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Chapter Text

Ante diem III Kalendas Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

My hands are still tied. The rope scrapes raw against my wrists, soaking the rope pink. My limbs have become dead, failing me every time I struggle. From my estimation of the little light I can view, it has been three days. 

Three days of torment. 

Three days of listening to the enemy outside, walking and speaking in a tongue I can not understand. I hoped the Roman army could have recovered enough to save their own, but each day dwindles that belief in me. 

These barbaric people probably have wiped out my entire legionem , and I sit here helpless, struggling against this painful rope. The blood of my people, my friends, stain my rough tunic along with the tens that I killed. I am not proud of what I have done, but all must be done for the protection of Rome. Britannia sided with the Gauls to the north; therefore, they threatened the promise of a free Senatores Populusque Romanus .

All I can think of is who put me here, Caesar. The power-hungry, conniving monster that the Romans call a god — there is no god but the gods above. He currently sits on the mainland, hiding away from the wars that he started. Anger bubbles within me, how can someone so powerful be so cowardly ?

The door creaks open. The man walks in, long, braided hair swaying slowly behind him like a fiery pendulum. His towering build causes my body to shrink against the log, to which I am tied, behind me. A bowl lay in his palm; his thumb slightly fidgeting with the wooden spoon. His hazel eyes darted from side to side, avoiding the sight of me. 

He paces over to me and places the bowl beside him as he unties one of my arms to eat. Every day after the battle this happens. Someone walks in, usually him, two times per day to feed me. I do not know the purpose that my life offers them. I am certain they would rather wish death upon me than this pitiful attempt of keeping my heart beating. 

As he works at the ropes, my eyes trail across the man before me. Underneath the tunic that covers him, his arms were littered with tattoos, ranging from symbols to animals to nature — all of which were dyed with blue ink. He was tall for how young he seemed, reaching taller than I. If the worst were to happen, I might have the chance of winning in an attack. My sight traveled back to my captor’s face; his hazel eyes boring into mine. I averted my gaze as he continued the release of my arm. He was built but not from fighting. He was a worker, maybe a blacksmith. 

He was probably forced to fight in a war a weak man started. 

B.

Every time I see him, the visions come flooding back. There’s a distance between my body and mind as I hand him the bowl. 

” Hīc .” I breathe out, extending the dish to him, using the small amount of his tongue I know to communicate. 

When he reaches to grab it, the bloody stains on his wrist make me prickle with unease. The Roman’s movements are tense, controlled, and skeptical as he lifts each spoonful to his lips. I sit in an adjacent corner of the small hut he is kept in, hand on the sword at my hip as I watch him. Though I doubt I’d use the sword if the situation calls, I barely know how to wield it.

The man periodically looks up from his bowl to meet my gaze, his eyes wide but also fierce in their amber hue. His hair always caught my attention, dark curls hung low to his brow bone as he continued to stare. I shrink into the wooden walls behind me, his bulky form taking up more space than I’d want a hostage to. The Roman could very easily attack, but why not? Maybe he’s stalking and waiting to pounce, perhaps I’d rather not know. 

The sky above began to darken through the thatched roof, the smell of damp earth returning for another storm. If the Romans know what’s good, they’ll wait till the weather clears up for another attack. The hostage lifts the bowl directly to his lips, savoring the last drops of broth pooling in the bottom. I return to his side, hastily tying that bloody wrist into the ropes once more. I can feel his gaze lingering around every part of me, especially along the tattoos that spiral around my skin. my eyes meet the dried blood shriveled around his sharp jaw. I find my small handkerchief, hesitating before bringing the fabric into light. I shouldn’t, he’s a Roman. 

Mist curls along the already soaked camp grounds as I walk out the hut with the bowl in hand. Soldiers, cavalry, workers, and many other Britons bustle around with tasks of their own. I should get back to my own work as well, anything to distract from the haunting events of just three days ago.

At my workstation, I carefully stitched the fabric of a tunic together. The melodic weaving of the thread allows my mind to wander. Not wander, more like snap back.

I see the dark void-like clouds encasing the fight, draining what seems like an endless stream of rain. Waves crashed at the shores, debris from the Roman fleet washing up with every cascade of the water. I stood at the tree line where it meets the beach, a spear in my trembling hands. Chaos ensued, soldiers from every side clashing like thunder in a whirlwind of metal weapons. I killed about a dozen men, Roman men, that day. I watched one of my fellow Britons knock a Roman atop the head, he fell limp onto the soft sand. We had orders to take hostages, so I approached the unconscious man. He wasn’t dead, but blood trickled from his hairline while dotting the sand red. The fighting moved slightly down shore, this was my chance to take a hostage. 

“Hey! Brianus,” My comrade, Ecthigern, broke the memory cycling through my mind. 

He leaned in to watch my stitching, craning his neck forward. 

“Have you finished fixing my tunic?” His voice was eager. 

“Yes, just need to tie the final knot.” I sigh, looping the thread around itself. 

I hand him the garment, not looking up but across the camp at the hut. A man suffers in there, and for what? A ransom? Glory? Pride?

 Is anything we do really worth this effort? 

Chapter Text

Pridie nonas Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

Days continue to pass as blood remains on my tongue from the battle; the metallic taste a sour reminder of the bodies that rot beyond these prison walls. It crusts in my hair along with my sweat and caked across my skin, leaving dark red and brown smudges. Romans take way better care of their hostages. They live freely as a sign of good faith to the enemy tribe. At this rate, I will perish. I have to get out of here. My arms move against the bindings around my wrists, creating a sharp pain in my shoulders from the uncomfortable motion. Even with days passing since I was first held captive, the rope has barely frayed, leaving it very difficult to make any slight movement. 

Creaking open, the man with the blue tattoos enters again like many days before. Half of his copper braids are tied together in a bun at the back of his skull as the rest cascades down his back to the bottom of his torso. Rome refused men to wear their hair longer than their necks, and beards were forbidden, symbolizing the unkept ways of the barbaric tribes to the north. My gaze continues to the ground beneath his feet; my view consists of his waist down. Today, the man carries a small loaf of bread, stalling slightly in the doorway. I do not know what he’s waiting for; the man has never spoken to me except for saying “ hīc ” in a thick Celtic accent when he gives me my food, and I do not think he wishes to talk to me now. 

His stalling continues, creating a burning curiosity about what is different today that did not make him stall the many days before. My eyes travel to my captor’s, meeting the hazel color uncommon amongst the Romans. He jumps a little, waking up from whatever trance consumed him and rushing towards me to untie my bindings. Placing the loaf on the log to which I am bound, the man starts working on my arm. Quickly, my gaze falls to his hip, finding a small hunting knife strapped there; this is my opportunity. 

Feeling the rope fall away from my wrist, I used my arm to push him down onto his stomach, creating enough momentum to rest my knee on his back. His breath is taken away by the impact, leaving him almost lifeless under my knee. I swipe his hunting knife from its sheath, slicing my remaining bindings — complete freedom at last.

I snatch the bread away from the log as I release him from the ground and slowly back away from my captor, facing him while holding the knife between us. My legs feel wobbly from my lack of movement in the past few days, but I hold my ground as the man tries to recover from my surprise attack. He stands at last, backing away.

“Drop it,” he states shakily in the Celtic language.

“ Minime , asshole,” I spit back at him. How does he expect me to surrender after I have just procured my liberation from his chains?

“Please, I am not here to hurt you,” he pleads with me; his eyes soften in desperation. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” I scoff, slightly raising the knife. “However, your tribe has made it clear to me that they will. So, I’ll repeat myself; I will not drop it.”

He sighs, seeming disappointed in my decision. It was his clan, his people, that slaughtered mine. They were plotting with the Gallic tribes. They made the first move — Rome only responds to the threats people enact against us.

I glance behind me; the exit is wide open. I could escape right now, flee into the wilderness, and survive on my own. I know how. 

My eyes flick back to him, but he already knows my plan. I run, hearing a faded “Wait!” as I bolt. 

I exit the hut, watching the tons of Celtic Britons going about life as if I weren’t imprisoned a few meters away. I crouched around the hut and tried to avoid as many prying eyes as I possibly could, hiding behind tents and other huts. 

I turned to look over my shoulder to find my captor trying to find me, swiveling around the camp in the opposite direction. Good. 

I reach the edge of the woods, racing over bushes and jumping over roots. I need to get as far into these woods, so the enemy can’t locate me. 

I slow down, placing my hands on my knees and heaving from the lack of breath in my lungs. My body was still getting used to moving around, causing my limbs to shake underneath me. It fails me. Falling at the base of a tree, my body sinks into the roots.

I rest my head against the bark as my vision slowly goes dark. I haven’t slept since the war — the darkness finally consuming me whole. 

B.

As the Roman fled, a panic settled in my bones. I scoped the camp, desperately trying to spot him amongst my people. I mutter a curse to myself, then hear the bushes behind me rustle. Through the thick trees, a faint human form runs off. 

“ Shit!” I hiss under my breath, I should’ve been more decisive. 

The people bustled normally, I cannot let them know this happened…I quickly shut the hut door and left as if my guard duty was finished, jogging across camp to the only man I could trust. 

“Ecthigern!” I rush over, hushed but urgent in tone. 

He turns around from the horse he was preparing, a slightly skeptical expression in his eyes, “What?” 

I walk up to him hastily, my eyes flicking around the crowds of people. 

“I need this horse, like now!” My hand grasps the reins out of his. 

“Hey!” He snapped as I took the reins, “What for–?“ 

Before he could complete his thought I butted in, “I was assigned to forage! Now give!” 

“No, you’re not! You’re lying,” He laughed, “that anxious flush gives it away.” He waved his hand in the air at my face. 

I grasped his tunic’s collar, pulling him in close, my eyes flaring with intensity, “The Roman escaped! I saw him run off, I have to get him.” 

Ecthigern’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped, “deserved-“ He added quickly then continued, “Ok fine, you can take her.” 

I grasped the horse's reins as my grip turned white with adrenaline, “If anything happens to my horse,” his voice dropped, “You’re dead and I’m telling on you.” 

