FADE IN:

INT. WASHROOM. DAY.

Stepping out of the tub, Gabrielle winces as her feet make contact with the chilled floor. She grabs a piece of threadbare linen and starts to dry herself off, looking elsewhere as she does so, so as not to see what her body has become from months of misuse.

As dry as she can possibly make herself, she reaches for and dons her clothes, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric with the palms of her hands, and taking in a deep breath before releasing it as a weary, saddened sigh.

Taking a last look around the tiny room, she slings her pack over her shoulder and steps out into the dimly lit corridor, looking first left, then right, trying to decide on a direction. The scent of cooking food comes from the left, and though her stomach voices its displeasure, she turns in that direction, her promise to help these people spurring her on.

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN. DAY.

The kitchen is small and crowded with people who give her blank, and sometimes reproving, stares as she passes by. Though no one is outwardly rude, it’s obvious that she’s seen as just another unwelcome mouth to feed, and a foreign mouth at that.

The line moves forward, and she grabs a plate, holding it out as a washed out old woman ladles something undefinable onto it. At the end of the table are wooden mugs filled with cool water, and she grabs one, then shuffles away from the swarming mass of people, determined to find a quiet place to eat, but unsure where to find such a spot.

A hush falls over the room as a tall, thin, and dark man enters. He spots Gabrielle immediately and changes direction to come to her side.

AMUN
I am Amun, her Majesty’s advisor.
A space has been prepared for
you. If you will follow me,
I will take you to it.

GABRIELLE
(gratefully nodding)
Thank you.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BEDCHAMBERS. DAY.

The space is surprisingly large.  Even more surprisingly, it is empty. Ten pallets are laid in orderly rows along the floor. Gabrielle is sitting in the one farthest from the door, in a semi-lit corner, her gear spread around her.

Away from prying eyes, she lays her mostly full plate on the ground and forgets its presence as she reaches into her travel bag and pulls out her scroll and quill. Unfurling the scroll, she stares down at it, willing the words to come, but her mind refuses to issue them.

GABRIELLE
Great. Even my
muse has left me.

She slowly rerolls the scroll and places it carefully back in the bag. Her hand brushes against the urn that carries Xena’s ashes, and after a small pause, she lifts the urn from its confines and sets it in her lap, both hands cradling it protectively.

She stares down at for a long moment, lost in thought, before lifting her head and blinking away tears of fresh grief.

GABRIELLE
(whispering)
Xena?

(pausing)

I know, wherever you are,
you can hear my thoughts.
And I want you to know that
even though we’re not together
right now, I still love you

(beat)

with all my heart. And I miss you.
More than you will ever know.

A teardrop falls on the urn, marring its pristine black surface, and she brushes it away with a careful thumb.

GABRIELLE
(cont'd)
I know you might not understand
why I asked you to leave. I don’t
understand it myself, sometimes.
But I know that I need . . . this.
This time to be alone with my
thoughts. And my feelings.
And it hurts . . . so much.
But I know it’s for the best.

(agonizingly whispering)

It has to be.

She breaks down for a moment, then gathers herself with the inborn strength so characteristic of her.

GABRIELLE
(cont'd)
I remember once, a long time
ago, when you tried to teach me
about healing. And you told me
that I always had to remember
to remove a bandage gently,
because if I moved too harshly,
I would reopen the wound, and
it would take longer to heal.

(beat)

That’s what I am now, Xena.
An open wound.
And with you just . . . popping in
and out of my life like you were,
there was no way that wound could
heal. So I had to send you away, so
that I could heal. I only hope,
one day, you’ll understand.

Lifting the urn almost reverently, she places a gentle kiss on the lid, then cradles it against her cheek.

GABRIELLE
(cont'd)
Remember once when I told you about
there being two kinds of tears, Xena?
The kind for those who leave you, and the
kind for those you never let go? Well,
I mean those words now more than
ever. And I won’t say goodbye, Xena.
Because we’ll be together again.
One day.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MISTY LIMBO.

Xena turns and looks back and forth between the two choices. She takes a step toward darkness. Then she stops, a brow goes up and she looks over her shoulder at the light.

XENA
It can't be this easy.

(contemplating)

Choose wisely?

She looks back to the rock where she and the old man had been sitting.

XENA
(cont'd)
(questioningly)
Tries to hide from the light . . . .

She looks to the light.

XENA
(cont'd)
by seeking the darkness.
Of course, it's a test.
To find what I truly want,
the real answer is in the light.

With that she turns and walks toward the light. As she gets closer, it flashes.  It seems to envelop her and she disappears. Once she is gone, the light dims and grows black while the blackness grows brighter.

The stranger reappears and simply shakes his head as he looks first to the darkness that has swallowed Xena, then back at the now transformed bright light.

STRANGER
It was for the best, Xena.
(beat)
You know that in your heart.

INT. DEPTHS OF HELL.

From within the very depths of Hell, LUCIFER stands hunched over what appears to be a flat-topped rock, cackling with glee at whatever it is he’s seeing. Behind him, a heavy door opens with a loud squeal, and the sounds of footsteps echo in the cavern. He ignores the intrusion, and continues to look downward.

Hearing the voice, Lucifer spins, enraged. Xena is standing between two demons, looking listless and gaunt. Her eyes are soulless, dead, devoid of any emotion. Snarling her name, he flies across the room and grabs her around the neck, squeezing her throat with all of his strength.

