The Final Cause

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__Chapter Theme: Bored by Deftones__  
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The Final Cause

_By J. Walker_

_Book One: The Material Cause  
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**I. Allegiance**

The winding hallways were lit with flickering torchlight, the flames barely enough illumination for strangers. One of the servants that Gabrielle knew, a youth with natural ringlets of chestnut brown hair, dutifully held up the ends of her dress. The thickly layered filth of the floor she walked would have soiled her dress, and the thought of that bothered her greatly. In front of Gabrielle was her uncle; his broad, strong shoulders offered a comforting silhouette against the shadows that lurked along the musty inner walls. Several praetorian guards, both at the front and back, led the group through the hallway. The stark red coloring of their helmeted manes seemed to come alive in the torchlight and their armor shone like jewels. Normally, her uncle wasn't keen on traveling with such company. Gabrielle vividly remembered his words on the matter:

"_I do not travel with guards. I have no reason to protect myself from my own people_."

It all had to do with his campaign, an age that he called the Reign of Love. This new age centered around a close, personal relationship between a ruler and his people. It was based on a theory, but one he really and truly believed in. He had often told her that a nation ruled by fear or indifference would not fight to the death for their leader, or more importantly, for their way of life. So far, her uncle's somewhat naive ideals were pulling the world out of a collective depression, and not a single revolt had risen against him.

This was a cause for great alarm for Caesar.

Although Julius Caesar ruled Rome, Gabrielle's uncle ruled just about everything else. They were two great leaders, with two very different philosophies. Legally, her uncle was a citizen of the Roman Empire, although their family was entirely Greek. Even so, her uncle had not made the slightest indication that he at all wanted Caesar's Rome. Still, Caesar wasn't about to let him go so easily. Shortly after her uncle had defeated the terrible Conqueror, Caesar had invited him to spend a month in Rome's capital, taking part in the empire's grandest ceremonies and their greatest pleasantries. Politely, her uncle had accepted, though he had delayed the trip for as long as he could. "_Even if one is invited to dine with a garden snake, one is still dining with a snake_," he'd said. But he could avoid Caesar's advances for only so long, and so here they were, two leaders standing eye to eye, watching each other with paranoid speculation, awaiting the other's move. Both leaders heeded the old adage- keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Once the Conqueror had been uprooted, the people waited with baited breath, wondering if Caesar and Gabrielle's uncle were to rule side by side as sworn brothers. Gabrielle, however, knew it would never be. Her uncle had refused to kill the Conqueror on principal. There was no more need for bloodshed after the defeat. With eager paws, Caesar had snatched her up and thrown her into the bonds slavery. That was the last anyone had heard of her, and rumors were rife with what had become of her. Was she rotting in a prison, or perhaps already dead? Some speculated she had escaped long ago and was roaming the uninhabited Badlands. Politics had ground to a halt. It unnerved Gabrielle that she would probably be dragged into a great deal of it if her uncle had his way.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Gabrielle realized that with the increasing light in the hallway, they had nearly reached the end of their journey within this damp, dirt covered place. Anticipation and anxiousness welled up inside of her as they approached the wide opening bathed in blinding sunlight. Sudden uproars emerged from the crowd outside. She squinted against the light and wind-swept dirt, her long bangs tickling her forehead as the ginger hairs danced in the fresh breeze.

The Amphitheatrum Flavium was truly a sight to behold. This gargantuan arena would soon be filled to its highest point with seated Roman spectators, enclosed in a wide, circular arena. Solid wooden floors were covered with enough dirt and dust to resemble a barren landscape caught in drought-riddled land. Brilliant splashes of color would bloom across the arena from the crowds, which was soon going to be made up of people of all castes and backgrounds. Naturally, they were seated accordingly. The arena was empty at the moment, but from the way the impatient crowd was shouting and chanting, she was certain it wouldn't stay that way.

Caesar was standing right by the edge of the grand stone balcony, simpering smugly in front of his throne as he surveyed the crowd. His guards flanked the magnificent throne, and when Gabrielle and her uncle emerged from the hallway, their attention shifted accordingly. To the right of Caesar's throne was a wooden stand, littered with bottles of fine wine and plates full of delectable foods. Amongst the delicacies were a bunch of lush, dark purple grapes, a loaf of freshly baked bread, cubes of various cheeses, and even a cluster of pastries powdered with sugar. It was enough of a display to make anyone envious. A servant was filling a silver chalice with a rich, red wine- one Caesar had probably chosen just prior to her and her uncle's arrival. Gabrielle marveled at the presence he had; he was a man of average build, with facial features that were physically unattractive to her, and with no remarkable traits. Yet, the facial expressions, the confidence, the sure smiles, and the knowing glances were what she found appealing. His aura carried strength and magnitude of a sort that Gabrielle reasoned could only have come from a natural born leader. Gabrielle was sure that she was not the only woman to have found these things appealing in Caesar.

And a natural born fiend, she thought to herself, eying him with distaste.

Caesar spared them a casual glance from where he stood. "Cassius. How nice of you to join me."

Gabrielle's uncle, the great Cassius of Britannia that everyone acknowledged as the Liberator, offered Caesar a lukewarm smile. "Always a pleasure, my lord," Cassius stepped over to the balcony's edge, and kept his distance from Caesar. The highly polished shoulder armor he wore was accentuated by the long, dark blue cape that shrouded his muscular form. Cassius leaned over the edge so that he could get a good look at the cheering crowd, then half-turned so that he could offer Gabrielle a wide grin. Her uncle had the most infectious smile she had ever seen; dimples curved around his mouth, rugged stubble dotted his chin and cheeks, and the edges of the smile reached his warm eyes. As dark as those eyes were, they harbored an inner fire, not one of hate or rage, but one of mirth and friendliness. His sandy blonde hair was neatly cut, just long enough to be affected by the breeze. Memories of the same blonde hair being wild and unruly flooded her mind, and despite her nervousness, she found herself smiling back at him.

"I see you brought company." Caesar stated, breaking the family moment as his gaze swept over the praetorian guards that flanked the unknown woman and her uncle.

"Ah yes, how rude of me," Cassius interjected, and gestured towards her. "This is my niece, Gabrielle of Britannia. I sent word that she would be accompanying me."

