She moves like a fighter, experienced from birth with the ways of her weapon, but she was peaceful before she met me. At times, I feel guilt for having been the push to send her into states of violence, but this is not one of those times. She twists, she bends, she leaps. Every muscle in her is trained and sure. Every thought she has is practical and purposeful.

This fighter I am watching is very different from the girl she once was, wandering and getting herself into trouble at every turn. This woman before me has the skill and knowledge to defend herself if need be: a fire to choose her battles and a passion to win them. I sit in admiration of this woman I've seen transform. She always had this fire inside her. I'm amazed to be realizing it now as she blocks another woman's strike, and lunges for her own.

Of course, if it were up to me, I'd ask her not to be having this fight, but she makes her own decisions now, and I'm supportive of that. The only problem is, she often finds herself in danger, and I'm not allowed to fight her battles for her anymore. Here I sit on the sidelines with the hundred or so other women, just watching and waiting with cringing anxiety. Am I unsure of her strategy and technique? Never. The anxiety I feel comes from years of watching others I care for in battle, knowing anything could go wrong at any moment. As much as she insists I stay out of her fights, if anything were to overcome her, I would be leaping to her rescue in the blink of her eye. As much as she wishes that instinct weren't there at the ready, it certainly is. I am always ready to be her protector as I once was.

"Look at Gabrielle's shoulders!" one woman behind me whispers to her friend, giggling as young women do. "Oh my ... her stomach looks hard as a rock!"

I smirk because I'm positive that if those young women could see me sitting near enough to hear them, they would have certainly held those comments. I am infamous for my jealousy over that beautiful bard of mine. I often make light and tease about my possession over Gabrielle in front of her, but around other equally-possessive and hungry warriors, I am anything but humorous. Over the years, I have learned that I have no need to be so aggressive when it comes to others ogling my Gabrielle, but that instinct - like many others - sits quietly but sure.

"I wonder ... oh never mind!" the other woman answers, both of them giggling once more.

I can't help but roll my eyes at the thought of how Gabrielle would tease me if only she had heard. Through our trials and tribulations, we have found that a dry sense of humor and a little teasing now and then were the fix to our otherwise solemn thoughts. Whenever Gabrielle hears of others' attractions to her, she makes a very distinct smile by pursing her lips. She then goes on to ask me how I feel about that, grinning because she knows exactly what I think about it - I'm jealous that others look at her that way. The evening ends best when I am understanding of her need to jest with me, landing her safely and appreciatively in my arms in the dark light of the moon.

From the arena of the fight, I can hear Gabrielle's grunting sounds of exertion, and I can't help but smile at the connection to my last thought: Gabrielle in my arms in the night.

She has held her own strength for years now, and yet still she surrenders to mine when I pin her under me. I smile at that thought. She surrenders to me, however capable she has become. No matter how powerful she will ever become, I know she will always enjoy surrendering to me - eyes wide, staring up at me, lips wet.

Shouting from the center of the fight draws my attention back to the moment, and there I see Gabrielle wielding her staff. If it's taken too long or the spectators wish to see a more glorious finish, tools are often thrown into the fight. I grin because Gabrielle's opponent has no chance now.

Each stretch of that lithe and muscular body reminds me of the many training sessions I had given her with that staff before my teachings no longer benefited her. She went on to train with Amazon warriors, and soon it was Gabrielle teaching me the tricks she'd picked up. The move that just landed a blow to the back of her opponent's thigh was one she had never been able to teach me properly. I think I'm too old a warrior to pull a stunt like that, but with Gabrielle's flexibility and technique, the crowd oohs and ahhs. She has everyone entranced just like she's kept my attention all these years.

I can feel the tension grow as the fight comes slowly to an end, and Gabrielle has my attention like she always does. I watch her, and her posture changes - she can feel my stare on her just as I can feel her eyes on me. There is a bounce to her step, knowing how intently I'm gazing at her now, and I smile at my power over her. I wonder if I should claim some piece of victory in the fight from my presence alone, and grin wider at the thought of Gabrielle's reaction to my cheekiness. She loves that sort of tease, and I enjoy the look that comes over her in those moments.

I am still amazed at the passion she brings to me with every motion of her hips. I don't know exactly why, but her hips have always sent me into a frenzy. She's so small in comparison to so many other woman warriors, and yet her hips flare with feminine exaggeration.

