Xena: Warrior Princess and Gabrielle are characters belonging to Studios USA/Network MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement was intended. No money was made.
This story contains explicit descriptions of male/female and non-consensual sexual relations.
You can read more of ann's work at her fan fiction site Adventures with Xena: Warrior Princess.
Feedback welcome at email@example.com
Searing The Wounds: Part One
February 20, 1999 © Ann Logan
For three years, I've existed as a proficient sheep and goat rancher. Some villagers from a half-day away, bring me their ill. Shepherd, they say, is the finest healer. (I think it's more my lax to say no.) My days as a widower have marched to my purpose. I've been a man unto myself until an event from last winter.
I struggled through eight days of snowing (the worst, I've known in all my thirty-two years). It was early evening, though it had been dark most of the day. As I huddled by a modest fireplace, I sipped the liquid from a hot bowl of lamb stew. A tall warrior burst through my door.
The first, I noted, was her blood-stained sword dangling at her side. My tardy palm indicated a bubbling pot dangling in the fireplace.
"Take what you wish," I said, quickly standing. "I'm called Shepherd."
I sat my bowl on the hearth. My dagger hid on the back of my boot. The female warrior stepped closer, easing a protective narrow brow.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
The amber flickers from my fire caught her crystal gaze. She was a half-hand taller than I, maybe fifty pounds lighter. Her black-bear cloak matched her long raven braid. A northerner, like me, I figured. With her next staggering step, her sword raised swiftly. My chest held my breath captive.
"I mean you no harm," I yelled, moving my hand to snatch my dagger.
The warrior woman dropped her sword then she fell on her side. In haste, I shut my door, blocking my nearest escape. She muttered something indistinguishable. Kneeling beside her, I rolled her body on her back.
"What ails you?" I asked.
"Got to go," she said.
Her fluttering eyelids were wind-worn. Striking regal cheeks were blemished with soot. From a variety of slits in her bearskin cloak, I knew she had engaged an overwhelming battle.
"Warrior," I said.
I took heed to inspect further. Were she aware of my dagger, I'd be dead on the floor. The bear cloak lifted easy, save a glued area by the top of her right shoulder. With my boot dagger, I cut around the afflicted patch, tossing the remaining cloak aside. Her neck was filled with large finger-size bruises. In her hand-to-hand battle, she must have been skilled to outwit a monster.
At first, I saw dried blood clinging to the patch under her right shoulder. There was a swollen purple mound, suggesting a deep stab-wound. Then, I squinted at her prolonged athletic arm covered with flaking blood clots. She must have engaged several antagonists. I glanced at her bloody sword, silvery white along its razor edges. Maybe a larger group gave chase. Her long legs were clammy and pale. She had lost much blood, seeking shelter.
"From whom are you hiding?" I shouted. "From where?"
Being gentle, I grabbed a folded blanket to rest beneath her head. Then, I heated a pot of water, laying the tip of her sword in white charcoals. The storm rocked my hut, which couldn't have been easy to find. While the warrior slept, I continued my cordial exam. She wore a thick leather tunic with an intricate display of silver-shielding. I didn't seek to add further pains yet needed to reveal any hidden maladies.
She didn't flinch. I stripped the garments then brought them to a laundry barrel in the den. Returning to the living room, I removed the stew pot to the hearth and thought to add extra wood to warm the room. The fire spit crackles landing on my palm. I shook my hand, blowing the annoyance.
She moaned unconsciously then said, "Go back."
"Who?" I asked.
She sustained in sleep. Her nudity was a dreamer's fantasy, true-born. Over the mantel, I took a small oil lantern then lit it to enlighten my view. The woman warrior's rhythmic respiration heaved fulsome silky breasts slightly parted to the sides. Beyond the patched shoulder, I looked for other injury to amend. The lamp shook in my anxious hand. She was so beautiful. Save a few bruises about her taut thighs, her satiny skin flowed chest to toe.
