DISCLAIMER:
This story uses characterizations from the Universal owned crossover between Xena and Hercules; Armageddon II. I have no intention of keeping them and I certainly won't be making any profit while they're in my care. All that aside, the interpretation of those characters here within the context of this alt. universe is original and I as their creator maintain rights over their reuse.

Emergence is the first installment based on a series of journal entries from The Conqueror's Property Series and follows on in the tradition of the Conqueror/Chattel trilogy started in 1999. The related stories; Chattel, Thrall and Ever After are essential reading for anyone wanting to understand the foundation of this or additional pieces. Though this story is the first to appear in what I hope to be a lengthy endeavor, I don't plan to write 'the journals' in any particular order nor do I have a sense of restriction to how long or short each entry/scroll may be. It is likely they will receive numbers, and appear when the mood strikes. But hey, that's what update lists are for.

WARNING:
Please be warned that the two women described here are lovers. If you don't think reading about that or them within a setting where the power dynamics of their relationship involve S/m concepts, the occasional use of force and four letters words, stop and go no further. Needless to say, you also must be of legal age as determined in your state or country to consider proceeding. Otherwise, Enjoy!

You can find more stories by Dark Angel at Dark Angel's Den.

Send feedback to darkangelxena@hotmail.com

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Emergence
by Dark Angel

© Dark Angel

I never minded the sex with her, not like you'd imagine. I mean, it was what I was there for. So right from the beginning, I didn't have expectations. You're probably thinking I just got used to it, because with enough time you can get used to almost anything.

But it wasn't like that - at least not always.

And you know, in a way, it was better not being required to think or feel. Just do, or be done to, which was more the case. I could have had an owner that treated me worse or shared me round. I know that now, even though it has taken most of my lifetime to realize.

Certainly she never went out of her way to let me think I'd been blessed in anyway. Or that my being with her was about more than simple convenience. I still don't have a thing that is truly my own, not even the clothes on my back or the pallet where I sleep. But I guess the same way I've come to think about the sex, she discovered along the way that it's alright to be lenient with me now and then.

It's never been easy, but it is what we are.

In saying all that, it will probably surprise you to know she's talks to me. I'm not saying she confides in me. But she always has told me things. To start, it was mostly just orders and directions for what she wanted to do to me. I wasn't supposed to answer or have a say. And often I thought she was just thinking out aloud, not caring if I was listening or shocked by what came out of her mouth. I grew to expect her talking, came to crave the richness of her voice. And as time went by, what she spoke about turned to everyday matters. About people and places and plans she had.

For a long time, the words and her voice were the only link I had with the world beyond her chambers. I never went anywhere past the confines of those four walls for years, other than the kitchen or my cell. So I collected what she said, memorizing every syllable and inflection. And I locked them up like scrolls inside my head, cherishing them - even the ones that would make a refined person retch or have to look away.

I know they kept me sane. And even though I've taken to writing all her words and mine down now, grateful she's allowed me at least that, I don't think I'll ever stop storing them inside of me too. I mean no matter what, you can't take someone's thoughts away. Not unless they're dead.

So I keep on remembering: everything, all our life as if it was this morning or last night. And when I feel I'm getting stale, I go over them piece by piece until they're fresh and clear again.

For instance, I can remember the first time she ever mentioned wanting an heir like it was only a moment ago.

I was very young, perhaps three to four years into my service and was still leaning how to keep my wits firmly in check. She was a merciless owner in those days, easily prone to extracting the cruelest of punishments for the pettiest of crimes. I was never totally sure when her focus would shift from one of her advisors or other servants to me. Or if I'd have a clue as to why I'd suffered in the first place.

All I knew was I was there for her purposes. And sometimes besides the sex, it meant taking a beating for no other reason than she liked to watch the leather change the color of my skin.

It was night. She left a half eaten meal and had retreated to her chaise to lounge and partake of a substance that burned my nostrils and caused the room to fill with smoke. I was clearing away, being careful not to chip or drop any of the china that adorned her table. Like many of the Conqueror's personal things, and the oil she toked, I knew they had been acquired on her many journey's East.