I scoff at him, hoisting myself up hastily and snapping the reins. I took off into the brush and trees, back into the familiar woods. He couldn’t have gotten far, a Roman has never set foot in this forest until now. I hear Rome only uses roads to travel, which is no such thing around here. As the woods began to grow thicker, I slowed the horse, hopping down to trace the dirt. The saturated earth engraved his footprints into the mud, I traced my eyes up the trail, he traveled along the flattest part of the woods- I guess Romans do need roads even if it’s makeshift. The deeper his trail went, the more the earth appeared abandoned of all life. No bird chirped, and no leaves rustled, it was silent.

He could be watching me now…calculating an attack, but he is weak, hopefully he has only fled. 

A noise rippled through the silence, a quiet stream just ahead, a common landmark for navigation around here. The horse trailed behind me as I gripped the reins, approaching the creek. The footsteps led around a large tree, I cautioned my steps, making no noise. The large trunk propped the Roman up, he was still against it…sleeping. A large sigh flows from my chest, my head rolling back in relief. 

The Roman’s face resembled when he was unconscious during the battle, eyebrows relaxed and mouth slightly ajar. I wonder if he has slept since the battle, most likely not. His dark curls were soaked with sweat, which descended his chin, diluting the dried blood to a pink stain. He looked disgusting. I tie up the horse, reaching for my handkerchief and dampening it in the trickling stream. 

“I know, it’s wrong.” I look back at the horse, making eye contact with the animal, “But I feel bad.” 

He doesn’t move as I creep closer, cautious of my presence while he sleeps. The pocket knife lays loosely in his hand, I carefully pinch the blade and drag it from his grip. I wring the cloth out slightly, then gently press it to the bloody stains. It wipes off fairly easily but leaves a faint rosy tint. I stepped back after wiping away the blood and dirt, I could see his face now. His skin was dotted with little moles and from under one of his curls, an old-looking scar slashed through his forehead.  

I sat there for a long while, he slept, even breathing making his broad chest rise and fall. The clouds above moved, a rich golden light peeking through the foliage. As the sun emerged, so did other kinds of life, a sparrow sang off in the distance. The dappled light flickered on the Roman’s face, his hair reflecting a smooth brown color instead of almost black. He stirred from the brightness, hoisting himself up on his elbows with a heavy groan. His drowsy eyes scanned the area, calm before landing on me. His face rose in alert, trying to grip the knife previously in his hand. 

I spun the knife back on him, crouching over his slumped form, blade near his neck. His eyes pulsed with ferocity, I tried to keep my composure calm, locking my gaze onto his. 

“ Audi .” I plead, furrowing my brows.

Chapter Text

Pridie Nonas Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

“Excuse me?!”

He looked shocked; his eyes widening at my outburst. The knife pressing into the vein in my throat shook slightly—I was afraid it would slip. This is not the position in which I wish to be: backed up into a tree and completely enclosed by this large man with a very sharp hunting knife at my jugular. As my eyes darted side to side, there were no other openings or exits for me to use; I was out of options. Despite not being a fighter, my captor knows how to seem intimidating.

“I just need you to listen to me,” he broke our eye contact, looking towards the dirt beneath his feet. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Mercury must be playing a joke on me. In what seculum would I ever trust someone who kept me captive for days, whose tribe murdered my comrades, whose tribe has sided with those who have threatened Rome. He must be out of his mind. However, there was not much else I could do in this predicament. If I attempt to attack him, he could slit my throat and let me bleed to death. If I listened to him, there is also a possibility of him telling his chiefs of my attempted escape, but that also would not look good for him, losing a captive under his watch.

I ran through all of the options. Unfortunately, the only one that did not immediately end in me meeting with Death himself was listening to whatever lies he decides to spew at me. His hazel eyes had returned to mine, trying to find an answer within my soul. His knife still quivered against my skin, almost fully piercing the flesh. I would not listen to him if he continued to hold the knife so closely. I flicked my gaze to the knife and then back to him, signally my compliance. The man understood, releasing the pressure off of my neck but still allowing the blade to hover close.

“What do you have to say?” I managed while my eyes still kept a close watch on the blade hovering near my ear. At my words, the man relaxed slightly, almost smiling at my acceptance of his invitation to listen. He should not be happy. My allowance of him to speak is not a sign of friendship. It is merely a solution to survival.

He began to speak: “Alright, I have a proposition for you.” He stopped, almost asking for permission to continue. I nod slightly as recognition. “If you come back with me to the camp, I can upgrade the living situation,” he resumes. “You can live with me in my work hut. If any of the other neighboring tribes found out you were a Roman, they’d have your head on a spear faster than you can blink. No one goes in my hut besides me anyway, so no one will know. You would not live as a captive with me. You’d get warmer meals, fresher water, and certainly a bath.”

At this, he raked his eyes across my very grimy body in almost a disgusted manner. It wasn’t my fucking fault I’m dirty; they did not allow baths as a prisoner. He must have realized my sudden annoyance, quickly apologizing.

“And why the hell would you want to do this?” I asked. It does not make sense. Why put yourself in danger for someone else that clearly is the enemy? He is betraying his tribe, and I do not think I want someone like that on my side.

The man sighed, averting his gaze back to the tree roots. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of the misdeeds of your province. I simply want to help you. No one should have to suffer because of a war where none of us wanted to participate.”

I didn’t buy it. However, I wanted to live. Against my better judgement, I nodded in agreement. Weirdly, he looked elated. He dropped the knife from my neck, stood up, and offered his hand. I grasped his arm, pulling myself up from the very uncomfortable position in the tree trunk. I dropped his hand immediately once I found my footing; just because I agreed to live with him does not mean we were anything but that.

He backed away, allowing me space. “What’s your name?” the man inquired. I shot him a glare, causing him to giggle. “I’m not going to call you ‘the Roman’,” he joked. “I’m going to need to know your name if you’re going to live with me.”

I looked up at the sky, avoiding the infuriating man in front of me. This is probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. The number one rule as a hostage is to not give them any information they could use against you. However, he did say I would not be a captive anymore, so maybe the rules do not apply here.

“Darius.”

The name felt weird, leaving my mouth. Soldiers do not have names in the eyes of their commanders’, especially Caesar. A soldier is a number needed to fight another number of the enemy—nothing more. As comrades, names were never shared because now you knew them. Not knowing your comrades is easier when they finally leave this world with an arrow in their neck or a sword in their stomach.

“I am Brianus,” he grinned. He turned his back, “Come on, I’ll show you the way out.”

This is too easy; he’s completely vulnerable. He walks away with his back facing me toward a horse which I had seemed to overlook. I look around, hoping to maybe find something sharp or an exit. The trees looked the same, making it hard to distinguish a suitable escape. However, there were rocks. Mille saxa. I snatched one that looked easy to throw, holding it closely to my side, so Brianus could not see.

I walked slightly behind him on his right side as he attended to the horse. Just as he was about to finish, I thrusted the rock hard enough to land at the side of his knee, causing him to buckle to the floor. I ran to him, wrapping my arm around his neck and applying pressure with my body, hoping to choke him out.

I needed this. I needed to escape.

B.

The pressure around my neck tightened every moment that passed, I clawed at his forearm, little squeaks emitting from my throat. Darius wouldn’t let up, even though I raked my nails on his skin till it became red with marks. Darius chose this path, might as well follow it. I gripped his forearm again, then twisted my core muscles, throwing us to the ground rolling. Cold water splashed when we tumbled into the stream, the rocky bottom jabbing Darius’ back as he was trapped underneath my form. His hold broke on my neck, I scrambled up, giving some distance between me and Darius. My knee throbbed, a warm trickle of blood cascading my calf. 

He got up, his tunic soaked and sticking to his body. There’s a twitch in his eyes, panic and adrenaline pulsing through his body. 

“You don’t have to do this!” I gasp, breathing shallowly while holding my throat. 

Darius grunted and shook his head like an animal, a crazed look on his face. None of my words reached him. Bloody knuckles and raw wrists raised up in guard; he wasn’t backing down. He charged at me, swinging with all his might directly at my face. The punches flew past me, several almost scuffing my cheek. His body moved violently, his midsection twisted with agility, putting that much more force into his arms. I try to evade, dodging and redirecting his fists downward. Darius’ legs dance with a fighting rhythm, backing me closer to the stream bank. He swipes my stance, I crash into the small sandy bank, my knee twisted as I fell, evoking a sudden burst of pain. 

He tried to close in on my neck once again, and with my good leg I kicked up into his stomach. Instead of falling back, Darius folded forward onto the bank as well, clutching his core. 

“Are you stupid! Stulte?” I chirped with a hoarse voice, while he writhed in pain. 

“No…” He heaved, a new red stain soaking his tunic. “You are!” 

He pounced at me, tackling me into the stream this time. The water rushed over my hair, pulling it down stream. His strong nose wrinkled with fury, eyes wide in determination. I will not die like this, not with this guilt heavy in my heart. 

My knee jolted upward to his groin; he buckled. I toss him by the neck onto the bank again. The sand flecked his dark hair and scratched his skin, though it looked as if nothing could reach his resolve, not even the fresh blood that soaked into the shore. I pin him down, raising my fist high. With a vehement flow, I cracked down onto his cheekbone. 

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. 

Finally, he rocked his head back, body going slack. I let out a shaky breath, a heat prickling my eyes. I lean down, checking for breathing. He sighed ever so slightly against my face. Exhaustion rolls me over to laying next to Darius, I feel little cuts and bruises everywhere. 

A pained groan escapes my lips, I hoist myself up, glancing around at the scene; it’s still the same as when we came. Only now, there was blood speckling the forest. 

“You’re making this so fucking hard, and I bet you‘ll continue to do so.” I peer down at him. 

The horse remains tied to a tree just a few feet away, A spooked look in its eyes. I limp over to the horse, petting it to a calm state. I hobbled back to Darius, dragging him over to the horse, then painfully lifting this brick of a man onto the back of the saddle. After he was somewhat secure, my knee just barely allowed me to step up into the saddle as well. 

The sun started its descent to the later hours, casting a richer orange hue onto the world. To get to my hut without passing through the main camp, we must go through a deeper part of the forest. The horse trotted evenly amongst the thick leaves and brush, carrying us around the main path. The woods darkened every moment, the sounds of night coming alive with the absence of light. Torches gleamed between the tall trees. Camp was approaching. 