Unimpressed, Caesar turned to her and deadpanned, his expression both stoic and somewhat skeptical. Gabrielle offered him a half-smile, looking just as uncertain as she felt. "I have heard that you have chosen her to be your heir. Is this true, Cassius?"

Cassius's grin broadened. "That's right. You're looking at the future ruler of our entire world." He nodded at Gabrielle proudly.

Gabrielle's jade colored eyes flashed with annoyance as she turned around to face her uncle. Surprise, terror, and anger rippled through her face from his bold statement. Never once had he mentioned anything about taking over the whole world, which included Caesar's empire. It was almost a direct insult to Caesar himself, and it upset her that Cassius hadn't prepared her for the outburst.

"Oh?" The flippant response, mixed with the scrutinizing glower of Caesar, caused Gabrielle's stomach to knot up with dread. She looked back at him evenly for a moment, her eyes wide. She then lowered her head, embarrassed. Gabrielle hated the feel of his slimy, judgmental gaze raking over her. Just as quickly, he looked away and simply said, "Indeed."

She relaxed almost immediately, surprised at how tense she had been over the comment Cassius had made, and at what Caesar's reaction could have been instead of what it was. Caesar wasn't the type to respond in anger, but Cassius had warned her that the Roman Emperor was scheming and manipulative. She turned to her uncle, hoping to exchange some sort of knowing look, but Cassius seemed oblivious.

"You shouldn't keep your people waiting too long," Cassius said happily. He leaned his form over the balcony once more as he gestured toward the cheering crowd with a grin. "You'll cause a riot!"

A slow, twisted smile tugged at the corners of Caesar's lips, one of devilish pleasure that gave Gabrielle the shivers. "Ah yes," he said, placing his palms together and rubbing them slowly with high hopes. "Speaking of which, today is a special presentation. A belated gift to your niece's recent birthday."

Gabrielle furrowed her brow in confusion, wondering exactly what he was planning on 'giving' her. Her twentieth year had passed just a week before, and she wondered how he had known. More importantly, what was he planning? Whatever it was, she knew it had to do with him somehow wanting to gain the upper hand on Cassius. _Maybe he wants to use me as leverage somehow_, she thought suddenly, _I'll have to be extra careful_. She eyed him with all the scrutiny of a crow, determined not to be used as some sort of hindrance to her uncle's campaign.

"Splendid!" Cassius blurted, coming up beside Gabrielle to give her a good clap on the shoulder. She winced at the blow and cast him a sidelong glance. "Let the show begin!"

Caesar seemed reluctant, and now his smile was little more than a stony smirk. He was in charge, and this was his territory. He didn't like Cassius speaking so boldly and waltzing about like he owned the place. Still, he remained deathly calm, biding his time for the moment when he would conquer Cassius. Gabrielle wasn't going to let that happen if she could help it.

"I look forward to it," she said politely, forcing a smile and nodding her head in gratitude.

Caesar stared at her for a few seconds before finally offering her a slow nod in return. That twisted smile was back across his lips, almost as though he were weighing her decision. He turned to face the balcony silently, where all of the eyes from the crowd were on him, cheering, shouting, begging him to give the signal. Caesar held his hands outward for silence; it took the mass of people just mere seconds to quiet down in the face of their leader. Gabrielle was once again lost in his presence, and found herself drawn to him as much as the crowd. A touch on her arm broke the mesmerizing attraction. She turned her head to see Cassius looking down at her seriously, for the time had come for her gift. They locked eyes, and he gestured with his head toward the less elaborate chairs next to Caesar's throne. Nodding obediently, Gabrielle moved over to a chair and sat down as quietly as possible, unwilling to make noise in the eerie silence. The servant who had been holding her dress, Pax, draped the long silken material over one arm of the chair, out of Gabrielle's way. After making sure the dress was draped elegantly, Pax then crouched down next to her mistress, awaiting further instructions. Cassius sat down in the remaining chair, both separated by the throne the great Caesar would claim for the festivities.

"Citizens of Rome! Today is a day for vengeance!" Caesar boomed, his voice echoing around the cleverly designed amphitheater. The crowd grew deathly still as they listened with anticipation. "We have all lost our sons and daughters, wives and husbands, brothers and sisters, to war! But no single, senseless act has ever taken as many lives as the one caused by a single person. One we all know very well!"

Gabrielle visibly inched towards the edge of her seat, excited to hear what he was about to say, despite her inner weariness. Caesar was practically her sworn enemy, but her curiosity around these events was winning by a long shot.

"I present to all of you, for your enjoyment," Caesar swept one arm in the direction of the far gates, "Xena, the Conqueror!"

The grated gate started to rise, inch by tantalizingly slow inch. The applause and cheers were deafening. Gabrielle was torn between wanting to cover her ears and her desire to see what would happen next. Cassius remained silent and unmoving as he watched the events unfold.

The gate halted its highest point. First, it revealed nothing more than a black abyss, but small figures began to emerge. Two large, broad-bodied slave masters brandishing spindly whips spilled out of the darkness first, their thick bodies slick with sweat and grime. Immediately tailing them was a wooden trolley carted on wheels with a tall, rectangular frame built into it. Tied to the trolley's frame was a thrashing figure, wrists bound to the frame's top beam and spread legs bound near the bottom. Long, raven hair whipped about the writhing head like black fire, and the occasional white flash of teeth suggested that the figure was either screaming or shouting obscenities. She wore a ruddy brown peasant's shift, the hem nearly reaching her knees. Two more slave masters were pushing the trolley towards the middle of the massive arena from the back.

Gabrielle gasped quietly, realizing who it was that was bound to that trolley.

The front slave masters that led the group looked over their shoulders, making sure the prisoner remained in their control. The trolley paused in the center of the arena, and all of the slave masters momentarily tightened their grip on their whips. The four of them quickly made their way back toward the black abyss from which they came, leaving Xena bound and twisting against her bonds ferociously. Seconds later, a group of rugged warriors spilled out into the arena from the doorway, each wielding a weapon of some sort. Though they were all shirtless, they bore shields of varying sizes, designs, and origins. Their shapely muscles were clearly visible from her vantage point, and for a brief second, Gabrielle felt her breath catch. _Gladiators_, she realized, an awe-inspired chill flowing through her body. The many legends and stories she had heard concerning the enslaved warriors hadn't been exaggerated, and here they were now, in the flesh.