She seemed partial to that part of the world and its trappings though she showed little time or respect for it's people.

'Never trust the people of La Mao's court,' She told me once. As if I would understand her meaning or had occasion to act on it or not.

She said things like that too sometimes. You know, things that made me think she was thinking I was someone else. But then she'd pull back and I would grow accustomed to her coolness again.

She'd ordered me to her chaise; apparently uncaring my tasks weren't done. And I, knowing full well not to keep her waiting, scurried to pay her due.

What followed was received quietly and not unexpectedly without so much as raising a sweat.

After with my head pressed against her thigh, she stroked my hair and proceeded to tell me of her day. More times than not, what she'd wanted was her way of simply warming up. So I let myself enjoy the moment for what it was - a mirage to a world seen only in glimpses, a respite to fill my head with dreams.

I listened the best I could to what she had to say, not always fully comprehending and not noticing entirely when the topic moved from politics to children. One moment she was twirling her fingers through my hair and the next she was waiting intently for me to answer.

"My body is yours, my Lord." I told her because it was true, without thought or wish to refuse.

Her hand stilled and she paused but a moment longer, I guess to digest my words and then went on with what she liked the most.

The topic didn't come up again for almost a year after that and then only under circumstances much the same, in passing and without a clear sense of commitment from her either way.

Our lives went on and a decade drifted past. Her armies grew and with them more and more land came under her rule. I gained the skill of reading during it all and with it being able to record my thoughts - her words and mine you hold here.

But it was always in the air - the matter of a child to bear her name.

It's funny but when the time finally did come it seemed so easy - like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At least it started out that way. Even the ritual of being escorted to attend her didn't alter and typically she'd given me no prior warning, no clear indication of what had been arranged. She was there waiting as always, to her that would have been enough.

No sooner had the door been shut and I realizing we weren't alone and clamored to my knees when an open hand appeared and she was guiding me up. In the hand not holding me, a cup of port I initially assumed to be hers, smelling plenty on her breath, was also offered out.

"Drink it." Was all she said and waited studying me till I finished.

I'd never had a great deal of spirits and knowing this, I think she expected something more than just a flush around my cheeks.

I saw her jaw tighten then and a hint of a twitch across her lips.

Even-voiced she told me.

"Do whatever he wants."

And before I could answer, she was gone.

The room and everything in it shrunk around me and I stood there suddenly fidgety and wishing I'd worn something that didn't reveal as much. Her pick didn't say anything either. Just leered a lot, I supposed, contemplating his taste.

I don't know why but I had expected her to be there, hoped anyway, that she would. To ensure it was done right. Whatever that would have meant exactly. But she didn't and it threw me, being alone with someone, a man she'd paid or ordered to do to me the only thing she couldn't.

I remember feeling quite frightened watching him, not just because I knew he'd heard her words as well as I had. I could feel her in that room well enough, could feel her ownership like her mark upon my back. But I couldn't help feeling abandoned, like a child being sold off again.

Thankfully 'whatever he wanted' amounted to very little. A quick grab, some words I didn't catch and a few sharp jabs. The whole experience differed only marginally from those right at the beginning when she had wanted nothing more than the same with me.

I watched the ceiling trying to make it easier on myself, looking past the task and concentrating on what had become so expected as a result. For the three nights following when I was called back to repeat his bidding, I was grateful he didn't change his wants and spared me more than what was entirely necessary.

I thought things would go back to the way they were then, foreseeing no reason why they wouldn't. It had been a chore like any other, my privilege to serve her wish.

But more days went by and I realized I'd only seen her in passing, drilling or walking with a guard or one of her advisers and the nightly calls to her chambers didn't resume.

Days moved into weeks, and in my isolation, I panicked drawing the only conclusion at hand.

For all that had been done, all I had endured, when it came down to it - I was still nothing but her whore. Worse still I was now a whore she no longer wanted because I'd been soiled by someone else.

