Journey's End

by LJ Maas

  So, the beast approached the rabbit, who was still shaking and shivering, unwilling to run. The Lion shook his great mane back and forth, pawed at the ground, and even released a roar that was heard throughout the woods. Undaunted, the rabbit remained.

  “You will be my dinner if you don’t run.” The Lion said, limping over to sit in front of the rabbit.

  “But, you would catch me anyway, your Highness, so what will it benefit me to run?” the rabbit answered.

  “So, you prefer to be eaten, without even defending yourself?”

  “I could offer you a trade, your Highness.” The rabbit quickly answered.

  The rabbit was not a stupid animal, but he was indeed one of the smallest creatures in the forest. His size and his position, in the animal world, put him at a constant disadvantage. He learned, however, to use his wit to survive.

  “What could you offer me, little rabbit, that I could not merely take from you?” the Lion questioned.

  “Friendship,” the small creature answered at once. “If you would but promise never to eat me, then I would offer you my friendship in return.”

  “And what good can this friendship of yours be to me?” the Lion asked, a warm puff of breath blowing across the small creature.

  “If I was your friend, I could end your pain by removing the thorn in your paw. You see; my teeth are made for tasks such as that, while yours are not.”

  The Lion thought about that for a moment. He was rather hungry, but this tiny thing wasn’t going to make much of a meal for him. He lived with the bothersome thorn for so long, however, that he nearly forgot what it would be like, to walk around without the constant pain. So, the great King nodded his large head and rolled to his side, allowing the small creature to crawl up next to him. The great Lion watched as the small rabbit did as he promised and removed the imbedded thorn, grasping it in his strong teeth and pulling with all his might. The large beast sat rather silent afterward, amazed at the trust that the smaller creature displayed.

  I sat very still, my eyes still closed, lost in the story that my slave told. I knew that Gabrielle wasn’t old enough to be acquainted with the period in my life when I was known as the Lion of Amphipolis, yet I felt the story was an analogy of the lives that she and I led together. Perhaps I was giving my small slave too much credit. Gabrielle knew how to read and it was always possible she came upon the reference in a scroll at one time or another. I suddenly realized that Gabrielle was no longer brushing my hair, but I felt the story wasn’t over yet. Maybe she thought I fell asleep.

  “Then what happened? The Lion ate him, didn’t he?” I asked, always the cynic.

  “Oh no, My Lord,” Gabrielle answered quickly.

  The Lion kept to the agreement and released the small rabbit, never really understanding how the small creature wove its way past the Lion’s hard exterior. Many seasons later, when the Lion was old and frail, near starvation because he hadn’t the strength to hunt anymore, he again met the rabbit.

  The rabbit was larger and fatter, but still much smaller than the large Lion. The large beast caught up with the slow, small animal and knew that this meal would keep him alive until he could find a proper meal. Just as the Lion was about to devour the smaller creature, the rabbit looked up and pleaded.

  “But, you promised you would never eat me,” the rabbit begged.

  The Lion searched his memory, which had always been very good, and he remembered the tiny creature that offered up friendship that summer day so long ago. The Lion kept his word and placed the rabbit back on the ground, not out of obligation, but out of friendship.

  “You are right, old friend. I must say goodbye, however, for without a meal, I will surely perish on this night.”

  The rabbit looked at the Lion, lying down on his side. The large beast’s ribs were visible under his skin and the rabbit felt a sharp stab of empathy for his old friend.

  “I have changed my mind. I think that you should eat me.” The rabbit stated emphatically

  “Why have you changed your mind?” The Lion questioned weakly.

  “Because without food, you will die, and I have lived a long and happy life thanks to the day you released me.” The rabbit answered.

  “Ahhh, but so have I. Once the thorn was removed from my paw, I felt ten seasons younger. I feel as if I have lived two lifetimes.” The Lion responded.

  The rabbit saw that they were at an impasse and hopped away as quickly as it’s old bones could manage. The once fearsome Lion laid his head down and sighed. He surprised himself, for it hadn’t been difficult to release the rabbit before it became a meal. He truly began to think of the selfless little rabbit as a friend.

  Moments later the small creature returned, hopping around in excitement.

  “I have found your meal, my friend. Just past that copse of trees is a small antelope. The poor thing is deformed so that he cannot walk and will surely suffer before he eventually dies. He has said that if you would but end his agony quickly, he would gladly give his all to nourish you.”

  The Lion did indeed find the strength to make his way to the pitifully crippled creature, and the antelope bravely gave up his life for the King. Later, as the rabbit and the satiated Lion sat side by side, the Lion asked his small friend why he was willing to give up his life, when it had been so many seasons since either of them had any contact with the other. The rabbit looked up at his large companion and answered most simply.

  “Because you are my friend.” The rabbit said

  .

  I heard the last sentence, yet I didn’t have the strength, me, Xena the Conqueror, to respond verbally to the story. I was in a pathetic state, my eyes filling with tears. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried, when anything moved me to such a degree. At first, I wasn’t sure if Gabrielle was relating an analogy to parallel my life, or not. Now, I feel in what is left of my dark heart, that she told me this story for exactly those reasons.

