Xena:
The battle is over. I lost.
Ares was right. He told me years ago that he was my destiny. Ares created my destiny. He sent Cortese to raze Amphipolis, forcing me to become a warrior. He showed me how to fight, and made me just like him. How proud I must have made him! He followed me to Caesar's cross. He accepted my vow of vengeance and followed me to Ch'in. No wonder Lao Ma failed to save me.
No…that's unfair. She did save me. It just took a lot longer than she hoped.
When Hercules showed me a better way to live, Ares was there, too. He wouldn't allow me to find my own destiny. Was it Ares who bound my destiny to his? Or was it some prank of the Fates?
Ares was right. In this life there is no redemption for me. I can never be free of the past. The monster he created in me was too strong. And now, by my own hand, Ares is my destiny for eternity.
No one told me the true power of the Eye of Hephaestus. Had I known, would I have done anything differently? I don't think so. There's an irony in what imprisons Ares that I would have appreciated in my anger.
The irony is this: the Eye cannot hold him there. He is a god. The Eye holds his spirit, his godhood, not his body. If Ares has the courage, he can walk out of that temple at any time. But he'll leave as a mortal, vulnerable and weak. I know he will never take that risk. Ares is trapped by his own cowardice. He would rather wait, hoping that someday, someone will free him and he can leave there as a god again.
My spirit is trapped there with his. What left that place is but a shell, my mind, my memories, nothing more. One day, perhaps soon, I will die. I have already lived longer than anyone would have predicted. What will happen to me after death? I do not know. I suspect I'll never cross the Styx into Hades, never see the Elysian fields. Perhaps I'll know the oblivion that Callisto sought. Another irony.
The monster Ares created was his undoing. His fire is gone from the world. Fire…the gift of Prometheus to mankind. Properly controlled, fire is essential to life. Without it, no mortal would survive. But allowed to burn unchecked, fire brings only destruction and death. That is why Ares had to be chained. The fires of war would one day have destroyed the world.
I have no regrets.
The raging flood of vengeance brought me to this. Whatever is left to me I accept.
I live. I wait. I remember.
And, finally, I can grieve.
Leipephile:
The age of heroes is over.
The bards keep the tales alive. The voyage of the Argonauts, the Labours of Hercules, great deeds done during the siege of Troy. But there are no new tales, and the great men and women who performed those deeds are gone. Once I wanted to be one of them. Now I know better. I have done my share of good in this world, but it takes more than great deeds to make a hero.
The age of heroes is over.
Hercules. Dead at the scene of his greatest triumph. Some bards say he became a god and joined his father, Zeus on Mount Olympus. A tale of hope. When I hear it told that way, I do not correct them.
Iolaus. Last of the Argonauts, companion and closest friend of Hercules. He has been dead twenty years, and I still miss him. His stories were my greatest inspiration when I was a child. Iolaus was a true hero, a true friend. His name lives on wherever the old tales are told, forever linked with that of his friend. And I will never forget him.
Xena. She was greater than all of them, in some ways. Her courage truly did change the world. Xena defeated the evil of Dahak, she destroyed the evil goddess Callisto. And she defeated Ares. Yet in a few generations, no one will remember her. It was her wish that people forget: Xena said that if men knew her story, knew what really happened in the temple at Pella, someone might be able to free Ares from his tomb. She is right. Gabrielle's tales will be preserved, but on parchment in a secret place, not in the mouths of bards. Truly, Xena's tale has no ending. In many ways, I think she died in Ares' temple, all those years ago. No one will ever know what she sacrificed to imprison the god of war there. Xena would never speak of it, and she was never quite the same after that day.
Gabrielle. Her heroism was of a different kind. Through her stories she created a legend, and a legacy that will live on. She taught me what a hero is: not a great warrior, but someone, anyone, who is willing to do what they can to serve the greater good. For Xena, that meant fighting for good. For Hercules and Iolaus, it meant much more. For Gabrielle, in the end, it meant not fighting.
Gabrielle ensured that the legacy of these heroes was an age of peace. Hercules and Xena had defeated the god of war. During the years I lived with the Amazons, Gabrielle made certain their legacy would endure. She did not do it alone, but it was her words that inspired the many, many people who came together in her name. For forty years, Greece has known peace. There have been warlords, but they have never lasted, never succeeded in conquest. Enemies from abroad have fallen before the wars could even get started. I could even believe that the gods have been helping us.