My eyes gazed upon her rosebud nipples raised to the coldness of my room. Despite my shame, I caressed the sensitive tips. She felt hot-blooded like the wiles of my departed wife. I caressed in larger circles, feeding youthful urges my wife had adored about myself.
A slight moan leaked from the warrior's lips. "Gabrielle," she whispered. "Is that you?"
I sat back, ashamed. My wife, this woman was not. Glancing at the fireplace, I saw her long sword was glowing crimson. She had lost enough energy already. I snatched the sword then straddled her torso.
"May Mercy," I prayed, "flow upon these hands."
Ripping off the shoulder patch, I waited for fresh red rivulets. Then, I pressed the burning cusp. Flesh sizzled as the wound seared. Using my weight I rode the warrior lurching. Her jaw opened then closed. Only her crystal eyes cried to me, a brief moment. Then she gazed at the sword, absorbing my medical act. When she collapsed, I rolled off, lifting the sword and grabbing the lamp.
"You are safe, Warrior."
I jogged outside the door, piercing her sword in an ice mound. Steam minced with the blizzard winds. My worst was done. I raised my lamp to study bluish terrain. Dragged tracks barely showed in the south. In the east, flowing snowhills blocked view of the ocean. Judging from my last foot-tracks, I needed to shovel a new tunnel to the woodshed. But first, the warrior.
I retracted the sword, inspecting its decorative handle. This warrior held stature, at one time. Swooping her blade, I felt its marvelous balance then strolled inside. The warrior had traveled overseas, an Amazon perhaps. I closed the door on heckling whirlwinds of snow. Amazons hold the art of traveling sand without print. Why not snow, as this one did?
Her face glowed in peaceful repose. Grabbing a small ceramic basin, I added tannin-soap and hot water, then crept to her. If she were Amazon, where were her followers? Kneeling beside her, I buffed the tannin-bar against a damp cloth then wrung dripping suds to my woodplank floor.
"You are a foolish woman."
I scrubbed burnt grime from her forehead. She didn't stir, no surprise. Using a rinsing cloth floating in the basin, I removed the soap foam sliding across her regal cheek, so soft and proud. Repeating the cycle, I progressed down her chest.
"I hope I'm not hurting you."
"Mm," she said, unconsciously.
I waited a moment, holding the damp cloth against her stomach. Then, I proceeded with a lighter hand.
"Mm, yes," she said.
I gazed at her feminine triangle, curly black velvet. Oh, what a boldness I suffered. Taking the sudsy cloth, I stroked gentle circles about the area. She moaned with a tone that carried through me. Switching to a rinse cloth, I braved my hand to wash between her feminine cleft.
Softly, I whispered, "I should be done, shortly, Warrior."
Her legs parted slightly while her right hand reached for her stomach then fell. Something I never expected from her weakness. I took care to tread slower with the rinsing cloth. Salt dripped from my lip.
She cooed, "Yes, there."
By Cupid, I wanted to spend the pressure pushing within the confines of my trousers. I squeezed the moisture dripping to the floor.
"Yes," she said, slowly.
I sat back and drew a calming breath. I would not be as him, the baseless slave-trader who annihilated my wife in every way. This was another woman in peril. This time my hands were not fastened like a dog to a tree.
Wringing a soapy cloth, I started at her shoulder, carefully washing dried grime from the purple mound. It was torturous, soaping and stroking her vast milky curves while she moaned in pleasure.
"Mm, more," she cooed.
"Stop, that," I said.
I wrung the rinse cloth repeatedly as if to choke my masculine tautness. Laying the washcloth on her supple breasts, I pictured a horse just buffed to a shine. The warrior moaned longer than before.
"Stop," I cried.
I tossed the wash cloth then raked my fingers across my scalp. The warrior shifted. I glanced down as her eyes opened, listlessly.
"Who?" she whispered.