We crept through thick bushes bordering the tampered dirt around camp. Other Britons walked a mere 30 feet away from us, conversing around a large torch. The back door to my hut was in range. I surged myself forward and jumped from the horse, resisting the urge to call out in pain. Darius slid forward, I braced his shoulders up, then pulled him off the saddle sideways. He plopped onto the dirt in a soft poof sound. I tie up the horse around the back, then drag Darius through my backdoor. 

I leave him on the floor momentarily, going to strike a fire in my lantern. The room illuminates with a warm reddish orange glow. The area is more spacious than I need, there were more beds, as many workers were supposed to be here. I was the only leather worker around, so I have my own space. The beds were of hay bordered with small logs, some furs laying overtop for warmth. 

Darius lays against the wall behind the top of the bed, his face relaxed and hanging over his collar bone. I watch him carefully, searching for even one single twitch of his muscle, while wrapping my knee in a thick fabric belt. Of course he had to bust my dominant knee, that bitch. My eyes linger on his form, broad but soft in his lack of consciousness. This is wrong…I know in every bone that is it, but I cannot help it. 

I shuffle to him, a waterskin at my side. A fleeting doubt crosses me, but I continue. With the hunting knife, I gently cut the seams of his tunic. I lay his head back, exposing his chest. The tunic lay over his belt and pools around Darius’ limp arms. With more belts of fabric and cloth soaked with water, I press them to his wounds. During the fight they reopened, half baked scabs crusted around where new blood emerged. There were many wounds, one over his left hip, scrapes on his shoulders, bruises along his cheekbone, and many more slight abrasions. Everytime I place a cloth on his skin, my eyes flick up, checking for consciousness. He was breathing, but never woke. 

Many moments passed in this intimate space; I dressed all injuries, feeling the heat pooling around the wounds as his body mends. I had a healing salve, applying it to the bruises, his knuckles, and raw wrists. 

The night grew late, and my eyes heavy. I lay Darius on his back, then begin to dress my own wounds, though I’m too drowsy to do so. By the foot of his bed, I slump to the adjacent bed behind me, my gaze softened on him. His chest rose and fell, facial features sculpted and noble- as a Roman should be I guess. His forearm lay upright, a big black tattoo staining four large letters into the skin. 

SPQR- Senatus Populousque Romanis. Talk about a true Roman, I laugh to myself. He’s a dog, following their plots in blind faith, killing because he can…so why do I persist? 

Chapter Text

Ante diem VII Idus Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

B.

Camp murmured with uncertainty, they huddled together as a flock like a big bad wolf would emerge from the woods. The wolf wasn't much of a wolf and it wasn’t roaming the woods. I stalked around the camp clearing, watching a mass of people inspecting the hostage hut. Their faces twisted in horror and anger, realizing their one valuable asset was no longer controllable. 

As I mildly limped toward my hut, a figure leaned against the door ominously from the shadow of the overhanging roof. He stepped into light, and was honestly the exact one I needed to see. 

“Heyyyy! So you just leave my horse outside my hut two days ago- no ‘Hi’ or ‘Hey here’s your horse back’?” Ecthigern scowled, his small mustache prickling his bottom nose. 

My face drops, no expression evident, “Also, why are you limping?” He looked up at me. 

My eyes double take the surroundings, nobody cares to watch us- good. I shove him into my hut, slamming the door behind me. Ecthigern stumbles inside, swinging his arms around for balance. 

“Oh-“ I see his gaze fall on Darius, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “Did you and the Roman…“ 

I covered his mouth with my palm, “NO! Don’t be stupid!” I sighed, “Be quiet, too.”

Ecthigern rose his eyebrows at me, waiting for an explanation. I hunched over and put my head in my hands, a sudden stress overtaking me. A quick exhale brings me back up. 

“Ok. He escaped- as you know.” Ecthigern nodded to my words, “Then, I found him in the woods and we fought.” I gestured to my knee, “The fucker threw a stone at my knee, then tried to choke me,” I lifted my head, revealing yellow to purple bruises on my neck, “And after some more fighting, I knocked him out cold.” 

His face was still in a state of processing, eyes flitting around and gathering the info in his head, he finally spoke, “Damn, I didn’t know you could knock someone out!” He pinches my bicep, “You’re actually strong.” 

My eyes role in annoyance, “Focus! There’s a camp meeting tonight and they expect someone to come forward about the escape.” 

“That should be you.” Ecthigern stated, pursing his lips. 

he tried to leave, pivoting himself toward the door. I grabbed his shoulders and spun him back facing me. “No it’s gonna have to be you,” 

“I’m not following- but then again when do I ever!” He grinned, his missing tooth creating a clean dark hole in his smile. 

“Listen!” I shook his shoulders, “You’re the only one I can trust with this.” My voice became sincere, which I didn’t expect, I’ve only known him for a couple months. “At the meeting tonight, you have to be the one to come forward or else he’s dead.” I motion to Darius. 

“Why is it me though?” He crossed his arms. 

I furrowed my brows, “To put it nicely- they expect it from you.” 

His face changed from neutral to highly offended, brows scrunched in frustration. “I mean like yeah they expect that! But why can’t you do it?” 

“They’ll search this place! And the guy they want is literally right there!” I wipe my hand over my face, taking a deep breath, “They won’t find anything at your hut and then they’ll assume he ran into the woods. Maybe- just maybe they send out a search party, but that doesn’t matter because he is right here.” 

Ecthigern turns his head toward Darius’ sleeping form, “Can he hear us?” 

“He’s been asleep for two days- I’m worried I killed him.” I pace around, gripping the roots of my long red hair. 

Ecthigern leans down, observing Darius, “He’s breathing, you’re good.” He flashed me a thumbs up. His eyes darken and he looks at Darius for a moment longer, “why do you want this so bad?” 

“What?” I squeak, my voice feeling thick with emotion. 

“I mean- This!” His hands wave around Darius, “there is no reason you need to help him.” 

I linger in the question, my eyes closing as I try to even think of why I do this. “I- I mean-“ my words fail me, and my voice trails off softly. 

His eyes soften seeing my indecision, “This really is important to you huh?” His tone was careful and curious. 

“Yes.” That was all I could say, I crossed my arms, closing off. 

My response stayed in the air, Ecthigern twiddled his thumbs, thinking. I paced gently around the dirt floor, watching Darius. 

“I’ll help you.” I stopped, “But, you have to help me too.” His words were calculated. 

“Name it.” I clear my throat, pacing toward him. 

“Assuming you’ll be out of most jobs with that knee thing for a while, I want you to help me at the stables. And..” He flickered his gaze to Darius, “When he gets healthy, I want his help too.” 

I weighed the options, but not for very long, as Ecthigern’s offer was decent enough. 

“Deal.” 

He laughed, “Now, you have to make a Roman into a Briton! How the tables have turned.” 

Ecthigern turns to leave, before he walks out the door I grab his wrist. “Thank you.” I whisper. 

He looks back at me, a knowing glint amongst his eyes. “It’s no problem really, I think I understand why.” 

“You do?” I ask cautiously. 

“Of course,” He paused, “You have a big fat crush on a Roman!” He giggled and ran out the hut in a frenzy. 

Now I remember why I don’t talk to him. A heavy sigh exited my lungs, I sat down on my working bench, picking up my current project. I started it two days ago, the morning after the fight. I chose the softest and thickest textile in my stocks, it was a muted blue similar to my tattoo coloring. I cut the pieces of fabric and began to sew. Sew a tunic…for the Roman— for Darius. That bloody rag of a tunic was horrid to be wearing, especially in this weather. It was beginning to get colder around Britannia, and the recent rain certainly doesn’t help. I’m almost finished with the garment, and I hope he likes it. Or I hope he doesn’t attack me again, actually I hope for both. The camp meeting encroaches in a couple hours, when the sun sets we shall meet in the head lodge. 

I glance back at Darius’ forearm, the tattoo wasn’t even well done. It was a mess and his skin underneath looked mutilated by the process. He shouldn’t have to look at it, no one should look at that. I’ll make him a leather sleeve as well. 

Dusky colors melded in the sky, fading by the moment. many footsteps tamped the ground into the head lodge. I walked amongst the back of the people, entering almost last. I had to leave Darius alone in my space, I pray to all my gods he doesn’t wake up, not now. Inside the head lodge a huge fire burned in a center pit, surrounded by strong wooden walls. Pillars which were once whole trees, press against the floor and ceiling on both sides of the room in columns of three. Every person in camp attends, it was mandatory. My comrades gathered in groups, slapping each other on the backs and rustling around with a friendly air. I saw our chief at the head of the fire, his large somewhat bulbous frame casting an unspoken command for silence. From behind the chief, Ecthigern walked out, we made eye contact. He had a solemn look on his face— it hit me. Did he…rat me out? 

The chief cleared his throat while the crowd went silent, “Everyone! Welcome!” His voice was thundering, complimenting his entire demeanor. He stroked his long wiry beard interlaced with grey, white, and brown hairs.

”As you all know, the Hostage is missing!” My heart sank, a deep possible regret nestling in my stomach. 

Ecthigern stepped up to the fire, next to the chief, “But, We have a story from the guard who was watching him!” 

My breath felt as though it was gone, like everyone was about to turn on me. I could only watch as Ecthigern prepared himself to speak. He looked around at the crowd, “It was my duty to watch the hostage. And I did everything I was supposed to.” Ecthigern paused and surveyed the crowd again, an anxiety in his eyes. 

“But while I was distracted he somehow escaped, It is no one’s fault but my own.” 

I almost collapsed, feeling the sudden lack of my own breath. I choked a bit from the sudden wave of relief, feeling the ground again as I returned from the mess of my head. 

“Let this be a testament to never underestimate the Romans!” The chief bellowed powerfully to the crowd. The entire camp roared out in determination, a cry so full of anger reaped their souls. Anger for one man, that’s definitely not in my house. 

The tribe decided on sending a search party through the woods, after that, the meeting turned into a social. I saw Ecthigern being scolded by the chief, and he took it. I watched, a spark of warmth in my chest, he followed through with his word. 