As I watch her with a different sort of attention, it's difficult not to become too obvious. Over the years, that is a skill I still haven't perfected. Not that she minds.

WIth the final blow, Gabrielle stands panting over her component, smiling when she hears she's victorious. She lends an arm down to the woman on the ground, certainly congratulating her on her efforts.

I take my time making my way through the crowd, grinning all the while. Gabrielle will wonder what's keeping me - looking for my familiar gaze - but I like to keep her guessing. Over time, I have come to understand that she doesn't need me like she once did. She is strong and capable, and I like to keep her on her toes.

Even though she's surrounded by admirers, she stares over at me through the two other rows of women. I shrug as if to teasingly apologize for my absence, and her smile is renewed. She's alright. I want to be there at her side, and suddenly I have the urge to push past the others and hold her close to my chest. At times like this, there is a connection that surges through me, reminding me of my obsessive need to be at that woman's side. There is a part of me that lives only to hold Gabrielle, and at times, I feel like it's all of me. I want to run to her, but I hold back and wait for her to finish talking with her friends and fans. I don't know why I am forcing myself to keep my distance, but when she walks briskly over to me with her signature smirk, the wait was worthwhile.

I have seen Gabrielle through many hardships, just as she's done for me, but there is one thing that has bound us closer than anything: the joyful moments between the rough times. After a bad day, to see her smile at me in the dark of night, I know she's over our argument. I know that we have made it through another day, and I'm reminded that she won't leave as easily as I once feared. Gabrielle is as loyal and dedicated as the rising sun.

"Took your time, I see," she smiles as she reaches me.

I'm not sure what worries us about intimacy in public, but she is careful not to come too close. I realize it has something to do with my stand-offish approach while we first travelled together, but at this moment, I wish she would jump up onto me so I could kiss her. Instead, I reach over and ruffle her hair just like she hates.

"Quit that!" she laughs, smacking me in the stomach with a gentle flick of her wrist.

I admire that so shortly after a vigorous fight, she could be so tender with me. That is a side to her I have always treasured.

Just to tease her, I pretend she hurt me, and she lunges to hit me all over again with another round of laughter. At times, we act like a couple of school children at play, but no one bothers us. I think my years of aggressive assault and murder have more than seen to that concern.

"What?" I smile at last, rolling my arms back to correct my posture.

She glances up at the reminder of my usual height and starts off toward our guest lodging. Clasping her hands behind her back, she walks like a true warrior. Everything about her reminds me that she could be fighting as a soldier if she pleased - leading as a general, more like. And yet here she is with me, playing as though she's still that girl she once was. I wonder, as I follow closely behind her, if she feels the same of me.

She has grown into such a magnificently powerful woman that I'm curious as to how she can act as though I overpower her in the night. She stares up at me as though she couldn't top me if she tried, but just from watching her fight, I know she uses her size to her advantage. I know she could flip herself over in heartbeat. So why does she allow me to pin her each time I do? Where is her warrior strength when we wrestle and I still win? Where is her technique when I lift her over my shoulder and tickle her sides? Where is her sense of modesty and alertness when I've pinned her back to the wall?

I wonder this until late at night when all thought is becoming tedious and all I want is Gabrielle close. I wonder why she relinquishes her strength so easily until she's there, under me. My curiosity is answered with one look in her eyes that shows me her undying enjoyment of the way I hold and touch her. No matter how strong she might become, she will always enjoy the way I run my hands up her arms to her wrists. She will moan at the way I kiss her neck no matter her ability on the field. My touch will always affect her just the way it does today, and when I understand that, I swallow hard and look down at my beautiful Gabrielle.

"What? ... What is it?" she asks with both worry and a throbbing excitement that envelopes us both.

I kiss her gently and then so hard that I have her squirming under me again. "Can't free yourself?" I whisper, giddy with the answer I know is waiting on her tongue.

"... Why would I do that?"

She moans tenderly, giving me such a loving expression that all I can do is kiss her again. I kiss her while her hands move their way over me, and I moan back to her. I moan to show her my impossible weakness in her presence.

How things have changed since we first met, I tell her with my kisses and my steady breathing. I know, she answers with the touch of her hands.

The End