Her thin gaze drew pleasure at the sight of someone she must be seeing in my place. With my features, save the kindness of my wife, no sane woman found lust.
"Rest," I whispered. "All is safe, friend."
"Thank you," she said so velvet like a mating lark.
"You are very welcome."
I smiled to encourage her peaceful gloat. A blank sleep soon befell her mystery eyes holding tales I wanted to hear. Rushing my task to wash, I stared at the woman, my patient, then carried her to my bed.
Several blankets warmed her nakedness, too strong a beauty to ignore. Quietly, I crept outside, for the comfort of the cold, shriveling my yearning. Then, I shoveled a new tunnel to my woodshed (I could have shoveled a new path to Troy). If a snow mound blocks the door, we will inevitably freeze, starve or suffocate.
Since the storm's onset, I've kept practice to sleep by my fire, my warmth and duty. It was easy to lose my thoughts in the dancing flames. My wife loved those moments we once shared. I starkly recall the sight of my hands tossing dirt to bury her lifeless smile. She would have shared a son with me that summer. That harsh summer, three years ago. How foolish I've become, replaying this accursed memory.
Adding another log to the blaze, I heard the warrior woman cry out. It was too early for that reaction. Lighting a small oil lamp, I crept into the bed room. Still under the blankets, she slept deeply. Ah-ha, another dreamer! Her face glowed like an angel enduring her torments within. I palmed her warm cheeks, no fever. Any vitals after enduring a seared wound is a good sign.
She yelled, "Gabrielle!"
I nearly stunk my trousers, leaping back. Good, I thought, she doesn't need me anymore. Her struggle would continue for days and nights. What would I do when she awoke? Going back to the fire, my mischief offered an answer.
"Really thank me?" I asked. "Let me enjoy the many ways."
I reclined on a sleeping blanket, gazing at the flames. As my safeguards dropped, my daydreams began:
It was the night rewritten. My door burst open with her storming inside. As I gazed into her vague crystal eyes, her bloody sword raised to my throat.
She ordered, "Take off your clothes."
I removed my woolen garments, standing naked in my living room. She wouldn't hide her wanton study, as some women prefer to do. No, she'd stare at all I was, as if I were all she wished. Then, she'd toss off her cloak, still holding her long silvery sword to my throat.
"Be still," she'd whisper. "Lest you find my harshness."
She'd lower her weapon, then drop it aside. With wide calculated strides, she'd neared my vulnerable body. Her licked lips would press firmly against my own. Oh the splendor of my rising my manhood!
She'd kneel. Yes, the mighty would kneel to please me.
My door creaked open letting the storm swirl within my home. Snatching the warrior's sword, I faced the intruder who froze in place.
"Who goes there?" I shouted.
A young women said, "I'm not armed."
I lit a small lantern then stepped closer. She was a small woman covered in snow. Shaking her shoulders, she dusted off her beige hooded cloak and pushed the door closed.
"My name is Gabrielle," she said.
Cautiously, she peeled back her hood. I was pleased to match her friendly grin.
"Are you alone?" I asked.
She was a flaxen-hair youth of twenty years, shivering from the harsh trek she had taken. Her bluish cheeks held brief dimples and a rosy narrow nose that twitched for a hint of a free meal.
"I see," I said. "Help yourself to my stew."
Slipping off her cape, she revealed a blue long-sleeve frock. A leather satchel draped from her shoulder. She patted its bottom.
"I'll gladly pay for lodging."
I lowered the weapon, resting the lamp on an oval meal table.
"It's very cold."
I retreated to a chair kept by the fire. The little woman tested each step, moving to a clean bowl on my mantle. As she served herself stew, I wondered about her story. She didn't carry a dagger. Her boots were common in Argos. Maybe she was a deceit.
"I'm looking for a friend," she said. "A warrior princess."
She sat by the fire, slurping her stew while warming her fanny. Her eyes repeatedly glanced at the sword I held on my lap. She had seen it before.