“Ah, leatherworker!” A gruff voice burst into my space. I turn around, a stocky man as tall as I with a thick blonde beard faces me. 

I didn’t know the man’s name, in fact, I hardly knew anyone’s name. He continued, “I have some gear that needs fixing, mind if I drop it off after this?” 

I chuckled, “No not at all! Just leave it under the overhang, I’ll collect it in the morning.” 

He perked up his eyebrow, “what? Don’t want me inside your hut? You hiding the Roman in there?” 

My stomach dropped, I only cocked my head to the side, “Don’t you think I’d know if a Roman was in my quarters?” 

He laughed, a large hearty sound from the core of his chest. I followed along, matching his energy, silently easing off the previous panic. 

“I’ll stop by your place to, uhm, pick up the stuff there.” I compromised. 

Ecthigern walked back to my hut with me, we were carrying the blonde bearded man’s items, a saddle, boots, and other leather items. 

“Why would he wait to amass so many things before fixing them?” I rolled my eyes, noticing many repair points. 

“Who knows,” Ecthigern sighed, plopping the saddle down outside. I put the other things right next to it. 

The hut was warm inside, the lantern still burning and radiating a sweet heat. Darius was still asleep. “Thank the gods he didn’t wake.” I closed my eyes and sighed. Darius’ left cheekbone and eye were a purplish yellow and somewhat swollen, a bit of guilt climbed my spine. 

“Hey— uhm, thanks for taking the blame.” I smiled softly at Ecthigern, true sincerity in my voice. 

He looked down at the floor, “No problem, you’re my friend and I- I care about you.” 

Before I could render my actions, I was hugging Ecthigern. He embraced me back, he was my friend, but in some small sense felt like…family. 

Suddenly, Darius started to twitch, but not in a slowly waking way, he thrashed violently. 

M.

The familiar feeling of the oversized, ripped tunic weighing on my soldiers, causing me to feel exposed to the world. It felt like everyone was watching me, judging me. Men were watching me, judging me—tall men, short men, fat men, well-dressed men, all men. I stood firm, trying not to shake at their prying eyes. They were estimating my abilities—farming, swimming, running, patience, obedience. I could see it in their eyes, their corda. They don’t see me as a person but as money in their pocket which I can provide for them.

Shoved forward, I stumble in front of the intimidating buyers, staring at my bare feet covered in dirt. I could hear their mumblings amongst one another in different tongues, blending with one another to form a sort of melodic chorus. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears; it always ends the same. I’m bought, forced to learn their language, used for my work. Then, my buyers get bored, and they sell me for ships or gold or as spoils of war, making me forget one tongue for another. This is the fifth time I have been bought and sold of which I could remember.

Finally, a man in a suit of armor with a sword at his side grasped my arm tightly, probably leaving bruises, and led me away to their camp. Once inside a tent, he threw me to the ground, scraping the skin that was not protected by my tunic. I didn’t get up. If I got up, they’d throw me down harder. I couldn’t breathe; my throat felt raw, hurting from fear. My body shook from the pain and the events soon to occur. 

I was carried onto a table, placed forcefully so the splinters from the wood could poke through my clothes. Something shiny flashed in the corner of my eye, causing panic to set in. This never happened. All four times I was never forced under a blade. The people around me could smell my fear, so they quickly held my limbs down. My body thrashed against them—they did nothing. I screamed—they did nothing. I cried—they did nothing.

They pierced my skin over and over, stabbing my flesh an inky, black mess. No matter how much I struggled, how much I fought, I was no match for the men holding me down. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think; I couldn’t breathe. All I did was scream. I screamed even when no noise came out as I scratched my windpipe. There was no release.

Until they were finished, at least. Most of them left except for one to keep guard at the door. Through my blurry vision filled with tears, I lifted my head enough, so I could see their work, their massacre on my arm. The black ink consumed my blood from where they pierced my flesh, leaving their work more messy than gorey. But I could feel it because vixi id. 

As I rested my head back onto the table, I let the tears fall. My life was never ending torture, leaving only pain to live long in my mind. Whoever had bought me will leave a mark on me as the other three had, creating a shell of the person I used to be, whomever that person was. Even if what they had done to me healed, I would feel the pain forever within me. 

Suddenly, more men bust through the door. They shove me off the table and whip me with the flat of their swords.

I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can’t breathe. I can’t. I can’t…

I scream.

My eyes shoot open dazed to a different room with different furniture and a different ground beneath me. A cool breeze sweeps over my burning skin, resulting from whatever moment of my past my brain decided to revisit. As my vision refocuses, I see Brianus and some other man with him looking frantic. I flinch back into the wall, hitting my head against the back of the hut, shooting pain into my skull. I scurry back into whatever corner I can find, hoping they did not view my whole freakout. I wished they had not seen it at all. 

My arm ached where my tattoo was etched into my skin, reminding me of the memories from long ago. I had to force myself not to wince at the phantom pain and rather focus on the potential threat. They peered at me, almost concerned. I studied their faces and their body language. I needed to know the exact danger presented to me. The only exit from the hut was in reach of the other unknown man, so escaping was not a current option. However, even when I try to rely on my instincts and training, the same memory from my dream resurfaces, rendering me vulnerable to an attack.

Brianus turns towards the other man, seeming to silently direct him out of the door. I turn to finally look at his companion. He was of a similar stature to Brianus, slightly shorter and more bulky rather than the lean frame of the other man. Despite some resistance from the other, the shorter man leaves, resulting with Brianus and I alone.

Fuck.

I do not want to explain to him what he witnessed mere moments before. I averted my gaze from Brianus who was crouched in front of me unbearably close. With my knees to my chest, I hug myself close, hoping that making myself smaller will help. Brianus remained where he was originally positioned. Good. He should stay there.

He tentatively spoke, “You’re not going to attack me, right?” Nothing in his voice reflected a joke or a trick, making his whole statement feel like a legitimate question. I did not want my words to fail me, so I opted for a shake of my head. There was no point in fighting him. I was in an inferior position, and, seeing as I knew of what he was capable, I could estimate that he would overpower me. 

“Okay, good,” Brianus appeared slightly relaxed at my cooperation. He shouldn’t be relaxed. There is nothing in my prior actions that should indicate to put any amount of trust in me. Regardless of that, he still tries. He still tries to help me even when I have betrayed him time and again. When is he going to realize I am not worth saving? 

I failed my comrades and my country. I am stuck in enemy territory, living with my captor, or probably ex-captor now, and trapped within my own mind. I am stuck. There is no worth in my life, so why does this random Briton have an obligation to help me, to heal me? 

Brianus turns slightly away, grabbing something from behind him. “Here,” he turns back to meet my eye. “I thought you might like a new one.”

I grasp a finely crafted tunic that he hands me. Dyed blue, the woolen cloth feels so much softer than I have ever been privileged enough to touch. There are no holes or rips that I could find; it was new. It was new for me. I barely touch the leather sewing at the seams, afraid my dirty hands would taint what was given to me. 

Using the hut’s wall behind me for support, I try to stand, so I can properly put on the new garment. My legs shake from the aftershock of the nightmare, but I maintain my stance. I play with the cloth in my hands, rubbing over the fine thread, appreciating the work.

I hand the tunic back to Brianus.

He looked… hurt? His hazel eyes soften sadly where my offering lies. He takes the garment back, tracing the fabric like I had done prior. I turn away from him, pulling my tattered and bloodied tunic over my head, allowing the sharp wind to hit me. As I turn my head slightly, I catch sight of Brianus’ widened eyes, but he isn’t looking at me.

He was looking at my body.

I follow his eyes to what I am able to see. Series of visible lashes and scars rake my form, adding a rigid texture to my skin. The scars vary from pink: beatings as a slave, red: wounds of a soldier, black: fresh injuries of a captive. There are brandings, stabbings, and slashes of all kinds arraying across the plane of my shoulders to below my waist which he can’t see. 

I sigh and hold out my hand. Brianus breaks from his trance and hands me the garment back. I raise the tunic over my head, sliding onto my beaten frame, allowing it to cascade over my past. I adjust the collar and sleeves for more comfort, but it was the most beautiful thing I have ever worn. The harsh breeze felt like a cold whisper compared to the neverending warmth gifted to me by the garment.

It felt like a hug that I remember long ago. 

Chapter Text

Ante diem VI Idus Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

Opening my eyes, my gaze fell to the wall of the hut, peering at a small hole that leaked a small amount of light. It was a couple hours past prima luce, so a little amber ray seeped through the barrier that held my body from the outside. I didn’t move from my huddled position on the bed; instead, I merely watched the ray turn from amber to a lighter orange, enjoying the comfort that I rarely recieve. I haven’t slept this well since… ever. Beds were reserved for the commanders, so the soldiers typically had to scavange in the wilderness for something comfortable enough, or, in the worst case, sleep on the bare ground.

Shuffling broke me from my deep thought, alerting to me that the Briton, Brianus, was awake. I didn’t turn around, trying to pick up movements from sounds alone. It was an important skill as a soldier to not see with your eyes but your ears. It is better to have leverage over your enemies; let them think they might take you by surprise while, in reality, it is you in control. However, I probably would not call Brianus an enemy, at least not anymore. I don’t know what he is. 

I judged, by the scrape of a stool and the occasional sigh of irritation, that he must be working on something, allowing it to consume his attention. Outside of the noises from Brianus, the camp seemed quiet; perhaps people were not up at this hour. Romans had longer days than the Britons do. Almost everyone got up at dawn, except for those who took the night watch, and the day did not end until all tasks for the camp were completed. 

Eventually, staring at the same yellow beam became quite boring. I rose from the bed, stretching my torso and arms from their previously cramped positions. I felt my aching muscles from the battle and my initial fights with Brianus slightly ease. However, recovery to my healthiest state might take longer than I anticipated. Even if I were to recover, I am not totally sure what will happen after that. Will I become a captive again? Maybe sold back to the Romans? Or will I continue to live with Brianus until he has a solution? There is no clear road ahead.