Caesar allowed the fullness of that twisted smile to spread as he moved back to sit comfortably in his throne.

The gladiators, numbering ten strong men, slowly made their way towards the trolley and their quarry, weapons at the ready. The closer they edged, the more Xena thrashed against her bonds, and the more nervous Gabrielle became. She cast an unsure glance at Cassius, wondering if he looked about as nervous as she, but his expression had not changed. Leaning forward to address him, she asked, "Are they just going to slaughter her while she's bound? While she has no way of defending herself?"

Cassius gave her a look of slight surprise, replying in a way that let Caesar know that even the great Cassius accepted that this was necessary. "Gabrielle, that's the Conqueror. You know how many innocents she butchered without a second thought. She lost her privileges to a fair fight long ago."

"This isn't a fight, uncle," Gabrielle stated, her eyes drifting back to the arena, "It's an execution." Cassius's mouth twitched into a small smile, and he reached over to place a reassuring hand on top of hers. This display of affection was not lost on Caesar, and he filed it away for future reference. "It was either this or an axe to her neck. Execution is her sentence, and this is a warrior's death. It is more than she deserves," he spoke, looking back to the arena with an air of finality.

As Gabrielle returned her attention to the arena, she frowned at her uncle's words. She had read every story from countless scrolls and had seen the ruined lives. Her uncle had told her of the complete carnage left behind in the ruthless Conqueror's wake. They haunted his thoughts and were all in his more gruesome tales of adventure and war. From the past five years of living with Cassius, Gabrielle had been taught hourly that this Xena was a harbinger of death and destruction; evil in its truest form. Yet, despite knowing all of Xena's misdeeds, she found it hard to believe anyone deserved this sort of death for the entertainment of others. She watched on in apprehension as the gladiators moved ever closer to Xena, blocking her view from what she knew would soon happen.

Then, to everyone's confusion, some of the gladiators faltered in their steps, hesitant to get any closer to the bound woman. An excited murmur soon turned into nervous chatter from the audience as the seconds stretched on. What could they possibly be waiting for? Xena was served to them on a silver platter, but somehow they seemed... uncertain? Disconcerted, even? Each gladiator began to take several cautious, battle-ready paces back, and the audience voiced their surprise to see the gladiators' bodies tense for combat. A small, pale stick seemed to have somehow attached itself to Xena and was waving around angrily. Gabrielle's jaw dropped in astonishment.

Her arm!

The crowd seemed to notice Xena's now unbound arm, and they exploded in a roar of shouts of encouragement. Many were egging her on, others were taunting her, and still more shouted simply for the sheer excitement and entertainment of it all. In a rare moment of dark amusement, Gabrielle could only wonder at the threats Xena was screaming at the hesitant gladiators. Unfortunately for them, their fear and apprehension stopped any further approach towards the wild woman. She took advantage of the hesitation by using that free hand to rip frantically at the ropes binding her other hand.

Still taken aback, Gabrielle stole a glance at the two men next to her. Cassius was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and Caesar was simply looking on in quiet regard. Neither of them seemed alarmed or surprised, she noted. She shifted her jade colored gaze back to the scene before her just in time to see Xena grasp the ropes tightly, then rip free with little effort. The ropes may as well have been made of parchment with the ease at which they broke.

Now the gladiators appeared panicked at the change in situation, and they felt the pressure of the jeering audience as well as from the woman before them. One of them suddenly rushed forward and lifted his saber high in the air. Gabrielle held her breath as the weapon arced through the air in a downward slash, directed right at the junction between Xena's shoulder and neck. Unable to reach her assailant, she threw her body backward to avoid the attack, and in doing so, lost her balance due to her still-bound ankles.

Gabrielle physically winced as the warrior princess crashed down into the trolley's platform, her dark head smacking against the wood, the sound of the impact swallowed by the roaring crowd. Xena lay there for a moment, dazed and stirring slowly. The arrogant gladiator hopped on top of the trolley, his square shield at the ready as he moved between her bound ankles for what he thought would be an easy kill. Without a moment's hesitation, he drew his arm back for a killing slash. As the blade jabbed down at his prey, she quickly twisted her upper body to the side, and the saber hit wood. Xena took the opportunity to bolt upright and swung her fist into the gladiator's left knee. His leg crumpled immediately to her will in a sick, cock-eyed angle, and Gabrielle saw a flash of white teeth as the man screamed and buckled in pain. The gladiator sprawled onto his hip and nearly rolled off the trolley. Its frame held him in place, and Xena brought an elbow down onto his nose. As the front of his skull gave way to her sharp jab and the bone crushed from the blow, blood erupted in a short spray. He dropped the saber as his hands instinctively went to protect his face. He writhed, screaming in fear and pain as the crimson liquid poured from between his clutched fingers.

The remaining gladiators stared on like statues, unmoving and frozen as Xena made quick work of the bonds holding her ankles. The last thread of the rope dropped to the floor, and she made a quick grab for the forgotten weapon. She then sprang to her feet with all the agility of a freed panther, and from every angle of the amphitheater, the wild-eyed, blood thirsty look on Xena's face was evident. Gabrielle felt a tiny chill of fear spread throughout her very being, horrified by the wounded gladiator and from what she suspected was still to come.

Xena fixed her icy gaze on the injured man still writhing on the ground, and Gabrielle feared the woman would decapitate him. Decapitation would have been far better than what was about to transpire.

Bringing her knee up high, Xena promptly pounded the heel of her foot against his bloodied fingers, further crushing his already broken skull. Slithers of bone and torn cartilage flew up from what was left of his face in an eruption of blood, and the man flailed frantically, trying to shove her leg away or roll off the trolley. The frame blocked his exit, and Xena was as unmovable as a mountain as he realized that this would be his end. Slowly, she brought her heel up again and started hammering it against his shattered, bloodied face, lathering her bare foot in hot, red blood with every stomp. The gladiator's flailing arms grew weaker and limper until they finally ceased moving. His killer threw back her head in a sadistic, guffawing laughter and continued to kick at his lifeless corpse.