I had know idea what would become of me or even if any of his infernal jabbing had worked. I only knew I was doomed. Destined to rot away for something she herself had mastered.

Of course I didn't rot away, and like so many other aspects of my life, it seemed as though the fates themselves had had their hand in setting things right again. But it took some time and while I waited I thought I much rather have been dead.

The day that brought some form of normalcy back into my life was, in itself, quite ordinary. At least it too had started out that way.

Over the weeks, I had settled into a rhythm of tedium and loneliness I was coming to accept, if not find any peace in. That night with no word again that my services would be required, I retired early.

Shouting woke me at first, then the clear sound of explosions. It wasn't much after that that I smelled the smoke.

I'd never been permitted to just go wandering about after night watch began, but I knew I had to see. Retrieving a light wrap to cover my sleeping shift, I joined others making their way to the rear of the Palace divides. It was from a balcony adjourning both the west and south wings, I saw the entire livery engulfed in flames.

Disregarding what may come of it, I returned to my room and change my clothes, hurrying then to lend a hand.

What I arrived to felt like Hades himself had set the whole thing a blaze. Horses were running wild, bucking against handlers trying to steer them clear. I'll never forget the sound of their neighing or the dust from their hooves turning the dirt in panic. Poor desperate, pitiful creatures. I'll never forget either how pointless it seemed to try and calm them. The stables gates had collapsed and entombed most of them. Those free were beyond being calmed.

Guards manned pumps to get the water up from the wells. Others too, servants mainly, tried to smother the inferno with blankets or buckets of sand. But really neither made a difference and in the end the roof caved in.

I spotted the Conqueror in the midst of it, dressed only in britches and a long over shirt, screaming orders and trying to get some order where I was sure none was possible. With all the commotion, it took her a while to realize it was I who passed her buckets. When she did she just shouted I shouldn't be out risking my health. She didn't send me back though, and I guessed, whore or not, I could carry water like the rest.

We and dozens more kept working until the militia finally arrived. Even then she wouldn't leave and I was made stand clear while she walked the perimeter, kicking struts and scorched equipment aside.

She lost her favorite mount that night amongst others and two stable hands.

Eventually, she did go in and, not being given any hint she didn't want me with her, I washed her hair and mine and after rubbed the knots out of her back. Later still as we lay in the middle of her bed, she pushed me down and pulled my dress aside.

A collection of hurried kisses left their mark on me and before long she was guiding my arms clear and tossing the garment free. Shorter still before she'd had her fill of petting and she turned me over to lay facing away.

I remember thinking it would be the only explanation I would get from her and the only sign that things had returned to the way they were before.

Most times when she did me like that she would be slow about it, taking her time in pressing me down and steering my limbs in the directions that suited her best. She'd turn my head away and I would simply watch some crack on the wall. Or if I was lucky, a silhouette of her movements on top of me.

The moon was full so I got my wish, got to see her sit astride of me and part her robe. Watched muscles straining as if they were breathing air. Hands circling down about her breasts, over a flat stomach. In time to touch the junction that joined us before rising up a bit and attaching the most unrelenting of her desires. I'd had it more times than I could recall and in a way relished its strength. It's ability to rule me was harsh and without compromise, yet she was tentative to begin as if she was doing something that she could barely control.

I waited while her body readjusted itself and I felt her lean in to me, lips wisping over my shoulders and then moving lower, working their way down my spine. A slow drawl of fingers followed molding and sneaking under me.

In time a thigh wedged its way between us, spreading my legs wider and the familiar prying of flat palms, fingers and her tongue began - stopping only to dart and prod a little; moistening the place she would eventually fill. A steady rocking ensued as she pressed that same thigh against me building her own need and dampening that place on me where it rested and her tool didn't hide. Wordlessly she went on enticing, her breathing thickening and working me to a state that in the end forced me to bury my face in the sheets. A finger finally extended driving into me followed by another - and one more.

She kept pushing at the tender opening till she considered it ready, withdrawing and rising up enough to position herself in place and settling astride once more. Hands and lips resumed their wandering and I tried to relax waiting for the first thrust.