I swivled my body so that my eyes finally land on Brianus. As predicted, he sits at his workbench on a stool, working on something hidden by his frame. His red hair is completely pulled into a bun with some chunks of hair braided within.  Padding over closer to where Brianus sat, I could now see him more closely. Beneath his thick hair that usually ran down his back, a tattoo laid their, hidden. Drawn in bright blue ink, a flower covered the nape of his neck, placed right over his spinal cord. I couldn’t stop staring. Even without color, the singular flower seemed to come to life off of his skin like I could pluck it from its stem.

Moving closer beside him, I peaked over his shoulder, viewing the work in which he was so consumed. Brianus was threading a freshly cut leather belt. The light woolen thread accented seamlessly through the harsher brown of the belt. It all seemed very elegant. I leaned over his shoulder, getting a better look at his life’s work. I assumed correctly that his build wasn’t from fighting, but from some daily labor. I placed an arm on the corner of the desk in front of us, allowing more support for my leaning body.

Despite knowing the answer, I asked anyway. 

“What’re you doing?”

At the sound of my voice, Brianus yelped, flinching so much that he nearly fell off of his stool. My eyes widened at his reaction, surprised. Did he seriously not know I was there? I thought I was being pretty indiscreet about my presence. 

“Oh, did I scare you? Sorry,” I apologized, slightly confused. He gained back his composure, breathing more heavily now probably due to the fright that I caused. He cleared his throat, voice slightly shaking. “It’s okay. It’s mainly my fault; I was a little lost in my own head. He paused, slightly puzzled. “You were really quiet though.”

He turned to look back at me, our faces mere inches from one another. I can slightly understand the suddenness as I was much closer to him than I realized with my chest practically brushing his shoulder. Through this view, I could see how his hazel eyes were more green than brown, giving his face a brighter complexion, illuminating the patches of freckles decorating his skin. Strands of fiery hair had escaped the bun holding his hair back, framing his face. I suppose there’s a lot of things you miss when you’re attacking someone.

Clearing my throat, I leaned back from him and slightly sat on the edge of his workbench, facing him. Brianus wasn’t looking at me but seemingly more consumed in his work than before I interrupted, slightly fiddling with the thread. I grabbed one end of the belt, examining the leather delicately. I’ve only seen a few men do this sort of craft in the military; most of our clothes were shipped from the main province, so I never really learned the trade.

“This is really nice,” I spoke as I continued to study the belt. “How do you do it?”

As I met his gaze, his eyes seemed to brighten at the question. “Well,” Brianus began. “I already pushed in little holes to mark where to thread it. Then… here, I’ll show you.”

He proceeds to take the belt, demonstrating the up and down pattern of his threadwork. “It’s like making hills and valleys but with the needle,” Brianus explained. I took the project from him, trying my best to replicate his instructions. As I threaded the belt, getting slightly better over each hill, I could see in my peripheral Brianus’ eyes boring into me. It wasn’t him overseeing my progress; there was something on his mind.

“Am I doing it wrong?” I asked, lifting my head slightly. He immediately shook his head, regaining his compsure. Brianus wanted to say something, but he seemed trapped by his own mind, forcing him to bite his tongue.

I brushed it off; if he wanted to say something, he should do it of his own volition without my prodding. I continued my work with the belt, repeating the mantra of hills and valleys. Eventually, the Briton cleared his throat, now ready to speak.

“About yesterday…” He trailed off. I froze. Great. Exactly what I wanted to talk about. I really wish he would have forgotten about the whole ordeal. People dream; it is a very common practice. He doesn’t need to be this concerned about my dreams.

“What about yesterday?” I prodded, not moving my gaze from the belt to look at him. He started this conversation; he should finish it. I could see the anxious gestures he exhibited: bouncing leg, rubbing his hands together, avoiding eye contact with me. He clearly did not want to talk about this either. Then why the hell is he bringing it up?

Brianus sighed but said nothing. It seemed that I had to further the conversation, so Brianus did not have to continue in this fidgety state. “Rome is my master, and they wanted to make that clear to me,” I spoke quietly as if Caesar could hear me from across the ocean. “And some of the ways they showed me this are rather…unpleasant.” My gaze flicked from the belt to my maimed arm with the messy inked SPQR. He saw where my eyes landed when I said this, but I also think he is more aware specifically of the other unpleasant ways that Rome takes control of others rather than their own people.

We sat in silence for some time. It was difficult to try to explain this to someone whose society does not have slavery as a base for upon which the elite stand. Even with my gaze not focused on his person, I could feel him move around to get something behind him. “I–uh, I made these for you. I’d thought you’d like them.”

He holds out two dark leather arm braces, polished and neatly threaded. I kept staring at them; this is the second time he has gifted me clothing, really nice clothing I might add. My eyes traveled to him, the braces, and then back to his face. I was left quite speechless even if I rarely have anything to say. I took the braces from him, rubbing my thumb over the material. 

“Um, thank you,” it came out disingenuous, but I did mean it. They were both expertly crafted; he did not cheap out the quality for my sake. 

“Let me help you put it on. They prove to be difficult to put on with only one hand,” he offered. I nodded, allowing Brianus to take back the braces and giving my right arm, so he could put on the braces. He placed the arm brace in his lap, allowing my arm to lay right on the arm brace itself. Every brush of his fingers against my forearm felt like a fire was burning deep within me. I haven’t felt this anxiously excited ever.

Brianus finished up with the first one, releasing my arm from his hold. He was now playing the second arm brace down, but this time was different. My left arm, which had my tattoo, shook slightly. I placed it in the same spot I had previously, allowing Brianus to work at the laces. He kept grazing my skin like the previous one. As he worked, his finger slipped, grazing the rough, jagged skin of my tattoo. The sudden, harsh feeling brought me back, forcing my arm to flinch violently away from Brianus. I held my arm closely, not looking him in the eyes. Damn it. Just when I had ceased the conversation about yesterday, I had to somehow bring it back up again.

Brianus froze; I could feel his regret immediately. Fuck, this is not what I wanted.

“I’m sorr—” “I got it.”

That came out way harsher than I meant. I gazed back up to meet his gaze, but all I saw was guilt in his hazel eyes. This is my fault. “Don’t worry about it,” I threw out of my mouth, trying to mediate the situation. I straightened from my previous position against the workbench, walking away from Brianus. I found myself back over to my bed, working at the laces myself. He was right; binding the braces was much more difficult with only one hand at work, but I wasn’t going to go back over for help. I screwed this up. I live with the consequences. 

And just when it was getting better.

B.

The late afternoon current transitioned into a light evening breeze. The world slows, and so does the camp. The sun finally started to pour from the clouds after days of melancholic fog. A damp earthy scent filled my lungs while I hobbled back to my hut from dropping off the leather belt to the blonde bearded man. Before the belt left my possession, I traced his stitches, noticing the growing confidence in shape as he progressed in technique. The blonde bearded man informed me that I had foraging duty the next couple days— the perfect activity for Darius to get out of the hut— and it would be easier under the cover of dusk. 

I cracked the door and slid through, quickly shutting it so no one could see inside. Darius lay on his bed, arms over his head, hovering, as he played with the string lacing his arm bands. 

“Are they tight enough? Too tight?” I interrupted the silence, peaking into his view. 

“No. they’re fine.” Darius shrugged, pulling himself up to a sitting position with just his core. 

His eyes darted between me and the arm bands. When he isn’t trying to kill me, he’s somewhat bashful. 

“I— we have foraging duty the next couple days.” I ran my fingers through my hair, glancing at him. 

“We?” His eyebrows rose though his eyes stayed half lidded. 

“Yes. We.” I smiled softly, “You’ll get to stretch your legs, help me out— plus I can’t leave you here alone.” I chuckled lightly at his expression. 

“Right.” Darius sighed, He jolted up from his bed, standing tall, expression still bored looking. 

We left from the back door with two baskets in hand, creeping off into the dense wooden trail. It was warmer than usual, the forest seemed to reciprocate the warmth with lush green plants and singing birds. The orange light dappled the trail, patterning our skin as we walked under the shining beams. 

“Where are we going exactly?” Darius’ voice traveled between my ears, he was glancing at the scenery. 

“To a pond.” I look behind me at him, curious eyes admiring the sunlit treetops. “It has some herbs around the bank, flowers, and you need to bathe.”  

His gaze snapped back to me instead of the trees, “Do I really stink that bad?” 

“Ita vero.” I furrowed my brows at him. 

Through the thick trail, we parted the brush, stepping onto a grassy cliff that overlooked the pond and descended to the right into the rocky bank. Darius crept closer to the edge of the cliff, craning his neck forward to look down. The dark blue of the pond shimmered with golden ripples from the sinking sun. 

“Have you ever jumped into the water from here?” He spoke while peering down, shifting his weight for a better look. 

“No,” I scoffed with levity, “It’s too shallow, it goes about to my waist.”

Darius sighed and sat at the edge, dangling his feet on the overhang. His large back hunched as he relaxed into a sitting posture, all I could think of were the various wounds of his past bubbling under the tunic. What kind of life has he lived? Can that even be healed? 

Thick rich beams of sunlight cascaded his face, creating a glint in his eye and a shine in his hair. I sat down next to Darius, shyly turning my head to face him. His gaze was distant, lost in his mind. He didn’t acknowledge my staring. I paned over his face, taking note of the artful placement of his moles, the delicate fanning of his eyelashes, the prominent dip of his cupid's bow, and the strong bridge of his nose. My eyes wouldn’t tear from him, they flicked around his features, really taking them in for the first time. Suddenly Darius’ eyes seemed to regain consciousness, they dart to the side, meeting mine. 

“What?” A skeptical tone seeped through as his brows knit in confusion. 

Embarrassment rose to my face, manifesting in a flustered hue, that I pray to the gods wasn’t evident through the bright light. 

“Nothing. Let’s go down to the pond.” I sputtered, rising quickly and almost buckling from my knee. 

The rocky bank rolled smoothly against the soles of my shoes, making clunking noises when our stride crossed them. I nitpicked my way along the border of the bank and forest, periodically inspecting the leaves of herbs. I plucked a few, gently laying them neatly in the basket. Every so often, more often than I liked, I found myself checking for Darius. He walked cautiously on the stones, cautiously in the way where he was mindfully picking at the rocks, grabbing one every few steps to look at it closer. I force my gaze away from him, trying to focus on my real task. 