Gabrielle's stomach lurched at the scene before her, and bile rose in her throat. A dainty hand flew to her lips loosely, and she swallowed hard, still unable to tear her gaze from the crazed warrior. She could feel her uncle's eyes on her, but she couldn't look away. Even though Gabrielle knew it was disgusting and mortifying beyond any sort of gruesome nightmare she'd ever had...

It was absolutely and utterly captivating.

One of the gladiators finally snapped out of his terrified reverie and charged at Xena with a ruthless battle cry that was drowned out by the deafening crowd. She ceased her mutilation of the corpse and watched as he took a lurching step up onto the trolley. He rushed forward with his tightly clutched gladius, a large shield held close to his body on his left arm. Xena easily sidestepped his advance and brought the elbow of her free arm down against his back, causing the gladiator to fall to the ground. She went to slice him with her new found saber, but he rolled out of the way just in the nick of time, round housing his gladius toward her gut. She quickly stepped back to dodge the attack, then kicked his sword hand, knocking the gladius' hilt from his fingers. Unrelenting, her saber streaked through the air, and the sharp blade sliced into his unprotected belly. The gladiator instinctively clutched the wide, gaping wound as blood spilled from it, painting his thighs and arms with his body's own wine. Unlike the first gladiator, this one didn't cry out once, but instead squeezed his eyes tightly shut as she brought the saber down a final time. A thin, burgundy-colored trail was left behind as the saber sliced against his neck. It started gushing with blood from the severed carotid artery. The unfortunate gladiator rolled to and fro, sobbing silently, his hands frantically trying to keep that vital life source from escaping. Within seconds, he faded away beneath the intense stare of his opponent, her shoulders heaving up and down with labored breath.

_She doesn't seem to be over exerting herself in the slightest_, Gabrielle thought distantly. _She seems almost... excited._ A fearful shiver ricocheted down her vertebrae.

As the second gladiator finally died, Xena whipped around to face her remaining opponents, dripping in fresh blood. Each of them visibly flinched but did not retreat. They must have understood that they, as gladiators, lived by the sword, and it looked as though their time had finally come to die by the sword.

A slow, dark smirk tugged at the corners of Xena's mouth, revealing glistening white teeth. Her piercing gaze was wide and danced with adrenaline and anticipation. Her strong form hopped off of the trolley with ease, and Gabrielle was surprised to see how small the gladiators looked next to her. Surely Caesar would have chosen his best gladiators to take out the Conqueror? But these warriors, despite being fierce experts individually, looked like awkward, bumbling adolescents next to the warrior princess. She started circling the gladiators at a slow pace, sizing them up as a lion would with its prey.

This dragged on for several excruciating minutes. The amphitheater boomed with the bellowing crowd while the muscular murderess circled her prey. Each gladiator whipped towards her as she changed direction, their movements jumpy and apprehensive. They seemed to be talking to one another worriedly, forming some sort of plan as Xena looked on in indifference. Finally, moving in precise unison, the gladiators all charged the tall woman with raised weapons and shields, their mouths open in inaudible battle cries.

The first gladiator that reached her had another gladius, and she swiftly sidestepped his stabbing attack with laughable ease, then ducked her head as a second gladiator lunged with his trident. She took the opportunity in her crouched position to slice at his vulnerable belly; fortunately for him, he hopped back just in time, receiving a minor cut from the attack. She shot back up to her feet and grabbed the trident's shaft. While he wildly tried to yank it from her steely grasp, she merely laughed in his face. With her back turned to the first gladiator, she didn't realize he'd whirled around and was charging at her again.

Gabrielle's breath caught as she realized Xena was about to die then and there, stabbed in the back by an assailant she could not see. The blade was mere inches from her torso, and Gabrielle wanted so badly to look away, yet she could not. She could only steel herself for the bloody death that was sure to come.

In one, swift motion Xena sidestepped and released the trident from her grip. The gladiator who had been frantically yanking back and forth at the weapon stumbled forward, and was promptly run through by the first gladiator's blade. Xena laughed hoarsely as the two men stared at each other in shock. Realizing the trident-wielding man was a lost cause, the first gladiator ripped his gladius free, allowing warm blood to spurt from the gaping wound. The injured man crumpled to the ground, his limbs convulsing with the sudden loss of blood as he approached death until he finally lay still.

A third gladiator came up from behind her with an iron club, but she seemed to sense his approach and aptly spun around as the club came crashing towards her. The fingers of her free hand clasped the cold metal of the weapon, her muscular arm holding it in place much to the gladiator's astonishment. The club quivered with the gladiator's effort to push down as he tried to match her strength. She brought the saber up between them and quickly sliced along the exposed wrist of his club arm, causing him to howl with pain. He immediately released his hold on the weapon. Shifting the club so that she now held the hilt of it in her left hand, Xena spun her taut form around just as the first gladius-wielding fighter was readying a swipe. She blocked his bloodied blade with her saber and pulled her club arm back, muscles springing forth like a catapult. The club crushed the gladiator's temple with a resounding crack. He flew off to the right and collided with the ground, but Xena had little time to relish in victory as the gladiator with the cut wrist jabbed his fist into her kidney from behind. The raven-haired warrior buckled from the unexpected blow and fell to one knee, visibly wincing from the sudden burst of pain. Dropping the saber, she reached over her shoulder where his clenched hand still hovered and clasped his wrist, jerking him forward with all her strength. His body followed obediently, sending him hurling over her hunched form in a flip before he landed roughly on his back. A cloud of dust puffed up from under his thick body as he lay there, stunned.

Xena stared at him briefly from her kneeling position, and then crashed the iron club into his skull, smashing thin bone in one, easy blow. Blood exploded from the wound, flowing freely, but the gladiator was completely unresponsive; he'd died almost instantly.

Yet another gladiator came at her, wielding a broadsword, shouting and swinging wildly with reckless abandon. She made a dexterous roll out of the way, sprung to her feet in the following instant, and she snarled viciously as he spun around. They both rushed each other.

