Disclaimers: Gabrielle & Xena belong to Renaissance Pictures. The Blood & Roses Xenaverse belongs to Katrina. William Shakespeare, in my humble opinion, belongs entirely to himself as do other historical figures I've briefly borrowed. All is meant in fun. As for sex, yes, lots. If you're feeling prudish, don't read this. Or Shakespeare. Or particularly the Bible, for that matter.
A field outside of London. A clear summer day. The smell of grass. The sound of a horse chomping clover. A woman's voice reads,
"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head."
Another woman's voice, lower this time, rumbles with contented laughter. The first voice continues.
"I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks."
Outright laughter from the second woman's voice now. The sound of a light slap. The first voice continues reading as if there had been no interruption.
"I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare."
Silence. The horse keeps munching clover. The first woman's voice says, "Xena, you aren't blushing, are you? By the gods, I can't make a poem any less romantic!"
The second voice, torn between humor and desire, mumbles, "I know, but it still makes being in love with me sound wonderful."
"Being in love with you is wonderful. Thank the gods we're immortal, that gives me time enough to write poetry that has a chance of properly expressing just how wonderful being in love with you is."
"Gabrielle, you never cease to amaze me."
"And I never tire of the way sound of you saying my name either."
"Gabrielle. Gabrielle. Gabrielle." The third time her name is spoken, she feels the rumble from Xena's chest more than actually hearing the word. She turns over to face her lover, the woman laying in the long grass, black hair spread out around her angular face. Gabrielle, her red-gold hair falling down around Xena, shutting out the rest of the world, kisses Xena teasingly, gently, taking her time. The horse realizes it has run out of clover and moves to another spot. The river Avon burbles softly by.
He broods over his writing, over the bad season this past year at his theater in London and he broods most particularly over the fact that even in his wife's alehouse he must pay for his ale. Anne has said he mustn't drink up all the profits, since she is the one who brings home the money. He broods over the fact that he can't really argue with her.
"Inn or field?", Xena asks.
Gabrielle thinks a moment. "Money?"
"Could go either way."
"Supplies."
"Same."
"Ah. Up to me then, eh?"
"Yup." Xena waits patiently, the horse's bridle wrapped around her hand. She is dressed in a dark blue doublet and tights, the leather of her black boots wrapped snugly around her calves. There are daggers in her boots. She does not favor the short sword most commonly carried, so her long sword is wrapped in a blanket on her saddle, along with Gabrielle's staff. If she had her Chakram with her now, she would be bouncing it off trees while Gabrielle thinks.
"I've heard the alehouse in Stratford is rather good." Gabrielle debates aloud to herself. "And I have had my own cooking for three days straight." She paces in front of the horse. The horse knows now that if he watches the fair woman walk back and forth, he will become dizzy and may end up hitting his head on a branch or wandering from the path. He ignores her.
Gabrielle has on a simple, muted green dress that hangs loosely enough on her not to draw attention to either muscle or womanly charms. Both she and Xena have warm cloaks in packs on the horse's back. Most often she passes as Xena's servant. Xena passes as a person of some money who simply makes no explanation for herself whatsoever. Most people are content with this.
"Inn for a change, I think," says Gabrielle then simply begins walking forward to Stratford. Xena and the horse follow her.
The alehouse in Stratford looks clean, which Xena always considers a good sign. She stables the horse while Gabrielle goes to bargain for a room. The horse is a recent acquisition and Xena is trying to come up with a name for him. She is beginning to like him. He takes to her training well, despite already being mature. She brushes him thoroughly, an act relaxing for both of them, before entrusting him to the hands of a smiling and, for once, well-paid stable boy.
Xena comes into the alehouse, saddlebags slug over one shoulder. Gabrielle is leaning over the bar talking to a woman with braids of brown hair falling over her shoulder onto a brown blouse. The woman's eyes are brown. Her skin is a soft, pale cream. When she comes out from behind the bar towards Xena her brown skirt falls over simple brown shoes. She even smells rather earthy, a mixture of bread and ale.
"Your girl says she tells tales." The woman says, in a warm, but firm voice. This is simply a statement of fact, neither invitation or rejection.
"Aye.", Xena answers, setting the bags on a bench.
"We've been running short on good tales 'round here for awhile."
Xena notices that the shoulders of a man seated nearby tense at this statement. Xena says nothing.
"I'll throw in dinner if she's good." The woman turns back to the bar.
"Room taken care of then?" Xena asks her friend, lowering herself to the bench and leaning her back against the wall.
"Yup." Gabrielle looks pleased as she sits next to Xena, spreading her skirt purposely to cover the warrior's thigh. Under her skirt, Gabrielle rests her hand on Xena's cloth-covered leg.
"I think bargaining turns you on, my delicious bard.", Xena whispers in a form of Greek not heard for hundreds of years.
"I know it does, my warrior." Gabrielle walks her fingers further up Xena's thigh, stopping when the tavern keeper returns with a cider and a flagon of port.
Xena switches back to English. "In the mood for stories tonight, are you? What are you going to tell?" She watches the playful green eyes sparkle above the cider mug.