Herbs abundantly stacked high in my basket, I found Darius still observing rocks. His basket sat a couple feet from where he crouched over at one particular stone. I went to retrieve the basket, expecting nothing inside, but as I hoisted it up, there was a dense weight at the bottom. There was a plethora of rocks, all which had a green to brown tint in their grey majority. 

“Any reason you’re collecting these rocks?” I rummaged through the stones, feeling the textures of each one. 

Darius scoffed, “Just busy work I guess.” He continued to look at the stones. 

“Well, I’m done foraging.” I called out to him again. 

“Okay? We going back to camp then?” he sounded bored again. 

Busy work? Bored? He’s anxious…

“We’re not going back to camp until we’re clean.” I set down my basket onto the shore. 

He looked back, a stone in hand, scowling at me, “Why do you want me to bathe so bad?” 

“Because you stink— and you’ve got wounds.” I paused, “I thought Romans were supposed to be cleaner people? Or have I heard wrong?” He narrowed his eyes at me, “I hear tales of large bathhouses, are they true?” 

“Yes. There are many bathhouses— or Thermae.” he replied, eyes still narrow. 

I learned a new word: Thermae. He was surprisingly good at my own Celtic language for a Roman, that’s probably from his past experiences. I began to undress, unbuckling my belt and pulling my tunic overhead. I unwrap my shoes, unwinding the long fabric strips from my shins that were sewn into the soles. I left my knee length breeches on, gliding into the water. It was pleasant, warmed by the recent sun, but still cool and refreshing. Before the water graced my waist, I took my hair and tied it up into a spiral bun, revealing my back as he once did to me. I had no scars, no proof of triumph, and no hardened muscles from battle. What I did have was tattoos. Blue ink wound around my body like woody sinews in a tree, creating patterns cascading down my arms. I could feel his analytical eyes, pasted onto the centerpiece inked with the curvature of my lithe figure. Large bird wings drew from my shoulder blades and folded down to the small of my back, matching the other tattoos thematically. 

“Are you getting in?” I pivoted toward Darius, catching his stare abruptly. 

He said nothing, but began to undress as well, avoiding my eyes. He unlaced the arm braces, and took off his tunic, handling both garments with the utmost care. undressing left him in tighter shorts tied with a cord around his waist. I grazed his front physique, battled scared and toned just like the back, but there were no long drawn out wounds from lashings. He treaded carefully, flinching as the water rose higher the further in he went. 

“The water won’t hurt you.” A small smile rose from my lips. 

Darius looked up at me then immediately back down into the water, watching his step. Attempting to ease his discomfort, I flipped onto my back, floating aimlessly. He stood there as would a stiff tree, looking lost. The mindless current in the water drifted me close to him, as I passed by, I scooped some water into my hand and flicked it upward onto his stomach. Darius clenched his muscles at the jarring cold, tucking in his navel. 

An irritated glow flickered in his amber eyes. I probably shouldn’t have done that. Darius’ hands found places under my shoulder blade and thigh, with a throw of anger he flipped my entire body. Instead of the harmonic dusky sky, the bottom of the pond found its way into view. 

“Hey!” I gasped, breaking through the water, “what was that for?” 

“You asked for it.” He scowled and crossed his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth though he tried to suppress it. 

“Whatever!” I scowled in return, floating away on my back once more to the middle of the pond, far away from him. 

The cool water caressed my throbbing knee, finally allowing some relief to my injury. At most an hour passed, we stayed at separate sides of the pond, though I kept checking on him. He sat in the shallower end, bringing the water up his arm then smoothing it back down, gently washing away the dirt and grime. He got out and redressed himself, though even from far away I could see him struggle to lace the armbands. 

“Come on, Brit! I wanna go back to camp, I’m hungry.” his voice carried to the other side of the pond. 

“Fine!” I call back, swimming to shore and resurfacing onto the bank. 

I dress again and gather my basket, then look over to his, “We can’t take all these rocks… wanna pick one to keep?” I offer cautiously. 

He stands up with a straight and commanding posture, even though I tower over him, “Why not.” 

He reaches into the basket and rummages his hand around, gabbing an oblong rock with a green undertone. I dump the rest of the basket, and we begin to walk back. 

Every time I routinely checked on him, I saw Darius fidgeting with the rock, rubbing his thumb over it soothingly. His eyes found mine as I looked back. I noticed his cleaner complexion, he looked…handsome.  

Oh fuck…

Chapter Text

Ante diem VI Idus Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

B.

The pulse from my knee almost burned, it beat like a heart and felt as though it threatened to burst from my leg wrap. My whole body felt swollen, I overextended myself walking to the pond and foraging. The quiet hut faintly glowed in the dim lantern light, inviting us in after the errands. It took all my might to not collapse while walking, my steps becoming more and more uneven the further I stride. With my basket set down, I lowered myself painfully slowly onto the bed, brows furrowing with the strain. 

“We don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow, so no need to wake up early.” I closed my eyes against the pain, turning my head so he wouldn’t notice. 

“Alright,” Darius mumbled plainly, scarfing down the food Ecthigern left for us since we missed dinner. 

I settled into my bed with a soft groan, feeling every bruise and scrape littering my body so vividly. Darius shuffled behind me, doing who knows what, I can’t care as the exhaustion drags my eyelids down. The warm atmosphere lures me into a deep dreamless sleep. 

Soft rustling brought me out from tranquility, the lantern was dead, only the cool moon glow filtered through the plank walls. A shadow cast over my form and bed from just beyond the foot, creating a deeper darkness. Broad shoulders and a sturdy core makes the shade that wraps me. Was it Darius? I would hope there isn’t another strange man in my hut. The figure said nothing, I peeked into Darius’ bed, no one occupied the space. No words came from him. Must I really take initiative for another conversation? 

“Dar-“ I began shakily, intimidated by his powerful stance 

“Stay there! Don’t move.” He cut me off, a harsh ring to his words. 

“What?! Is something wrong-“ instincts drove me to lift myself from bed. I needed to know if this weird behavior was from him hurting. Possibly from his tattoo…maybe I shouldn’t have shown off my tattoos! Guilt racked my stomach faster than I could realize, pulling me into a panic while I sat upright. 

His looming figure gazed down at me, a tensity in the air and tenderness in his warm amber eyes. 

Wait- tenderness? 

My jolt forward prompted Darius to lean closer, he reached his hand out, pressing into my chest. With a gentle force, I flowered back onto my bed. 

“Answer me!” I wanted to sound tough and demanding, though I was pleading as the anxiety slithered into my throat. 

He backed away, still holding that look. “ Noli time.” He spoke in his own tongue, the Roman accent rolling from his lips in an achingly angelic tone. 

All thoughts paused, I could only observe as he continued, “your leg…” he looked as though he expected a response.

“What about my leg?” I flicked my eyes around with confusion.

“It’s injured and you’ve neglected it?” His question wasn’t meant for an answer, I could only pull a guilty expression. 

Darius sharply exhaled in frustration, drifting from the foot of my bed to the foraging baskets. He plucked leaves from the herbs, taking his leftover bowl from dinner to mash them carefully inside. 

“What are yo-“ 

“Shut up and lay there.” He bites back, any trace of patience quickly fleeting. 

Darius appeared by my bedside, his bowl in hand, “I’m gonna put this stuff on your leg, then wrap it up again. Sound good? Good.” He raised his brows at me, already scooping some of the mush with his hand. 

“What?!” I scrambled up onto my elbows, “I don’t need you to do anything! Stop!” 

A breathy chuckle sighed from his lips. Darius cocked his head to the side, complimenting the movement with an infuriated glare, “you think I’m fucking stupid, don’t you?” 

“Uhm no…?” The anxious snake continued to slither around my body. 

He scoffed sharply, “I don’t know if you’re lying or not- but that knee has only gone downhill,” he looked me dead in the eyes, “and your little bath scheme showed me just how many injuries you’re neglecting.” 

I frantically wave my hands around, “No! You don’t have to treat me! I don’t want your help!” I tried to push him away, deepening the gravity of my tone.

“And I didn’t want yours.” His eyes glared deep into my soul, “Let this be a return of favor.” 

I lay back, my gaze facing the ceiling, trying hard not to move as he delicately applies the paste to my injury. I let it happen, I didn’t want to argue or lose this side of him which radiated such a comforting humanity. I felt him work, acknowledging the cooling sensation of the herbs mixing with the soothing compression from the knee wrap. He sighed as a signal of completion. I folded over to see the job, a beautifully clean wrap and application. I never considered him to know this, though he is a soldier, it makes sense. 

“Thanks…” I keep my head focused on the wrap, feeling a heat in my face. Never can he know that his actions accomplished this reaction from me.

“I’m not done…” Darius groaned as if he was being forced to do this. I look up at him, the heat dissipating, “I still have to do your back.” 

“My back?” A chill ran through every vertebrae. 

“Yes, so tunic off.” His demand made me shutter. I have to clarify it for him.

I clear my throat, shaking the nerves, “Darius, you must understand something about my tattoos.” His eyebrow quirked up, allowing me to continue, “They are sacred to me, meaningful to me. I understand you want to help, and I will let you…but you have to treat it with a certain respect.” 

Darius nodded slowly, replacing his former attitude with one of understanding. From the way he approached slower, and bent down on the edge of my bed, I could see the shift in perspective. I turn my back to him, placing a trust I’ve never placed before while removing my tunic. Never before had someone touched my tattoos except myself and the artist. 

My back lay vulnerable to his eyes, showing the various bruises and cuts from our fight in the stream. It felt as though my heart was facing the harshest winds, coldest night, and heaviest storm. My head lay low, hair falling like curtains of rusty fabric around my collar. 

I heard bowls clink and water slosh behind me. Darius’ presence returns, the soft sunken hay sighing even more from his added weight on the bed. He felt quiet and intentful, easing himself closer and closer. Cold water tickles my skin, I shiver and tense my muscles, quickly arching my back away from the contact. 

“Sorry…” his usually projecting voice descended into a deep melodic hum. 