Gabrielle gaped at the arena in a stupefied state, utterly astounded by the prowess and strength of the warrior before her. No stories or legends of Xena did the woman justice. She attacked quickly and precisely, her long, raven hair following her swift movements like a flowing scarf, glistening in the white hot sun. The warrior princess moved like a goddess and was certainly built like one; tall, graceful, feminine and yet so powerful. Whether it was an acquired weapon or an accurate fist, she dealt blow after blow to each remaining gladiator, slicing, crushing, and snuffing the life out of them. They didn't stand a chance. Bright green eyes, widened to the size of saucers, remained mesmerized by Xena, unable to move, unable to breathe. The remainder of the fight whizzed by her in a flash and she was numbly unaware, unfocused, entranced only by the warrior. The dance of death, finalized with twirls and leaps and ducks and precise gestures, was hypnotizing her in a way she never thought possible. Gabrielle had never seen death before- not like this- not committed so savagely and without hesitation. It was beautiful, and it was horrible.

The fight before her blended together in a swirl of colors, producing vivid imagery of watercolor and movement only she seemed able to see. Brush strokes grazed the landscape in ribbons of black and gritty brown, wind blowing up dust and dirt to engulf the fighters in a hazy blanket. A rich, sharp red swept across her mental canvas with explosive strokes.

"Gabrielle!" Someone's hand was on her shoulder, giving her a good shake, successfully jerking her out of her strange trance.

Slowly, she blinked, dizzy from her sudden drop back down to earth. She turned to stare blankly at Cassius's concerned face. His eyebrows were knitted together in a frown that was unbecoming of his kind and loving countenance. "Gabrielle," he said again, quieter this time. "What's wrong? You've been gawking like that for the last fifteen minutes." He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, his eyes glancing to the right towards the arena. "Perhaps this was too much for you."

Caesar turned his attention away from the arena momentarily, arching his brows in feigned concern for the woman. He was more curious than anything. So distracted was he by Xena's rather entertaining performance that he'd completely forgotten the two next to him. Apparently, the girl wasn't taking the presentation well. He fought off a chuckle.

Gabrielle blinked again, gaping at Cassius stupidly; what was he talking about? She'd just been watching the fight like everyone else. Perhaps she had gotten a bit involved, but from the way he had described it, it sounded like he'd had some difficulty breaking her gaze. She tried to tell him everything was fine, but somehow couldn't find her voice. Slowly, she turned back to the arena, surprised to see that the battle had long been over. It was then that she realized the crowd was roaring with both approval and outrage, all of it directed to the warrior standing in the middle. Gabrielle studied the remains of the battle dispassionately. The arena floor was painted in a fresh, sloppy coat of blood and gore, the color blending into the dirt and then fading away as it went to the outer areas of the arena, where the fight had not reached. Bloody, mutilated corpses of slain gladiators lay sprawled about the ground, near and far from the trolley, their weapons lying uselessly beside them. A few dismembered body parts lay scattered about the arena, their owners no better off. Yet there, in the center, was a woman wearing a battered, brown peasant shift, drenched with the life force of her dead. It was smeared across her face like mud, splattered along her arms and legs, hiding whatever injuries she may have suffered in the fight. Her bangs were slick and plastered to her forehead. She was circling the carnage of her victory, still wielding the blood-covered iron club in her hand. She surveyed the crowd, wide-eyed and feral, the adrenaline obviously still pumping through her veins after the thrilling battle. She ran to one side of the arena, screeching like a wild animal in some sort of unprecedented fury, directing her aggression at the crowd. The onlookers responded with more cheering, heckling the warrior with jeers and obscene gestures.

"Gabrielle," Cassius tried again. "Are you alright?" Concern was still evident in his face and tone of voice, "Do you need a moment?"

Without responding, Gabrielle promptly doubled over and retched, losing what modest amount of food she had consumed that day.

Cassius practically leaped out of his seat, quickly resting an open palm on Gabrielle's back as she emptied her stomach.

"My lady!" Pax cried and scrambled to her feet frantically. She hadn't the slightest idea how to handle this sort of situation.

Caesar rolled his eyes and leaned back in his throne, reaching outwards to retrieve his silver chalice on the wooden stand. He clasped it lazily between his fingers and sipped the red wine within, not at all bothered by the carnage below. If anything, he looked faintly pleased.

Shaking her head slowly, her limbs trembling from the unexpected exertion, Gabrielle silently thanked the gods she'd had her long hair pulled up and pinned back away from her face. "I'll be fine, just as soon as the six of you sit still," she joked weakly, coughing to get the sour taste out of her mouth.

"Pax," her uncle spoke as he turned his attention to the servant girl, "escort Gabrielle to her carriage and return her to our quarters at Caesar's palace. See to it that she rests."

The servant girl nodded quickly, gently hooking her arm beneath Gabrielle's elbow before guiding the heiress to her feet. With a grace developed over years of servitude, she used her free hand to snatch at the extra folds of the back of Gabrielle's dress, ready to hold it up and away from the dirty ground. The heiress complied, unbidden tears from the exertion of being sick filling her lids. As they drew closer to the doorway leading back down the stone corridor, she paused, as though something was compelling her to look back into the arena. Swallowing hard to fight back the rising bile in her throat, she half-turned herself and focused once more on the gory scene down below. To her surprise, the warrior had stopped pacing and was standing stark still amidst the bloody aftermath, and -

_She's staring at me_, Gabrielle realized, somewhat horrified at the sight of the warrior peering up at her from the distance, slicked with blood.

"Come now, my lady," Pax cooed next to her, gently tugging on the heiress's elbow, "You need to rest."

Gabrielle, her eyebrows knitted in a strange expression caught somewhere between hidden mortification and bafflement, tore her gaze from the arena and allowed herself to be led through the doorway.

Cassius waved a couple of guards to follow the women, then swung himself around to face Caesar with a look of disapproval. "Do you believe this was really an appropriate scene for a young woman?"

Caesar half-shrugged, complacently sipping at his red wine as he lounged in his throne. "Things didn't go as planned," he responded in a bored tone, regarding Cassius with an apathetic expression. "It was not my intention to traumatize the world's fearless future ruler with a rather mundane display of battle, I assure you."