  I lowered my head and felt the tears that were on the edge of my eyes, spill out, and slide down across my cheeks. It’s been such a long time. Why haven’t I cried like this until now? What is it about this small slave that reaches in and makes a mockery of all the barriers that I have so carefully constructed around my heart?

  I couldn’t bear to display this ultimate weakness to Gabrielle. Instead of turning to look at her, I moved toward the hand she had resting on the bed. I lifted it upward and placed a gentle kiss in the palm, continuing to then hold it within my own, in my lap. A long, yet not completely uncomfortable silence hung in the air, and suddenly, I felt her hand against my back, rubbing gently as if to soothe me. So much existed unsaid between the two of us. I unable, and Gabrielle not allowed. I wondered if it would always be this way and knew that if I wanted it to be different, it would be I who had to work the hardest. It was I alone who held the freedom to either give my heart away to this girl, or to simply keep her as my slave. I feared both prospects and felt that perhaps I was up to the challenge of neither. I brushed the tears from my face and turned to my young slave.

  “I’m hungry, Gabrielle. Are you hungry?”

  Gabrielle’s face flooded with relief and it dawned on me that she might have thought my silence indicated my anger. She quickly nodded her head.

  “Yes, My Lord. Shall I visit the cook and bring you something?” Gabrielle started to rise.

  “No,” I chuckled, looking at her attired only in one of my white silk shirts. I rose and tossed off my robe, putting on a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt. “I will go downstairs, you go to your room and get a robe. If I have to look across the dining table at you wearing only that, I’ll never finish my dinner. Don’t daydream in the halls, I don’t want my soldiers seeing you in only that.” I nodded, indicating her garment.

  As I pulled on my boots, she looked down at the shirt she wore and I could see a pink color rise to her cheeks that caused her to look absolutely enchanting.

  “Yes, My Lord.” I heard her answer with a small smile just
as I left the room.

  * * *

  “Good evening, Lord Conqueror.”

  “Delia, what in Hades are you doing in the kitchens now?” I answered the older woman. She was stirring a pot that was emitting a heavenly smell.

  “What else have I to do with my time?” she answered matter of factly.

  I leaned over her shoulder and dipped a finger into the pot she was mixing. It tasted like a venison stew with thick wine based gravy. When I went back for more the reached out with a hand, and before I knew it, rapped the top of a spoon across my knuckles.

  “Ow!” I cried out, rubbing the top of my hand.

  She shushed me and pushed me back out of her way, until I was sitting on a high stool. She continued to glare at me and now that her head was above mine, I felt like a child being sent to the corner.

  “I do own all this you know.” I added weakly, feeling I had the beginnings of a pout going.

  She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow at me, my own move I might add. “When I try to stick my fingers in your pot... then you can slap me back.”

  She finally grinned and I couldn’t keep from smiling myself. “You’re worse than me.” I sat there, shaking my head at the double entendre of her words.

  “Dinner for you and your Gabrielle, then?” she asked, knowing why I was there.

  “Yes, if you would be so kind.” I teased.

  Her phrase, my Gabrielle, sounded pleasant to my ears. I wondered how many others already knew how I felt about my young slave.

  As Delia set about placing our dinner on a tray, I milled about the kitchen. This small alcove was Delia’s domain. The other cooks knew better than to disturb anything in this private area of hers. I noticed she had a small desk and writing utensils tucked in one corner of the room. Suddenly I had a plan.

  “Delia... I need your help.”

  “Yes, Lord Conqueror?” She turned to me, a quizzical expression pulling her brows together.

  “I’ll need you to arrange something, if you can, this evening. I want a desk like this one placed in Gabrielle’s rooms, plus parchment and writing supplies. You know,” I said in answer to her puzzled look, “ink and quills and such.”

  She stared at me for a long moment, and then she turned back to the tray she was filling. I saw her eyes before she turned her back to me, however, and I could see I finally made a move that even Delia hadn’t anticipated. Suddenly, I had the need to explain.

  “She can read and write and is quite a good storyteller. I think she would enjoy writing them down.”

  “You take very good care of this young woman, Xena.” Delia stated.

  It sounded so odd, hearing my name. No one ever used it, yet every once in a while, Delia’s voice softened, and she looked at me as a mother might, using the familiarity with kindness.

  “She deserves someone to care.” I answered, thanking the older woman, and extracting a promise that she would see that some men installed the necessary furniture tonight. When I walked out the kitchen’s main door, I could have swore that I heard the old woman chuckling to herself.

  * * *

  Sometimes it only takes a heartbeat in time to undo so much good. I silently walked up the last set of stone steps to my chambers and when I rounded the corner, I saw them on the landing above. Gabrielle changed into a robe of her own, but holding her in a firm grasp was a young lieutenant from my army. He was pawing at her and had his hand squeezing her backside. This was certainly enough to cause my blood to begin a slow simmer. What set it boiling was the fact that Gabrielle stood there and let him. She squirmed a little as his iron grip, but she wasn’t even fighting him off.