“No-“ my voice quivered gently, “you’re fine, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing, it’s annoying.” The usual bluntness returned, threatening to pull up the corners of my lips. 

The sweet tangy scent of the herbs swirled in the air, momentarily crossing my nose. Darius attempted again to treat the wounds. The cold didn’t shock me now that I knew it was coming. He traced the marks and bruises with an ease, like he’s been here a hundred times. His hands worked in rhythmic motions, tracing circles over the inflicted areas with some of the herb paste. It cooled the mundane sore sensation I had gotten used to, opening up my senses.  

I felt each wound be soothed, and I knew how many and where they were in total. Darius made necessary motions in his favor. I could feel his calloused hands trace the lines where the ink flowed. They traced the lunar emblems caressing my shoulders, then gingerly transferred to the wings. The centerpiece tingled under his touch, sparking like flint and steel, igniting warmth under my skin. My eyes began to flutter, grasping the concept of rest once again. 

Darius recoiled suddenly, drawing back his hands in an awkward manner, “you should uhm- just stay in bed today.” 

My consciousness slowly returns from the enticing sensation, barely following his words, “I- I have work to do.” My voice was thin and slow. 

“Doesn’t matter. You need to look after yourself today.” There, the tenderness returned, through his voice and rounded eyes. 

I reassessed my surroundings, the sun was up and gleaming…how long was this going on? It must have been very early morning when he woke me. Have I allowed this to happen for several hours? That similar heat began to creep into my face, the one that put me into a shameful state immediately. I forced my tunic on for a distraction. 

“Brianus!” A voice echoes from beyond the hut door. 

Darius shot behind the door frame as someone burst through. Ecthigern. His hair was more ruffled this morning and he had a slight worry on his face. 

“Remember that favor? Yes, you have to cash it in now!” He heaved with exhaustion, hunched over from running so much. 

“My knee is still out. I can’t.” I remark, somewhat of a smirk on my face. I hate the horse stables and was practically just ordered to stay in bed. 

“Just take Darius.” I pointed to Darius who hid behind the door, flattened against the wall. 

“The Roman?!” Ecthigern whispered-shouted in outrage. 

“Yes, ‘the Roman’ he can help you more than I can, just dress him up in a hood.” I waved at the two, hoping they’ll figure things out. 

Ecthigern took a long strip from my textile selection and presented it to Darius. His face twisted in disgust. The two bickered quietly, shoving away the fabric from one another and flinching to signal a fight. 

“Just go already!” I commanded, putting in extra gravity behind me.

The two straightened out, and Darius took the fabric, wrapping it around his head. I could only see his eyes, which hatefully squinted toward Ecthigern. 

M.

Following out of the hut, cloaked in a black hood, I left with Brianus’ friend, Ecthigern. Multiple Britons filtered throughout the camps, billowing past me. If any of them caught wind of my reaapearance, I was sure to be killed. I do not even know why I decided to take this risk; there’s no real benefit for me. Before me, Ecthigern was slightly taller and scrawnier than I, paying more attention to the people in front of him than behind him. I could bolt, leaving this place in the dust and try to survive in the wilderness like I tried previously. However, turning the rock that I collected in my hands, Brianus’ voice kept filtering into these thoughts; he was right about the potential of running into another, more savage, tribe who do not take Romans too kindly. Most of my legionis probably have left the entire island, so there is also no way to contact any of my people. 

However, it was more than that. Even if I said that my aid to Brianus’ condition was to pay back his help for my minor escape, I don’t think I could fully return the kindness he’s shown me. 

So despite the enticing opportunity, I remained behind Ecthigern, following like he ordered. Eventually, we arrived at the stables: a rather massive building than the surrounding huts, built from wooden logs and covered in leather for insulation. 

I looked back to Brianus’ hut where I knew he laid in pain. I hoped he fucking listened to me to not leave his bed. A bad knee could lead to more problems in the future; I’ve witnessed plenty of soldiers who neglect their injuries, however minor, and lead to their downfall, hindering not only himself but their legionem . 

“He’ll be fine,” the Briton’s voice snapped me back to reality. He had a teasing smirk, “Brianus isn’t one to stay injured for long. He’ll heal fast.” I glared at him, “Well, he clearly got it to this state, so who knows how far he’ll push it.”

Ecthigern rolled his eyes, “Just get inside before someone sees you. It’s my ass on the line if they find you.” Sighing, I reluctantly follow behind into the stables. Inside was a long hall with sections for the horses on either side. The hall led out to a green, fenced-in pasture where the horses could roam free. 

Romans don’t usually use horses in war. The most that horses do is pull chariots, but the army focuses on pedes in battle, leaving the horses for resources or the commanders. And even then, the horses are kept tied to trees, restricting their movement until the next battle which might take days to weeks. It’s different to see animals not treated like animals but something sacred, something to be cherished. 

“Are you gonna start helping, or do I need to order you like your commander?” Ecthigern snarks. 

Shrugging off the clock, my eyes pierce into him, glaring. “Fuck off,” I shoulder checked him as I walked by, opening one of the stable doors to start letting the horses out to the field. “You said you needed help. I don’t have any obligation to help you out, so I suggest you shut up before I leave.” That seemed to zip his mouth closed. 

I worked silently, trying to avoid the Briton. Gods above was he annoying, staring constantly, sighing, or scoffing with an attitude. I fed the horses, got them fresh water, and cleaned out their stables as Ecthigern tended to the horses themselves. 

I walked out towards the field, feeling the sun beat down on my skin, gathering sweat on my brow. My muscles still ached, but that’s a common state as a soldier, so I didn’t pay much mind to it. Walking over to the herd, I picked up one of the brushes from Ecthigern’s catty and started tending to them as well. 

Shushing a beautiful chestnut horse, I ran the brush through her coat, allowing my hand to scratch underneath her jaw lovingly. All of these horses seemed to be in great condition, so maybe Ecthigern wasn’t as stupid as he presented. I saw him peer over me every once in a while, probably making sure I am not messing with his life’s work. Paranoid freak .

He clears his throat, “They seem to like you a lot.” My gaze snapped towards the Briton, deciding how to approach this “compliment”. He’s been a dick this entire time, so why would he suddenly want to be friendly.  I should’ve just left when I finished up instead of coming out here; Brianus probably needs to change his bandanges. “What’s not to like?” I asked in a half-joking tone, slightly smiling. Ecthigern rolled his eyes, going back to attend the horses.

After some time, he spoke again, “All I mean was that you clearly had experience.” I was confused, “Why wouldn’t I have experience?” He just shrugged at my question. “I don’t know. Romans aren’t exactly known for their horses. Romans are more equivalent with meatheads that wield a sword, you know?” 

This man is a fucking moron.

“Romans don’t exactly take kind to people who are weak,” I stated. “If you do not possess a certain skill set, you’re not useful. And they are not the best teachers, so you either do what you’re told on the first command, or you’ll meet the end of a blade.”

Something about what I said or maybe how I looked at him seemed to make him understand. His version of the Romans is Caesar. I mean, why wouldn't it be? He’s the face of Rome, conquering everything in Her name. The province is only continuing to gain power because of him, but as he continues his conquest, everyone on the outside only thinks of the atrocities Caesar has committed.

And not the people in Rome who are also affected by his misdeeds.

I sighed, “I learned how to take care of livestock when I was around seven. I can’t really remember anything before the age of six, so learning useful skills like these were just ingrained into me front my earliest memories.” I paused, gauging how much more can I share with him. The Briton seemed attentive, almost eager to hear what else I can share about myself. “Regardless, doing work like this is practically natural to me.”

Ecthigern nodded, probably empathizing with that feeling. Labor is a natural part of my being. As a slave and as a soldier, regardless if those can be interchangeable, I have always worked. Because of the severity of my injuries since the battle and my frequent fights with Brianus, the only option for me was requiescere , causing me to go insane. Sitting idly by was never an option for me before, so it is incredibly weird for it to be now.

We didn’t say anything to each other after that. I helped put the horses back into their respective stables and nodded slightly as a farewell to Ecthigern, returning back to Brianus’ hut. 

Entering back into the leather workshop, I saw Brianus just where I left him, snoozing slightly in his bed, blanketed with furs to chase off the slight chill in the camp. I gazed at him; Brianus was quietly snoring, his breath allowing the small strands that escaped his now braided hair to slightly fly away from his face. 

In and out, over and over, everything fell away for a moment. Minutes felt like hours as I watched him breathe. A heat of embarrassment burned my cheeks as I finally looked away. What the fuck am I doing? He’s the enemy that killed your comrades, whose tribe is plotting against your patria . 

Right?

I decided to do the one thing that makes me sane, that makes me human: work. I needed a distraction, something to keep me from thinking of his hair that seems to burn like fire in the sunlight, his hazel eyes, his tattoos that flow across his back like the waves of an oce—.

Time to clean. 

Starting over near his workbench, I took all of the tools off, laying them in piles on the floor. Gathering a fresh bucket of water from outside, I scrubbed the wooden table vigorously, trying to get all of the leather stain and other grime off. I probably got as close as I could to getting it clean before I moved on. 

Next, I stripped mine and the other beds even though they weren’t being used. I washed and rinsed each of the linens, so they could be hung out to dry outside the hut. I quickly went outside to hang them in case anybody saw me, but there weren’t many people out at this time. My help at the stables took up most of the day as the sun was almost setting when I walked out of the hut. 

Entering back in and seeing Brianus still out cold, I turned to his workbench again. I organized all of the objects that I placed on the floor back onto his desk, trying to put them back where I found them in a neater manner than previously. I picked up one of the many tools for his work, and I started sharpening them with another, harder rock. 

Moments go by, and I hear Brianus start to stir, groaning as he starts to sit up. I watch as I continue to sharpen his scissors, making each swipe the same rhythm. I see his hazel eyes flick over me with confusion. 

“When did you get back?” He asked first. I shrugged, gazing out at the door of the hut. The sun had set at this point, and no one was out of their tents, so the night remained quiet. “Few hours ago,” I answered. “It’s good you’re awake. I didn’t want to have to wake you to change your bandaging.”