A bit of a smirk tugged at his lips as Cassius visibly bristled, and Caesar finished off the last of his wine. "No matter," he said, placing the chalice back on the stand and rising to his feet, "I'm sure she'll be more than ready to deal with the challenges she'll face as a ruler." Smiling crookedly at his rival, he added a final, "Whatever they may be."

Cassius watched him in silence, and Caesar stepped toward the edge of the balcony, looking down his nose through half-lidded eyes at the bloodied warrior below. The crowd began to simmer down to a heated murmur, awaiting Caesar's sentence. He smiled calmly, holding a fist outward with his thumb hooked in the neutral, horizontal position. Slowly, he swept his gaze over the amphitheater, drawing out the suspension as long as he dared before finally flipping his thumb upward.

The spectators exploded in a reverberating roar; Xena would live to see another day.

_But why?_ Cassius wondered to himself, moving to the balcony's edge to look down at her. _What could Caesar possibly gain from letting her live?_

Both men watched as four slave masters emerged once again from the black abyss in the arena, wielding whips and iron clubs similar to the one she still clutched. They drew closer to her, weapons at the ready for resistance, and they were not disappointed. She faked them out a few times, darting forward a foot or two before stopping short of each of them, receiving several fear flinches in response. She offered them a wild-eyed, shark like grin, her white teeth gleaming against the backdrop of her bloodied face. One slave master struck his whip toward her feet from behind, the end wrapping around her ankle before he yanked it back with practiced force. Xena grunted in surprise as her foot was jerked out from under her, her arms unable to catch herself in time, and her face collided with the ground. The other slave masters pounced. As she struggled against them, waving her weapon aimlessly and screaming like a banshee, they started beating her with their own clubs, their bodies blocking Cassius's view of the thrashing woman.

Cassius looked away, casting Caesar one of his rare, steely gazes before turning to leave.

"I expect you and your niece will be present for supper tonight?" Caesar asked without turning around, a hint of pleasantness in his voice.

Stopping at the doorway, Cassius looked over his shoulder, his demeanor once more soft and charming. "Of course!" He responded brightly, masking any prior disapproval. "Don't forget to have your servants make those little fire cakes with the jelly inside. I'm rather fond of those." They were, in fact, one of Gabrielle's favorites.

"Consider it done. I look forward to this evening." Caesar stated, deeply revolted by Cassius's renewed optimism.

Cassius's eyes briefly went back to the arena where two of the four slave masters were dragging the barely conscious Xena back to the doorway that led to the amphitheater's hypogeum. She was still trying to struggle against them, her weak ministrations futile.

"As do I," he replied distractedly, wondering once more what Caesar had planned for the woman before turning back to the corridor and retreating at last. It was going to be a long night, he was sure of it.

Caesar eyed the Conqueror contemplatively as she was pulled into the blackness at last, disappearing from the arena and her bloody aftermath. Thoughts swirled around in his head- among them the beginning structure of a plan that was falling into place, piece by piece.

Privately nurtured by the satisfying thought that he was in complete control, Caesar smiled and sat back down in his throne to await the next event.

Lazarus moved through the area reserved for middle class spectators, forever keeping his gaze focused on the balcony above him where Caesar was seated. His grayish blue eyes weren't focusing on Caesar, however, but instead on the broad-shouldered man next to Caesar. He'd long ago abandoned the assigned seat from the slip of parchment purchased from the ticket giver, and now he was seat jumping every few minutes, always hoping to get a better view of the Liberator.

Silently, he cursed his use of middle class documents; he was on the lower ends of the caste system. He'd wanted a better look at Cassius, but the middle class seating simply wasn't providing him a good enough perch. He knew it was sensible; he would've looked suspicious among the upper class individuals, and suspicion was the last sort of attention he could afford. Thankfully, the seats weren't sold out. He was allowed to move around now and again, but different views of the Liberator revealed little. He and Caesar were chatting quietly to each other while his doe-eyed niece stared dumbly out at the arena.

Lazarus pulled the hood of his straw-colored cloak further over the top of his head, hiding his short, light brown hair. Though most men had taken to the clean shaven look as of late, the lower class could not afford expensive barbers and usually sported rough, scraggly beards. Lazarus, though stuck in the frustration of an impoverished lower class, was good at what he did and found clients knocking on his door daily. A steady flow of currency had provided him with nicer clothes, better weapons, a tidy haircut, and a clean shave. Still, his collection of small riches had not been enough for those damned doctors.

_But things will be different soon_, he thought to himself, his predatory gaze glued to the oblivious Liberator. He couldn't risk anyone recognizing him. Despite whatever politics went on behind the scenes, as far as Roman civilians were concerned, Cassius the Liberator was a friend of Rome and Caesar's honored guest.

_I only have one chance at this_, he told himself, cocking his head downward to allow the hood to shadow his features. It was just like Silvia had always said to him. Feeling the familiar weight of loss on his chest, he reminisced to the sound of her voice repeating that same phrase to him every time he went on a job.

'Don't fuck it up, Laz.'

Lazarus allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Her voice had been like honey to his ears, despite the brashness of the way she spoke.

Suddenly, the scene before him abruptly changed in the way only a true observer would see as significant, and it had nothing to do with the Conqueror's antecedent blood bath. The dumb blonde next to the Liberator had suddenly gotten sick all over Caesar's balcony, and now Cassius was pouring over her like a mother hen, completely forgetting about the bloody battle and clucking away over his niece.

_He cares for her_, Lazarus noted. _He sincerely cares for her_. It wasn't just another emotionless family inheritance shebang; those two were close. He could use that when the time came. Not that he was fond of dragging innocents into his scheme, but he would do what he had to. If the little heiress had to be sacrificed, so be it. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

'Don't fuck it up, Laz,' Silvia's voice rang in his ears again, causing him to smile slightly.

_Don't worry, Silvia_, he thought as he swept through a bustle of people toward the ramps leading to the amphitheater's exit, _I won't rest until the Liberator is dead_.