Being a ghost, the maneuver isn't very effective against Xena, and, realizing this, he stops, but doesn't release her.

Xena smiles, though it’s devoid of humor.

Lucifer releases his grip on Xena and covers the place on his chest where his heart would be, if he had one.

Lucifer's laughter fills the cavern. He slides an arm around Xena’s shoulders, pleased when she doesn’t resist.

Lucifer releases his hold on Xena and crosses his arms over his belly, literally doubled over with laughter. Xena looks on, her face expressionless, as his mirth slowly plays itself out and he is able to straighten up once again.

INT. BEDROOM. MORNING.

With a gasp, Gabrielle sits up from her furs, panting.  Her body and hair are wet with sweat. Her eyes, large and frightened, dart around the darkened room until they come to rest on the urn which sits to her right near her head. Her stomach twists in revulsion as the last remains of her nightmare flow from her waking mind period.  It's the same one she’s had every night since Xena’s death.  Her nightmare joins with the present reality, which speaks to the truth of her dream.

She grits her teeth against a rage building within. A rage that urges her to smash that complacent, silent urn. To smash it and scatter its contents to the four winds so that she never need look upon it again and be reminded that her reality is far worse than her dreams could ever be.

Instead, she takes the urn and pulls it to her in an almost desperate embrace as she wills her breathing to calm and her thoughts to quiet.

She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Her expression hardens to one of firm resolution, and she nods to herself.

Her hands are steady as she holds the urn up to the torchlight, and a small smile curves her lips as she brushes a speck of dust from the shiny finish.

Sniffing away the last of her tears, she carefully stows the urn back in her bag, then rises up from her bed and slings the bag over her shoulder, determined that this day will end better than it began.

EXT. CAPITAL CITY. DAY.

Gabrielle and Zenobia along with a handful of guards are walking through the city. Gabrielle is clearly disturbed by the destruction surrounding her. Fires still burn in various places, and the stench of death and decay under the hot sun is almost intolerable. Swarms of flies invade the city, and their annoying drone adds to the already dismal atmosphere.

Reaching out, Gabrielle plucks a piece of tattered, common cloth from the shattered spokes of a wagon wheel. She rubs the cloth between her fingers, deep in thought. Then she looks over the crumbling city wall to where the warlord’s forces are still camped. Their bright, well made tents give a counterpoint to the enormous destruction within the city.

Gabrielle crumples the cloth she’s holding in her fist. Her shoulders straighten and her chin lifts. She looks Zenobia directly in the eyes.

After a moment, a rare, delighted smile spreads itself over Zenobia’s beautiful features.  Her dark eyes light with a sparkle of hope which had been absent for months. She draws herself up regally, slowly and deliberately, and bows her head in deference to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle stares back, stunned at the honor she’s been accorded, then turns away to the wall, letting the cloth drop from her fingers.

She rests her hands on her hips looking over the village and trying to decide the best way to mount a defense. Suddenly her hand shoots out and she catches an ARROW that would have found its way directly into Zenobia’s chest. She looks at it, as shocked that she caught it as that it was launched in the first place.  She then drops it quickly, eyes scanning the perimeter.

Gabrielle pushes Zenobia towards a wall where she is protected by two of the guards traveling with them. Gabrielle and the other three guards take up defensive positions. SWORDS and SAIS are drawn as they scan for their attackers.

Looking toward the top of a wall, Gabrielle sees movement. She motions for the guards to stay put and she cuts right, moving quickly. She tucks her sais against her forearms and takes a leading run, jumping from the base of a well, then to the top of the wall.

She balances herself as she moves along the wall to get closer to the attackers. She can see as she approaches, there are three scouts.  One is armed with a sword.  The other two are armed with BOWS. Getting solid footing, she grins.

The three men are startled by her appearance but recover quickly. One draws his sword and charges, while the other two string arrows. Gabrielle is quick to block the first blow from the charging man with her sai. She wrenches the sword from his hand sending it to the courtyard below.

She grabs the man and tosses him from the top of the wall. He lands, unmoving outside the village wall. Gabrielle turns to the others, who both release their arrows at the same time. She dodges from side to side letting both arrows fly past her, harmlessly embedding in a wooden wall behind her. She throws the sai in her right hand, hitting one of them in the chest.  He falls inside the village walls. As her hand comes back up, she has the CHAKRAM in it, and the grin is back on her face.

The last archer looks up as he strings another arrow. The blood drains from his face as he sees the chakram in her hand.

He looks nervously toward the tree line, tipping Gabrielle off immediately. She sees about a half dozen more men hiding in the tree line.

Tired now of playing with them, she moves to the last man on the wall and delivers a roundhouse kick, knocking him from the wall. Then she turns and releases the chakram.

It bounces first off a rock, then connects with the head of the first man. From him it flies to the second man, then off a tree to take down two more men. It then ricochets off a tree and returns to her hand. She watches as the last two men run deeper into the woods. Then she looks down to see the last man she knocked from the wall struggling to his feet. She vaults from the wall and lands over him. She pushes him back and holds the tip of her remaining sai to his throat.

The man nods, clearly shaking.

She moves away from him, allowing him to scramble to his feet and run after his compatriots.