After what felt like an eternity of stillness I felt her weight shift again, this time drawing up and rolling away.

A hand came up between us to mask her face and she just lay there unmoving, silent and I with little option stayed flat beside her. I remember I kept hoping against hope that she'd find her will again. But I knew somehow it wouldn't come, so I sat up. At first just to rest my weight on my elbows, to look at her. Then reaching in the semi-darkness to touch an elbow, the base of her hand - needing to connect. She stayed silent, diverting her gaze when her arm was finally eased away.

I'll never know what possessed me. Perhaps it had been the fire or how her touch a moment earlier had felt different somehow. I don't know, I only knew that I needed her and for one split second I knew she needed me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my knees and climbing over her, carefully maneuvering myself to sit just below her waist. I kept expecting she'd push me off or at least protest in some way. But she didn't and I think that scared me more than what I was about to try.

My hands fumbled through my own slickness guiding her length and forcing it into me. Not in the place she had intended, but still where I knew it would serve as well. At the same time I watched her, eyes still diverted involuntarily arched towards me, hands suddenly able, coming up about my hips. Neither of us tried to hide our shudders as it filled me up.

I started moving slow to start, and used my heels for leverage, rocking back and forth, hoping I was doing it right.

She nudged forward cupping my breasts so I assumed I was and I pressed them firm, reveling in the mix of hard and soft, the grace in gesture so rarely shown. Of course she knew how to touch me, she'd been doing it for years.

For a moment I thought it was all resolved.

Then as the moonlight caught her face she murmured. "I can't come this way."

It was the first admission of vulnerability she ever made to me; the first and last. And though I knew she would as easily beat me if she knew, I couldn't help being stirred by it.

You have no idea how hard it was for me to keep my mouth shut all those years. How it went against the very grain of who I was. But I'd learned, held my tongue for ever or so it seemed. Until then.

"Yes you can." I told her earnestly. Not caring if she struck me mute.

"You can do anything - have anything."

Clutching a wrist settled in her lap I brought it up, covering it with my own to touch my face. I twirled my tongue around each finger, coating them and drawing them in.

"Your lips - Your neck." As I trailed them over and around my throat.

I guided her lower, pinching and tugging until my nipples felt like rocks.

"Your breasts."

I paused at my belly wondering if she was thinking the same as I. Pressing lovingly I held her there a little longer. A look, the kind that always managed to take my breath away confirmed she was. I thought of saying something about it, about my hopes and hers - but that wasn't our way.

So I moved down more, spreading my wet all over her hand and lacing it through each finger till it glistened in the partial light.

"Your cunt!" I cried softly, slamming my weight down and trying to match what would have been her pace - needing her to feel every part of me. But mostly needing her to know no individual nor army could change what had been secured long ago. No single event could take away that she owned me. Not a thousand could change that we both knew I craved it and her as sure as I needed to breathe.

My hand got a mind of its own then, leaving hers to hold me and venturing between her legs. Hard, thick pulsating along my finger tips. Like silk to me. She gasped, hips rising up, urging me to take my hand away and resume my ride. I obeyed her wish but not before making sure she was truly open, her own wet smeared against the base.

Then I pinned her arms as she was fond of doing to me. She didn't try to stop me, still letting me have my will. So I dug my nails in and bit her neck, clawing at the flesh along her arms. Over and over I stabbed myself, forcing myself with all my strength to take the pain, knowing it would drive her wild.

I teetered barely on the edge; praying I could relinquish it rather than go alone. Almost by surprise,and when all hope of getting my wish was gone, barely a sound came forth and I felt the drenching along my thighs, saw the screaming in her eyes.

It was the first time she'd ever shown that side to me, the first time I caught the glimpse of tears when she came.

I remember putting my head down after we'd talked a little, like we could sometimes, to rest and waking hours later with her hands still woven through my hair.

Less than a month later the healers confirmed, the Conqueror would indeed have her heir.