  Their backs were facing the stairs by the time I reached the landing and I quietly laid the tray on the top step. The terror in his eyes when I grabbed him by the throat wasn’t near enough to assuage me. I cocked my fist back and broke his nose with the first strike. The table he backed into tilted, and it and the vase atop it crashed down the stairs noisily. The sound brought, not only guards running, but Atrius as well. I would wonder later what he was doing on this floor, but would only discover the truth much later.

  By the time I saw Atrius at the bottom of the stairs, I was pulling back for a final blow. When my fist came forward and made contact with the young man’s jaw, I released the neck of his tunic. I felt his jaw break under the impact and I heard his scream heart beats later. I tossed him down the stairs as Atrius and two of the palace guard caught him. His face was a bloody mess, my hand cut, and bleeding as well.

  “Get him out of my site before I have his legs broken!” I hissed from the top of the stairs.

  I was breathing rapidly, the rush of adrenaline still surging through me. I turned and stood in front of Gabrielle, all my anger now focused on her. My muscles fairly quivered from the restraint, as I held myself back from striking out at her, but couldn’t stop the words that might as well have been dealt as blows.

  “Don’t you know how to fight back!?” I shouted angrily. I turned, without waiting for an answer, and walked into my rooms, slamming the door shut behind me. Just before the door closed, my uncanny hearing picked up Gabrielle’s small reply.

  “No.” she said softly.

  * * *

  Tears coursed down the young slave’s eyes as she leaned against the wall, sliding down it to sit on the top stair. She hugged her legs to her chest, looking like a small, frightened child.

  Atrius knew the Conqueror, knew her tempers and tantrums, when to stay out of her way, and when to intercede. He left the foolish lieutenant with the guards to bring the boy to the infirmary, and then slowly climbed the stairs to bend down and speak to the girl. He wondered at this one. Mostly he wondered what there was about her that had so bewitched the Conqueror. For over twenty seasons he watched the worst behavior, that one human could lower herself to. Now, lately, he thought he was seeing the best. The Conqueror began to change, but recently, since the girl came to be with her, she was damn near benevolent.

  “She loses her temper, but she’s always sorry afterwards.” Atrius said to the small slave.

  The girl wiped her face of her tears, but didn’t look up at the Captain.

  “You have to develop a thicker skin to be with her, girl. Besides, she’s probably in there right now, trying to figure how to get you back in there without looking like a fool. I’ll bet you anything she already feels worse about shouting at you, than you feel.”

  Gabrielle smiled at that. From what she’d come to know so far about her new master, she knew that hurting Gabrielle never seemed to be her intention.

  “Here... take the tray of food in and I guarantee you, she will be the first to speak.”

  Atrius lifted the tray as the girl rose and placed it in her arms. He walked over and held the door open that the Conqueror so recently slammed shut. When Gabrielle walked into the room, the tall Captain gently closed the door behind her. He shook his head in wonder and returned to his own quarters.

  * * *

  I heard the door in the outer room open and saw out of the corner of my eye as Gabrielle set the tray down on the table. I sat in my chair, a high backed wooden chair that was made for my fit and was the one piece of furniture I cherished. It faced the open window that was now covered by a heavy tapestry for the evening. The chair was situated so that I could watch the sunrise, which I developed a fondness for of late. Gabrielle continued to stand there silently.

  I didn’t know how to express why I was so upset with the girl back there. Was I just supposed to tell her that she had permission to fight off attackers, no matter who they were? Was I supposed to apologize... could I even apologize? How does one go about it?

  I flexed my hand painfully and for the first time saw the bleeding and bruised knuckles. Gods, my body was taking a beating today. I heard Gabrielle moving around, and suddenly she was standing before me, with a bowl of water and a rag in her hands. She kneeled to the floor, and without saying a word, wet the cloth and took my injured hand in hers. She w
iped at the cuts and cleaned them thoroughly, neither of us saying a word. I noticed, for the first time in a long time, the tiny white lines that crisscrossed my knuckles on that hand. They were small, thin scars, from years of holding a sword in that hand, that, and punching men like I had tonight.

  “You don’t have to do that, Gabrielle.” I finally addressed her.

  “I wanted to apologize, My Lord. I’m sorry for angering you.” She said, never raising her eyes to me.

  “I’m not angry with you, Gabrielle.” I reached out with my free hand and stroked her cheek, running my fingers through the golden hair. I rose to my feet. “Stand up, Gabrielle.”

  I crossed the room to the window and drew the tapestry back. “Gabrielle, look out there, do you see that?” I commanded and questioned at the same time. Night had fallen, but something of dusk remained, you could see across the palace walls, and the villages, situated far out onto the rolling hills.

  “Gabrielle, all that, as far as your eye can see, for leagues and leagues, beyond even that, belongs to me.” I motioned with my hand.

  I then dropped the curtain and walked to the center of the room. “All around you, the palace and its inhabitants... all of it belongs to me. And, because it belongs to me, it means something to me. It has a place inside of me and I’ll let no one take what is mine. What of you, Gabrielle? Do you know what place you have among all of this?” I gestured with both of my hands.