I am old, now, and not long for this world. I have worked hard to maintain the legacy of my parents, but now I must pass that duty to others. Last year I returned to Ares' temple. It is mostly rubble now, overgrown with weeds. Somewhere beneath those ruined stones, the God of War sleeps. May he sleep forever. No one will disturb his slumber. The temple doors are sealed, and many obstacles stand in the path of anyone foolish enough to intrude.
It is written that only Xena can free him. Gods grant that be true.
The age of heroes is over.
They live in tales, and in memory. Tonight, I wonder, for how much longer? The things we fought for will live on. But if no one remembers the fight, how long will it be before it all begins again?
Ares:
The centuries pass slowly in my tomb.
I have watched the gods of Olympus fall, replaced by newer, invented gods. Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite…all of them are powerless now, remembered only as myth. Their temples are dust and no one sacrifices to them any more.
I wonder if Xena realised she was doing me a favour when she imprisoned me here. I am still a god and this world still knows War. My powers are waiting, just beyond my reach, for me to reclaim them. And when I do, there will be no other gods to prevent me claiming the world. My way.
From my barren tomb I have watched great leaders come and go. For a time, I turned my focus toward Rome. Caesar after Caesar: generals worthy of my favour. What delicious slaughter I have seen through their eyes! Eventually, as it had to, their empire became decadent and crumbled into dust. An age of chaos dawned. In the south the races of men slaughtered each other in the names of false gods and prophets. To the north men fought for land, and others slaughtered for power, and for fun. It was beautiful to watch.
I was almost freed in those years, when the slaughter passed over the place where I lie. Each warrior's lust for the kill, each agonised death, each drop of blood spilled upon the ground added to my power and I almost broke free.
Almost. Still I lie here. Entombed by my warrior princess.
The memory of her magnificence is blinding now. The things we could have achieved together! The battles we could have fought!
Ah, Xena, Xena, why did you fight me? Why deny the destiny for which you were born? I would have given you the world, Xena. The whole world.
Centuries have passed.
How long have I slept? There has been a time of peace, but these mortals cannot maintain it. Ah, how this world has changed! Their weapons are more deadly than ever, and they will become even more so. And their leaders! Ah, what glorious slaughter in the name of the greater good! I watch with interest as a new leader rises in a nation embittered by defeat. He has great potential. This man will start a war that will encompass the entire world.
I watch. I wait. Soon I shall be free. And this world will tremble before the force of my name.
I am Ares, God of War.
The crack of a gunshot broke the silence of the tomb, echoing through chambers undisturbed for thousands of years, disturbing the restless sleep of the god. He stirred, and the torches burst into life once more, ready for him to awaken.
Voices. Unfamiliar, unknown.
"What did I tell you? This place is cursed!" A man's voice, bravado masking fear.
"There are no curses," a woman's voice argued. "This was obviously a case of dormant embers being hit by oxygen, resulting in spontaneous combustion."
The listening god smiled to himself. A sceptic. This just might be fun.
"Embers don't lie dormant for thousands of years," the man pointed out. He seemed to have a talent for stating the obvious. "It's obviously some sort of curse."
A curse, little man? Ares thought to himself, as the nervous intruder continued to babble. You have no idea. There was a third person with them, a woman, and there was something familiar about her presence…what was it? She was as frightened as the man, her mind was weak, yet there was something…
The sound of a slap. "Pull yourself together, man!" the woman snapped.
And then a new voice, stern, threatening. "Enough games. I want the scrolls and the chakram. Now."
Three more intruders had entered the chamber. Two of them were armed, but…Ares frowned in disgust. They weren't warriors. They weren't even soldiers, just lackeys. Cowardice filled their hearts. He examined the third man…no potential there, either. He was a thief, motivated by greed, without even the courage to fight his own battles. What had become of humanity?
But what had the man said? The chakram! Then it was here, at last! The thief held part of it, that oddly familiar woman carried the other half. Xena! That was why she was so familiar! She was descended from Xena! And she was about to refuse to hand over the chakram.