"She's been calling for you," I said. "I dressed her wounds and . . ."
Gabrielle snatched my lamp and abandoned her meal, rushing around my cottage till she found my bedroom. I followed slowly with the sword. Now on the bed stand, my lamp illuminated Gabrielle surveying her sleeping friend.
In the small of Gabrielle's left-hand, I spotted an Amazon tattoo. The hurt warrior woman had none. I leaned on the doorway. A mixed-matched friend or a well-planned vendetta?
Gabrielle never glanced to judge my proximity. She stroked her friend's hair.
"Are you a friend of Xena's?" she asked.
"We are strangers," I said.
Tears glistened a small canal down her cheeks. I saw her kiss beside the seared wound on her friend's shoulder. I smiled in remembrance of my wife's tender gestures. No, I won't do this to myself. I watched Gabrielle whispering to her friend. How close a friend could she be?
The little one removed the covers on the warrior's cleansed bodice. The fulsome breasts heaved under the lamp light. With large brown eyes, Gabrielle gazed at me, pulling ties of her blue garment and letting it fall.
Her youthful skin glistened in a perfect feminine silhouette. She turned to the warrior opening her sparkling gaze. Slowly, their fingers twined in a brief hello. Then Xena kissed the little one's lips, gingerly on the corners, then sustained to absorb as much as she could.
With a swift roll, Xena pinned Gabrielle on my bed. Her suckling lips nestled Gabrielle's neck then descended to her pouting breast. I stepped closer to enjoy Xena's teasing skill on the flowering virgin.
Xena said to me, "Don't keep us waiting."
I fumbled out of my clothes. Gabrielle's sparkling green eyes floated in a flood of sensual pleasure.
"Are you all right?" Gabrielle asked.
I awoke from my daydreaming, still leaning at the door. Gabrielle sat on her open grey cape set on the floor beside the bed. She was clothed in her blue long sleeve frock, staring at me while holding Xena's hand.
"Why do you ask?"
"You were growling or something," she said.
I kept in the shadow of the doorway. "I was thinking, you might prefer my spare room, Gabrielle."
"Xena's my responsibility now."
"When she wakes, she'll step on you," I said.
The little woman chuckled like a tuneful child. "I've survived worse," she said. Then, Gabrielle gazed at me, briefly squinting. I turned my back to hide my arousal.
"Are you alone here?"
Sidestepping out, I said, "Be back in a moment, Gabrielle."
Hurrying outside, I let winter calm my wicked wiles. Then I strolled to an extra bed chamber, fetching three knit blankets from dusty shelves. In the middle of the floor, stacks of flour, legunds and seed partially covered a new trap to the slave-trader's escape tunnel. Snow billowed up from the cracks in the floor. The other side was opened to the sea.
I added more grain bags to disguise the trap. A private escape is not something to share with strangers. Despite their collective enchantment, Xena and Gabrielle would be free to roam my home. Where can they come from?
When I returned with blankets, Gabrielle snored twice as deep as her friend. She was curled on her side, determined to be the warrior's comfort. I left the blankets by her feet then crept into the living area. Sunrise wouldn't matter if this storm was the same as days before. I periodically woke to keep snow mounds from blocking my way. No more strangers were coming. Gabrielle's trail was long buried.
Lying by my fireplace, I felt like a dog I had wished to fill in this place. But, how would I survive his death any more than others? No dogs. I folded my arms to cradle my head. It was best to be alone. It was easier to be less comfy yet often too silent. I itched my scalp and turned on my side. Foolish waste of ideas, these self-pity taunts.
My eyelids danced with the murky view of crackling flames. Even as I guessed sunrise, the wintry gusts rocked the walls facing the ocean. I yielded to my dreams:
First through the doorway, the warrior woman quickly shed her bearskin cloak. By her order, I stripped then waited. She was dressed in layers of colorful veils floating across the room. I leered at her progressive striptease.