"Something light, I think. Comedy and romance enough for a summer night. I'm thinking while she puts the word out."
"Ah. Good port."
"Perhaps I'll start with that poem I wrote about you earlier today."
Xena snorts port through her nose and begins coughing. "Very funny. Besides, if you change the gender the first line doesn't sound right."
"Everyone's a critic." The bard spends a few moments lost in thought while sipping cider. "I've got it. How about that ridiculous situation we ran across with the count in Italy last month?"
"Hmmph. Much ado about nothing, if you ask me." Xena did recall the odd humor of the whole matter though, everyone running about plotting all at odds with each other. Gabrielle's telling of the tale was hilarious, as well as poignant if you caught enough of the irony. "But you do tell it well."
"Thank you." Gabrielle squeezed Xena's thigh affectionately before drinking more cider.
Slowly a sweet smell begins to ease from the kitchen, into the alehouse itself, then out the windows. The promise of a story as well as fine bread and stew draws a tidy crowd.
By the end of the evening Anne is well pleased with her profits, Gabrielle happy with the telling of her tale, Xena disturbed by the intensity one of the alehouse's patrons observed her bard with, and William Shakespeare is left stroking his beard feeling just on the edge of something important happening.
"I'm just trying to figure out--"
"His wife Anne says he doesn't think women make very good bards."
Xena blinks at Gabrielle. "When did she say that?"
"While she and I were counting money, you were staring at him and he was staring at me." Gabrielle offers the sponge to Xena. "Now, on the subject of my back--"
"HE THINKS WHAT?" Gabrielle is so surprised by this yell from Xena that she drops the sponge on the floor, where it lands with a splat. Xena is already heading for the door, so action on Gabrielle's part is obviously required. Gabrielle stands up in the bath, water sluicing from her skin.
"You can't kill him for being an idiot, Xena."
"Why not? Here is the best bard in the universe staying in his--I can't believe--what a--what are you doing?"
"Washing myself. Though I seem to have dropped the sponge, so I guess I'll just have to use my hands." Gabrielle runs her soapy fingers over her breasts, pink nipples peeking between fingers. She picks up the soap again and slides her hands along her arms. "What a shame I can't reach my back though."
Xena unlaces the doublet, unties her tights. Her boots don't cooperate with her, so she is stuck in a chair, trying to pull them off while watching Gabrielle soap her stomach and thighs in circles that move ever closer to the red-gold curls between the bard's legs.
"Damn boots." Xena finally rids her feet of boots and hose then strides purposely to the bath, swings herself easily into the tub and holds her hands out. "Well, where is that soap woman?"
Gabrielle rubs the soap between her hands slowly, working up a lather. "Do you think I'm going to let someone with dirty hands wash my back? Give me your hands."
"What?"
"Give me your hands, Xena." Gabrielle waits, holding the soap. Xena holds her hands out obediently.
Gabrielle begins with Xena's left hand, rubbing soap into her skin, massaging her palm, fingers and muscled wrist. Xena closes her eyes and sighs. Gabrielle places Xena's left hand carefully into the water instead of simply dropping it. She soaps Xena's right hand with equal care, rubbing her strong thumb across Xena's palm. She looks up to see Xena's eyes closed and mouth slightly open.
Gabrielle continues to massage her way further up Xena's arm, feeling the muscle beneath her lover's skin relax then tense for different reasons. Gabrielle studies each of Xena's scars carefully, knowing the origins of most of them. When they had both just met, it was one of the few things she could, depending on the scar, get the warrior to talk about.
"I thought I was supposed to be washing your back." Xena whispers.
"Complaining?" Gabrielle asks as she works her way up the other arm.
Xena shakes her head.
"Good. Now, kneel for me." Gabrielle watches blue eyes pop back open. "I can't reach your shoulders or your neck. And I have a desire to touch every bit of you tonight. Besides, consider the possibilities from your perspective."
Xena smiles and kneels immediately. As Gabrielle begins massaging the clove scented soap into Xena's shoulders, Xena leans into Gabrielle, putting her arms around the smaller woman's thighs and burying her face in Gabrielle's slender waist.
"Gods, you smell good. Hand me that soap for a moment."
"I already washed there." She hands Xena the soap.
"Hold onto the sides of the tub. I'm going to do for your feet what you just did for my hands."
Gabrielle is skeptical. She backs away a little from Xena. "You're going to tickle me."
"Oh, no, love. Now, put your foot in my hand."
Gabrielle lifts her right foot from the water and places it in Xena's soapy hand. Xena begins massaging it with both her hands. Gabrielle is surprised to find that not only does this not tickle, but there is a spot Xena can massage that runs right up the Immortal Bard's leg to her clitoris and begins throbbing there.
"Xena." Gabrielle moans. Xena continues soaping Gabrielle's legs just to the edge of her curls, then starts at the other foot. By the time Xena has worked her way back up Gabrielle's other leg, Gabrielle is leaning on Xena's shoulders saying, "Please."
"Oh, no, what about your back?" Xena teases.
"Who cares?" Gabrielle pleads.