Ares exerted his will, and shoved the woman forward. She stumbled, pulled forward now toward the thief. The two halves of the chakram touched… and merged. The sudden bolt of energy released by their merging illuminated the chamber briefly.
"Mel!" The first woman called out in fearful concern.
Ares had other things on his mind, however. As the key came together for the first time in over two thousand years, the lock, the Eye of Hephaestus, began to respond. Feeling some of his power come back to him at last, Ares reached up and opened the door that had kept him imprisoned. He sat up, and looked around him. "Ah, that feels good!"
He rose out of the tomb and stared at them. "I've been expecting you," he told their shocked faces. "Welcome! To the prison that has held me for centuries." Mortals! They had no idea who he was.
The thief appeared to recover his senses a little at that. He scrambled clumsily to his feet. "Excuse me, my good fellow. I think you'll find this tomb is mine."
My good fellow? Just who did this insolent dog think he was? Well, if he wants this tomb, he can have it. Ares smiled evilly. "Go ahead," he said smoothly, spreading his arms in mock-surrender. "Take your best shot."
The thief puffed up with arrogance. He spoke two words to the lackeys at his side. "Eliminate him."
Both lackeys raised their weapons. Ares let them fire, just long enough to get the hang of how these new weapons worked. With a gesture, he froze both guns. With another gesture, he turned the two lackeys toward each other. Oh, this was too easy! Ares released their weapons. Both men died. Wonderful! What incredible weapons they have in this world!
The thief was a little less arrogant now. "Who are you?" he asked Ares.
Enjoying himself, now, Ares told him: "I'm the last sight you'll ever see." He created a dagger on the spot and threw it at the thief. That worked well, so he threw another. And another.
The thief looked down at his chest, muttered "My god…" and died.
You got that right. Ares turned his gaze onto the others. The man rose slowly, taking what Ares assumed was supposed to be a warrior's stance. "Fear not, ladies. I will not go down without a fight."
Ares stared at him calmly. The man was terrified. All bravado.
"Did I not tell you that I was captain of the boxing team in my division?"
And a liar, to boot. His mind was as transparent as his fake courage. Ares took a quick peek and learned everything he needed to know. "Oh, please." Ares sneered. "Does a brush salesman from New Jersey think he can defeat the god of war?"
"Ares," the blonde woman said grimly. She was obviously the brains of this trio. It was good to know that after two thousand years they still knew his name. Then she looked up at the man. "Brush salesman? How did you find out about the scrolls?"
Oh, this was too rare! Now Ares recognised who they were. "My guess," he interjected, "from a family tradition passed down from ancient times."
"You're related to Xena?" the blonde said to the man.
"No." Ares laughed. That image was a good one. "Not to Xena." The pathetic man was of Joxer's line. Though how that sorry excuse for a man had ever managed to reproduce was a mystery.
But enough of the small talk. "For thousands of years my spirit has been trapped in this tomb waiting for someone to claim the chakram and make it whole. Now I am flesh again."
"What do you want from us?" the woman asked.
"A simple favour. It is written that only a descendant of Xena can release me back into the world." Written by her bard, Gabrielle, that only the bitch who trapped me here can let me out again. "I want out."
"I'm a descendant of Xena," the blonde realised, proudly. Defiantly she said, "You can forget it, Ares. The world doesn't need any more of you."
"Silly girl," Ares chuckled at her mistake. "I don't need you."
Ares shoved the blonde out of his way as he moved to stand over the one he did need: the dark-haired woman lying on the ground. The descendant of Xena. "It's time, Melinda." The god reached into her mind with a subtle thread of his will. "Release me," he ordered. His voice was seductive, undeniable. "I'll regain all my powers. My godhood. If the world thinks it knows death and destruction now, wait 'til they get a load of me!" He was exultant. This woman's mind was putty in his hands. She would release him, and then…nothing could stop him.
The woman rose slowly, lifting a sword that lay — had lain for centuries — on the ground nearby. She twirled the sword in her hand as she turned to face him, the expression on her face, in those determined blue eyes, very familiar to him. Holding the hilt in both hands, she raised the sword before her eyes.
And in that moment, Ares felt his hold on her mind melt away.
"Think again, Ares," Xena said.
The prequel to this story, and Morgan's other HTLJ Fan Fiction can be found at http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Studio/9490/