Her shoulders emerged bare, unscathed and soft. Tossing the last veil, she revealed a raven web-like frock barely covering her black feminine triangle. Her wild eyes were dark and sparkling, fixed on me, her prey.
The door flew open and the second figure strolled inside. Wearing a spring gown, Gabrielle slightly blushed as she viewed my sleeping manhood. She didn't shy as virgins should. Raising in confidence, she smiled that smile, she shared before.
"What is to be done with me?" I asked.
The warrior ordered, "Kneel."
I grinned in defiance. The little one circled to my back. Her petite fingers smoothed the horizon of my stocky shoulders then glided within my straight brown hair, gently stroking all with small unpredictable circles. She watched for cues from Xena and stopped.
Xena kneeled before me, using her skillful fingers to probe my thighs and buttocks for the sensitive regions. As Gabrielle rejoined her tender message, a rich groan escaped my building craves. The warrior licked a tender circle about my navel, then suckled and teased with nibbling teeth.
"Do it," I said.
Gripping my buttocks, the warrior held me firmly. Her lips hovered over my pressured organ. I felt her hot breath moistening my hungered pubic realm. Then, her slender tongue toyed with my testicle hairs.
"Do it!" I shouted.
My penis stretched with pangs for affection. Yet, Xena playfully teased around it. My body quaked with adrenaline fervor.
"By the gods," I said.
"Not yet," Gabrielle said.
Pulling me to my knees, Gabrielle snatched my thirsty kisses. The warrior pushed me further to the floor. Her tongue lagging along my shaft. Oh, what a team! Holding Xena's shoulders, I squeezed to be pleased.
"Xena!" I cried in desperation.
"Patience," Xena said.
She moved from me to Gabrielle whose soft thick hair tickled my face. As Xena pulled her back to share a kiss, I watched Gabrielle's bare pink chest emerge from her pulled garments. Xena guided her lower for my tongue to stretch Gabrielle's pert crimson nipples.
"Shepherd," Gabrielle said, instantly awaking me.
Thank the gods, I was buried under my blankets. "What is it, Gabrielle?"
"Xena doesn't sound good," she said. "I tried arrowroot but still she wheezes."
I charged to see my patient for myself. Though the covers were pulled, Xena perspired heavily. The bedding was soaked. I checked the seared wound with a baked scar holding firm.
Gabrielle said, "Pathos' guardians, Xena fought out of an ambush."
I looked for a second reason for this new infection. Turning the warrior's head, I spied a dark scratch at the edge of her hair line.
"Fetch my lamp," I said.
Gabrielle hurried the lamp then dashed again for filled wash basin and clean linen. Using my dagger, I gently shaved a small section, finding a dart puncture. It was purple without discharge. Stepping back from the bed, I let Gabrielle wash the area. I tied a blanket around my neck.
"Is that what causes the fever?" she asked.
"Perhaps," I said. "If your friend is strong, she should be fine. Stand back."
Lifting the warrior, I marched outside, using the winds to cool the heated body. Gabrielle didn't need to know, I hadn't the remedies to counter dart poison. It was up to the gods to save the woman warrior. After a brief visit in winter, I returned Xena to the bedroom. Gabrielle wiped snow off her body. Gently, I rested Xena on to clean bedding then stood back. Gabrielle tucked the sheet corners. She seemed weary and depleted.
She whispered, "I'll keep watch of her."
Removing the cold blanket, I headed to the doorway, asking, "When she awakes, would not she be pleased to see your rested eyes of comfort?"
"I can't," she said, wavering. "Is there nothing more we can do?"
"Faith is an avid miracle, Gabrielle."
"What is your real name, Shepherd?"
I smiled at her beaming with curiosity. "My father named me after Thesis. But, I value many friendships with the local Amazons. One called me, Shepherd. It suits."
"Okay, Shepherd," she said. "I'm Amazon, too."
I left for my dreams to come back again.
Continue on to Part Two