"You know I hate to leave anything half done." Xena moves her soapy hands up over Gabrielle's ass, massaging the firm flesh there too. She spreads the soap over the small of Gabrielle's back, running strong, callused fingers up either side of the bard's spine. Gabrielle leans back into Xena's touch. Xena works the soap over Gabrielle's shoulders and up her neck. Xena admires Gabrielle's throat, thinking that if she were a Bacchae she would want to spend all her time lingering there.
Then Xena presses her wet breasts to Gabrielle's back and glides her hands over the nipples the other woman touched earlier. Gabrielle moans, tilts her head back and her hips forward.
Xena cups one breast with her left hand and moves her right hand to brush just above where Gabrielle wants it.
"Please, Xena, please." Gabrielle gasps.
"Please what, my sweet?" Xena lulls seductively into Gabrielle's ear.
"Please touch my clit." The barely coherent bard says, aware that Xena may tease her more if she isn't specific enough.
Xena reverently runs her fingers between the folds of Gabrielle's labia, opening her bard so she can brush one, little finger against the woman's most sensitive spot. She brushes her finger back and forth across the small bundle of nerves and holds Gabrielle up with her other arm. Gabrielle digs her fingers into Xena's arms and whimpers. She arches her back and moans. Xena continues to flick one finger back and forth at the same pace. As she feels Gabrielle beginning to tense she places her whole palm over her lover's clit and increases the pressure.
Gabrielle thrashes in Xena's arms, crying out in pleasure and relief, then goes limp. Xena carries her love from the bath to wrap her in a warm drying cloth by the fire.
"I meant to wash your back too." Gabrielle whispers as Xena dries her off.
"Maybe we can shock our hosts by asking for another bath in the morning." Xena picks Gabrielle up to carry her to the bed.
The bed is rather high. Most people mount it with the aid of a small footstool which Xena ignores as she deposits Gabrielle in the bed then climbs in next to her. Both Immortals are tired and are soon asleep, limbs entangled with each other.
"Did you hear the way she told it? Not just the characters, or the passing circumstances, but the whole tale itself had a life all its own." William ignores Anne in favor of more pacing.
"She was very good. Perhaps if we can get them to stay a night or two, we can make some money." This idea gives Anne a shiver of excitement. "Now come to bed, dear."
"If I could write my plays like that--you know, I was even considering bear baiting."
"Yes, I know."
"But how can a woman be so good." William finally stopped pacing to stroke his beard.
"Come to bed and I'll show you."
"What? Hmm? Did you say something?" William resumed pacing.
"Yes. They have the room below us, you know. If you pace all night, you may keep them awake. They might even think the end is haunted and leave first thing in the morning. Then you'd never know how she came up with that story." Anne pulls the covers over her head.
"Perhaps I'll walk outside then."
Moans begin from the room beneath them. Anne punches the pillow, wishing it were William's head. She still remembers a time when they had made noises like that.
As he walks out of the room though, the man is still so preoccupied with other things, he doesn't hear the pillow hitting the door behind him or the throaty cry from the bedroom below. He just wonders if he can get the blond servant girl away from that tall man she's with long enough to talk her into telling him more stories that he could use in the theater in the coming season.
Xena hears him from the comfort of Gabrielle's arms and thinks she's going to find out what he's up to in the morning.
The few neighbors in Stratford still awake think that crazy writer is out pacing around trying to come up with ideas again.
Anne Hathaway is taking care of a little business of her own involving a fantasy including the town blacksmith, his assistant, and a goodly amount of butter. This leaves her vaguely restless nonetheless and wishing, not for the first time, that she and William hadn't put the best of their two beds in the guest room.
Two people had just wandered into her country, according to her sources, whom she very much wanted to meet. Unless she could somehow draw them into the court, she couldn't exactly go out seeking Xena, Daughter of Ares and Gabrielle, the Sunwalker. The tall, dark woman and her lighter companion had left Italy recently. According to Elizabeth's astrologer, Doctor Dee, they may simply have begun traveling again for their own pleasure. This was something Elizabeth could understand.
What Doctor Dee didn't know, and she felt no need to share with him, was that as a young girl with much to read and no one to mind her, Elizabeth had come across some second and third hand stories of the life of the Bard & Warrior when they met and began their journey together. Elizabeth had been fascinated at the thought of two strong women making their own way in the world, on their own terms. One used weapons as a defense, the other words, then slowly each learned from the other as their fates became entwined.
Elizabeth, alternately powerless then powerful, by forces beyond her control appreciated any woman, even her enemies, who could take power on their own. Of course, once finally given power, Elizabeth knew what to do with it. She knew how to hold it firmly, stroke it and use it to her own devices. But she wanted to talk with Xena and Gabrielle to her a first hand version of their stories.
She also desired their company because she suspected with these two Immortals she would not have to be The Queen, would not have to concern herself with what they wanted from her, might be able to simply be Elizabeth for the first time in many years.
Looking out a window into her garden, Elizabeth passed much of the night thinking about the order of her world, how and why she was trapped where she was, and how much consternation it would cause her servants if she somehow managed to get some boy's clothes, shimmy down the latticework and disappear for a day. The idea had definite appeal.
In both London & Stratford the crickets chirped the night forward into morning.
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