Caesar's palace was about as easy to navigate as a labyrinth at midnight. Gabrielle had tried to make an internal map of the place so that she could get a feel for it, but the process was proving problematic at best. Thankfully, her servant, Pax, was leading her through the maze of marble hallways and corridors with practiced ease. Her own personal servant back in Britannia, a kind, elderly woman, was so horrendously prone to seasickness that everyone had thought it better she didn't come along. Thus, Pax was assigned to her upon her immediate arrival. Truth be told, though she enjoyed her old servant's company, it was a welcome change to be around someone closer to her own age.

"You know this place so well," Gabrielle stated conversationally as Pax gave soft-voiced directions from behind, where she was holding up the back of the lavish dress.

She could hear the smile in Pax's voice as she replied, "I have been a servant here for almost three years, my lady. I've had plenty of time to learn."

"Well, you're doing a great job," Gabrielle complimented warmly, her own smile growing. "Maybe I should try to start learning my way around. The worst that could happen is that I'll end up wandering aimlessly until I eventually perish," she joked, turning left down a corridor as Pax had previously instructed her to do.

"Oh no, my lady!" Pax exclaimed, scrambling to her mistress's own defense, "You will learn soon! I can help!" Upon hearing Gabrielle's amused snickering, she realized that the heiress had been joking, and she blushed bashfully. "You wouldn't perish, my lady," she added in her own, tentative attempt at a jest, "The servants would eventually find you... "

Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder, a mirthful smile playing on her lips at both the joke and the instant friendship she felt towards the girl. "Oh, ye of little faith."

"Mistress, you're going the wrong way," Pax replied, lightly covering her mouth to hide the widening smile.

Gabrielle paused, looking slightly confused as she looked left and right.

"This way," Pax supplied, slowly taking a few steps back as she continued to grasp a bundle of fabric from the expensive dress. Gabrielle stepped back a pace or two as well, realizing she'd passed a sudden fork in the paths of hallways. "Oh, you're taking me to my quarters," she claimed with over-dramatic ardor, heading down the correct hallway. "I was... taking you to the servant quarters, of course."

Pax giggled quietly. "The servant quarters are on the other side of the palace, my lady. They're nowhere near here."

"Of... of course!" Gabrielle responded quickly, "I was just testing you, y'know, keeping you on your toes."

"Of course, my lady," Pax agreed, and both of them beamed at each other as their playful banter continued, the pure sound of merriment echoing pleasantly along the archways of cold, polished stone.

Thankfully, the walk to Gabrielle's quarters was not as long as she remembered, no doubt because of the ensuing conversation between her and Pax, and before long, she was tucked away safely in her room. Though it was a mere guest room, it was designed intricately, down to every inch of marble archway and wall. A large, four-poster bed sat in the center. Sheer veils of vibrant colors draped over the post frame, accenting the lavish silk pillows and comforter. A rug the size of a peasant's house lay in the center of the huge room, swirls and patterns in lower-toned colors accenting its main designs. Wall tapestries, sculpted statues, a lush, dark wood armoire, a full length mirror, and other such decorations were arranged about the room. Everything was highlighted by streams of brilliant gold sunlight bursting through the open windows, casting the room in a comforting light. Beautiful draperies were bound on either side of the windows, and unlit candles were scattered about the room as well, ready for use.

Pax, who had not yet been inside royal quarters before, was so awestruck by the sight that she had forgotten to follow Gabrielle all the way inside, and the fabric of her mistress's dress fell from her hands to the floor. Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at the dropped portion of her gown and shrugged; they were inside anyway. The servant girl remained rooted to the spot, her already wide eyes widening further while she silently surveyed the room. Her lips parted in mute surprise and appreciation for the beauty of luxurious things.

Gabrielle withheld a snicker at Pax's reaction as she approached her armoire, loosening knotted ties and starting to slip out of her dress. "Make yourself at home," she said, shrugging out of the sleeves, "It's more your home than mine, anyway."

"M-My lady," Pax exclaimed softly, still in awe of the beautiful room as she stumbled over to her mistress, "Please, let me help you."

Gabrielle batted at the girl's hands, gesturing her away with a flick of the wrist. "I can dress myself," she explained, pulling the dress down over her hips before stepping out of it, leaving her in her subligar underwear and matching torso wrap. "I'm just putting on a chiton. You can help me tonight when I dress for supper."

Pax reluctantly gave the heiress her space. It was odd, being told to not do her job, and it left her feeling a bit useless. However, she quickly found a way to help as she stepped over to the armoire and pulled open the heavy wooden doors. She took a simple, ivory chiton off its hook and held it out to her mistress.

Smiling, Gabrielle nodded her thanks and let her dress drop to the floor before accepting the chiton. She promptly changed into it, clasping the simple broach near her collar bone that kept the draping fabric in place, then turned her attention to Pax. To her own embarrassment, the girl was staring at her quite shamelessly.

"What is it?" She asked, fidgeting a bit under the sudden inspection.

"Oh, n-nothing!" Pax replied, shaking her head, "It's just... you look very pretty. Your chiton is very becoming of you." It was true; the heiress's light blonde hair and soft, jade colored eyes were in lovely contrast to the plain white of the garb, causing the young woman's features to stand out.

Gabrielle swallowed back the self-conscious lump in her throat and forced a smile. "Thank you," she replied politely, fighting off the urge to curtsy to her own servant so that she could take her leave. Instead, she merely spun around and headed for her bath room; it was a small room attached to the guest bedroom, separated by a large, heavy tapestry over the doorway.

Remembering the heiress's not-so-wonderful reaction to the Conqueror's blood bath, Pax nearly smacked her herself on the forehead. Of course! Her mistress probably still felt disgusted. "Would you like me to prepare some soaps for your basin, my lady?"

The heiress gave a quick nod. "Yes, that would be wonderful." Gabrielle let the archway tapestry fall shut behind her as she disappeared into the bathing room.

It didn't take long for Pax to fetch some soaps and ready some warm water for her mistress, and once Gabrielle had washed up, they lounged around on some throw pillows in the bath room, laughing and talking like old friends. Despite Pax's constant social blunders, Gabrielle was still such an easy going person to be around. The servant girl found herself feeling like an equal in her presence. She was sure, even during the short time she'd known Gabrielle, that she'd found a true friend for the very first time.

