“And you chased her down yourself?”
Gabrielle looked confused.
“Rather then a nanny?” Xena elaborated.
“Oh. No Eve doesn’t have a nanny, just a tutor.”
“Is that very common for women of you station,” Xena ventured.
Gabrielle shook her head, “I wouldn’t know. I just know I was raised without the benefits of nannies or servants and I’d like to see my daughter raised in a similar fashion.”
#
Inside Gabrielle personally saw Xena to her rooms and departed with a deep bow. Xena noticed the way the younger woman’s hair fell around her shoulders as she bowed. It was well kept hair, not a tangle in sight, and not a wig. It was rare to see a woman of Gabrielle’s means with real hair. They all seemed to shave or bind it up and then went traipsing about with hair in unnaturally bright shades of red and yellow and black. Gabrielle’s golden hair was like flax seed, warm and bright and natural. She stood back up to her full height, her head only coming up to Xena’s shoulders. The woman’s hair was long, and Xena thought it made her look much younger then the lines around her mouth and eyes suggested she was.
The woman’s voice had gone up an octave or two since coming in the house. Xena wondered if it was the surroundings, or the absence of guards. “I look forward to sharing dinner with you Empress. Now if you’ll excuse me,” and like her seneschal before her she didn’t actually wait for Xena to excuse her, she just shut the heavy, carved oak door and left Xena to a very large, tastefully decorated and empty room.
Just beyond the walls she heard the girl, Eve, screech again. And a smile spread on her face despite how unbecoming the child’s screams should have been. It reminded her of her own childhood. She and Lyceus hiding in the barn for fear of the baths or chores their mother would inflict on them. She wondered if Gabrielle’s hands were as coarse as her mother’s. Did she have siblings? Parents she supported with her obvious wealth?
And why did Xena even care? What drove her to wonder about the slight playwright with the terrible manners and the poorly run home?
She settled onto a settee and closed her eyes. Her fingers ran across the exquisitely carved feet of the seat and her mind wandered. She was sleepy, she realized. Someone had set a large fire in the room to chase away the cool oncoming evening and the room was quiet, absent of the servants that usually bustled in and out of Xena’s quarters in other palaces.
She’d forgotten how peaceful it was to be so alone.
She slept. If just for a little while.