The hypogeum was a dark, dank place that could easily drive a person to permanent despair. Between the almost complete lack of lighting and the constant screams of men and animals alike, it was the last place that even the most seasoned warrior would want to be. Slave masters could be heard heckling prisoners, sounds that were more often than not followed by the ominous crack of a whip. Metal cages were being slammed open and closed, echoing with fearful finality along the mold-encrusted stone hallways.

Some of the conscious, more restless gladiators watched with passing interest as four slave masters entered. The first two dragged a lifeless corpse into the confines of the hypogeum, and the grated gate cranked shut with the help of an oversized lever. The other two slave masters were laughing and joking with one another, their gravelly voices and barking laughs comparable only to grinding rocks and bone.

"... believe ev'n our best men could no' handle 'is lit'le one, eh? An' here we come in an' sweep 'er off 'er feet wi' no trouble a'dall!" Came the first voice, belonging to a short, stocky man known for his outlandish accent and disregard for rules.

"If this tramp is anything, she ain't little," growled one of the slave masters lugging the groaning woman along.

"Yeh, but still. You saw wha' she did t' those fella's," the stocky man went on, tossing his bundled whip from one calloused hand to the other conversationally, "Crushed 'em like insec's, jus' fer fun."

"She was protecting herself, wasn't she?" Asked a third slave master, a greenhorn fresh on the job.

"Yeh, bu' she loved it," the stocky slave master replied with a toothy grin, gesturing toward a particular cage as they neared it, "She woulda' crushed 'em insec's whether they was after 'er 'r not."

The first two slave masters dragged the body closer to the cage, allowing the fourth man to go forward with a set of keys. He unlocked the heavy door, ignoring the look of hatred directed at him from the one imprisoned gladiator already inside, and he craned his head toward the opening. Without an ounce of hesitance, the slave masters slung the lifeless body into the cage and slammed the metal door shut behind her, promptly locking it with a quick grind of the key. The Conqueror's long limbs flopped precariously, and her cheek scraped against the moist grit in a rough, abrading skid.

"You think she'll be a gladiator now?" Asked the newest slave master as the four men started walking away from the cage, making their way down the noisy hallways of the hypogeum.

The stocky one snorted with harsh laughter. "Nah," he replied, "Too dang'rous. Caesar'll prob'ly jus' execute 'er. Drop o' the axe, y'see." He made a chopping motion toward his own neck with the side of his hand, smirking obscenely as the men disappeared around a corner, their voices fading against the constant cries echoing about the hypogeum.

One gladiator, now sharing a cage with the Conqueror, stared at the unmoving body with trepidation, and perhaps even a hint of curiosity. He was sitting on the far side of the caged-in alcove of stone, his back leaning against the wall, and his elbows resting on propped-up knees. Though she wasn't moving, he could see the ragged rise and fall of her chest. Craning his head to the side so that he could see her face, which was half implanted in the ground, he caught a glimpse of eyelashes moving as she blinked. Alive and conscious, but content to remain in an odd, half-twisted position on the dirty ground, it seemed.

He glanced toward the hallways outside of the cage, checking to see if anyone was paying attention, then moving onto his hands and knees, slowly crawling his way toward her as he hoped to get a better look at the notorious Destroyer of Nations.

Julius Caesar found that, even after all his time in power, he was still quite accustomed to the dank and dirty world of slavery and imprisonment. Even now, as he made his way through the hypogeum's inner most corridors, the grim atmosphere and gut-wrenching cries of tortured beasts did not disturb him in the slightest. Praetorian guards flanked his advance with practiced endeavor, the marching of their military issue boots crunching against the ground with rhythmic iteration.

A relaxed, albeit determined look was etched into his features as he rounded a corner and neared Xena's cage. He knew she would have been thrown there after the fight several hours ago, and he was not disappointed. Caesar stepped up to the cage with an air of smugness, his eyes falling on the huddled figure in the back, then to the lifeless corpse off to the side. His brows rose in a high arch as he realized the corpse was a gladiator. His head had been crushed, presumably against the now bloody smudge on the wall, and his body was crumpled on the ground with dark, dried blood pooled around his smashed in skull.

Caesar's gaze drifted over to Xena, who was hugging her knees to her chest, quivering against the cold, dank air.

"Really?" He said with exasperation, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Xena, who, up until now, had exhibited no signs of even knowing that Caesar was present, replied evenly, "He looked at me." She gave a simple, one-shouldered shrug, finally looking up to meet his gaze with loathing. Even now- her body beaten, dehydrated, and possibly suffering from hypothermia- she was proud. Of course, he would never openly admit that he rather liked that.

Caesar allowed himself a close-mouthed, airy simper, his relaxed posture moving closer to the cage. He was no stranger to the outright hatred flowing from her icy hot gaze, directed right at him; every inch of her loathing him for his very existence and everything he'd done between betraying her and aiding in her downfall. He was certain it wasn't temperature making her tremble so vehemently.

It was then that he decided to get to the point. "I have a proposition for you, Xena," he drawled in a bored tone, fingers reaching out to gently graze the moist, rusted metal bars. "One that you can't refuse."

"I don't want your deals," she spat, baring her teeth like a wild animal. "I want you dead."

"But Xena," he said with a slow, crawling smirk, "I can give you the next best thing: Cassius."

At the mention of her victor, her eyes smoldered with a new fire. It was as if Caesar had taken a very sharp stick and stoked the coals that lay burning beneath the intense hatred in her twisted soul. Her body tensed, ready for action, quivering more violently now; her hands wrenched in painful spasms, and Caesar was sure he could name at least two people those hands were longing to throttle.

Too proud to ask him to continue, she instead stared at him with a new attention- enraptured and barely suppressing a growl in the back of her throat. Caesar couldn't help but take note of how alarming she looked; pale, blue eyes burning against the rusted red of the dried blood that caked her countenance, dark hair slicked back with sweat and blood, darkening splotches of future bruises spreading across every exposed inch of her. To put it kindly, she looked rather _demonic_.

He smiled. "As I said, Xena," he went on, his dark eyes peering through the bars with a demonic sheen of his own, "This is an offer you simply _can't_ refuse."

/¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯\  
_To be continued...  
__\_/_


End file.