Brianus nodded in understanding. He raised an eyebrow at me, “What’re you doing?” I stopped sharpening and held out my hands for him to see. “Making your tools sharper. They were quite dull. I don’t even know how you cut with any of these things.” I then gestured around the room. “I also washed the linens and hung them out to dry outside. I also washed and organized your workbench.”

He just stared at me, looking astonished. “You, uh, didn’t need to do all of that.” I put the knife and stone on the workbench, standing up from his stool. I gathered the leftover medicine from this morning and placed some water in it to soften the hardened ointment. 

Brianus lifted his knee and started to unravel his bandages from this morning. Putting my weight on the mattress, I slapped his hand away. This is my work; he should let me do it. He furrowed his eyebrows at me, offended. “Don’t mess with it,” I warned. I know what I’m doing. 

“Fine,” he relented, letting me work on the bandage. I delicately unwrap the bandage, making sure not to irritate it more than it needs to be. Like in the morning, I scoop some of the herbal medicine in my hands and lightly rub into the wound. I didn’t realize that rock could knock his knee out this bad. 

Swirling the ointment in, I gazed up at Brianus only to realize he’s been staring at me this whole time. Hazel meets my eyes, and I can’t seem to force myself to look away. My body feels numb; the only feeling I can manage is the heat gathering on my cheeks. 

The moment is broken when Brianus clears his throat, breaking the contact and shifting his seating position. I focus back on the task at hand, helping him. I wipe off the medicine, grabbing another clean bandage to wrap his knee. I don’t want to make it too tight, or Brianus would be in more pain than he already is. 

I finish up with the knee, but there’s still his back to do. As much as I want to be selfish and treat his back again, it wasn’t as bad as his knee. “Do you want me to do your back again,” I offer. “I mean, it depends on how you feel, but I know, from experience, how hard backs are to treat.”

At my comment, the tension thickens. Maybe I shouldn’t have made that comment, but there wasn’t a lie in what I said. “It’s your choice,” I state. His gaze is never consistent, switching from me to his hands. I wait and wait until he finally answers. 

“Sure.”

I sigh, a little relieved. He trusts me, that much I can tell. He shrugs off his tunic, allowing his tattoos to be revealed again to me. My mouth dries at the sight of them. I don’t think I could think of anything more beautiful. The little flower at his nape was a mere taste of the full picture that Brianus’ body is. He has created art. He is art. 

I began to smear the ointment on the planes of his back, covering the small cuts and bruises. However, the tantalizing lines across his muscles detour me to trace the intricate details. Suns, moons, leaves.

And those damning wings . 

I ghost over them, almost afraid to touch. They seem so real with each feather so intricately drawn to resemble the reference. My breathing stills as I stared at them. 

Brianus slightly turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Everything okay?” He asks. Fuck, I got distracted. I place the bowl on the ground, “Yeah I’m done.” 

I stayed on the bed, bringing my knees up to my chest. Rubbing my eyes and holding my head, my body felt exhausted; I knew I recovered a little bit, but maybe I overextended my strengths of which I was capable. 

I felt Brianus’ hand rest on my shoulders, squeezing it slightly. “Look, you did a lot today. Why don’t you sleep for now. I’m gonna try to see if they left any food.”

I nod, not having any energy to deny the truth. As Brianus leaves the bed, I take his place near the pillows, sinking further into the mattress. I watch him stand, seeing even more tattoos on the front of his body. 

I lazily stare as he crosses the hut to leave. The smell of Brianus wafts near me, relaxing my tense form. I tangle myself in the furs, feeling the lingering warmth that his body left. I feel my breathing become shallow, lessening as I feel myself get further asleep. 

The last thing I remember is a weight beside me as sleep finally takes hold of my mind, shutting it off.

Chapter Text

Ante diem IV Idus Septembres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

B.

A blinding orange hue spread along my closed eyes, piercing into my dormant consciousness. Something shifted outside my still shut eyes, blocking the light’s direct path. The newfound shade allows me to flick open my eyelids, blinking away the morning blur. A mere couple inches from my face, another lay silently resting. Darius’ sharper features caught my attention, though now they lay loose— his eyebrows no longer scowling, but drift upward slightly. 

Alert flashes in my head, sending a shiver down my spine. Why was I lying with Darius?! My mind swirls with collecting memories from the previous night, all coming back in a flood after sleep. 

The night chill wavered into a warm breeze, I limped outside the hut bound for the communal cooking area. Few walked in the nighttime hours, even then, they were settling in for the night. I strolled with my bandages exposed, embracing the lacking crowd and warm atmosphere. The stars freckled the night sky above my head. I wondered how the Greeks and Romans saw animals within the dots, I certainly didn’t. 

The fire kept food boiling over it warm, no one attended the pot, so I helped myself. I took a bowl, filled it up, and picked out two pieces of bread. I’m sure Darius never had a full meal today, but I can’t just take two bowls, it’s suspicious. 

I returned to the hut, expecting him to still be awake with the usual survivalist attitude that sleep wasn’t so much a priority. But instead, he lay sunken into the hay mattress, tucked under the furs with his nose buried into my pillow. Darius, for once, appeared comfortable like he felt a sense of home. A smile slipped into my expression, a tingling warmth in the pit of my chest sparking at the sight. I sat at the workbench, hunching over on the stool, working and eating. My knee felt better already. 

Hours passed, the glow of the lanterns dying in the night. He was laying in my bed, and the others sat bare with no linens. The floor was dirt covered in thin fabric, no suitable place to sleep for my taste. I climb haphazardly into the bed, finding my own space across from him. This doesn’t have to be weird— it’s not. Even with this mindset, I felt the tingling in my face while I noticed him. Just don’t look at him. I flipped over, facing away from Darius. 

I recalled every moment while gazing at him in alarm. That did happen, but how could I end up so much closer to him than before? The furs were kicked off the bed, as the weather became unusually warm with the rising sun. Noise echoed beyond the locked hut door, the bustle of everyday tasks once more, meaning several hours have gone by since dawn. Darius always wakes up at dawn. My attention focuses back to him, the sight making a self conscious air in my mind. The heightened awareness draws my eyes to his arm that drapes over my midsection. It was limp, not even twitching, but his wide palm rested against my back with a grasp of intention. Heat bled into my face at a rapid pace, widening my eyes. I twitched with embarrassment, rustling the moment. Darius’ eyebrows furrowed in sleep, relaxing again a moment later. I sighed in relief, only to feel his broad hand slink further, finding my spine to glide his fingers along. He traced up to my shoulder blade, large arms crossing over mine which were folded under my own head. His palm planted between both shoulder blades, pressing me forward, even closer to him. 

Oh gods I might pass out…this proximity might be my end. 

His noble face is so close to mine, I can see every eyelash, every bit of sparse stubble, each curly strand of hair sprouting from his scalp. My eyes savored his features. I caught the scar under his hairline, seeing it as effortlessly endearing as the rest of his face. I made several passes around Darius’ features, seeing the moles that dotted around his cheeks, chin, upper brow, jawline, and observing the ones that descended into his tunic. I sigh, relaxing into his hand against my back, embracing the connection even if it was purely accidental. 

Everything began to take my breath away, drowning out all surroundings, zooming into this moment. His hair glowed with the backlighting of the gleaming sun, a chestnut brown glinting under the usual almost black. His curls sprawled around his face, framing his sharp jawline, only accentuating the moles…oh how my glance keeps returning to his moles. I untuck my hand from under my head, moving ever so gently as to not shake the calm moment. I find the connection between his jaw and neck, settling into that space. Darius exhales deeply, tilting his jaw up, inviting my hand to graze his jawbone. My heart leaps among my chest, simmering with an unfamiliar ache. I reach my thumb to trace the moles along his jawline just previously exposed. He nestled into the touch, encouraging my daring reach. My fingers extend into the hair on his neck, gripping it lightly, feeling the soft texture. 

Am I crossing a line?

Darius shivered with a violent jolt, his eyes flashing open, finding my face so close to him. His eyes turned wide, brightening with intense and unbridled fear. 

Fear. 

Darius swatted my hand away, surging out the bed. He stood panting, fists curled tight, knuckles white with tension. My breath was gone, a chill whisking through my bones despite the warm morning. 

“I- I’m sorry!” My voice was shaky and quick, panic lacing every element in my body. 

He scoffed, shaking his head to the side, running a hand through his tossed hair, “I have to check on the linens.” Darius spat back, not looking me in the eye, but storming out the back of the hut with a quiver in each step. 

I sit up in the bed, folding over, placing my head in my hands. I grip the roots of my hair, holding thick ribbons of tension in my head. tears prickle the edge of my eye lids, threatening to spill. How could I be so stupid?! Obviously that crosses his boundaries. I’m getting out of hand, stop falling into this spiral! I don’t even care to put on my tunic, I wrap up my shoes and tie my hair quickly into a bun, grabbing a basket and striding out the front door. I never foraged yesterday, the camp was behind on it. Set your priorities straight! Out the door I am met with my fellow workers, most of them wearing minimal clothing for the warm weather. This is probably the last time it will be warm this year, but deep inside I only feel cold. 

They wave at me, asking about foraging. I smile and wave back in common courtesy, briskly advancing away from them to avoid a peek into my current state. My heart filled my ears, the choking anxiety freezing my awareness in surroundings. I lock my gaze onto the entry of the forest, beginning to hobble from the fast walking pace, my knee struggling to keep up with the sudden movement. It doesn’t matter, just get to the forest, get away. I don’t want them to see me. 

M.

Rays of the sun’s light beats down upon me as I quickly exited the hut, relieving the cold chill that had clung to my bones. My hands were shaking, uncontrollably twitching . All I could think about were their hands, but not Brianus’, their hands, raking and clawing at me, holding me down. Through tears blurring my vision, I managed to sink into the grass, pressing my back into the wall of the hut for support. I couldn’t breathe again, my throat dry and sore from my constant panting. 

I curled myself into a ball, holding my head in my hands. Threading my fingers through my hair, I pressed deep into my skull, hoping to distract myself from going there, but nothing seemed to truly work. I sobbed at the memories that came flooding back, wishing they could be stuffed back into some little box like before. I was completely fine prior to this. Why is this suddenly making me so emotional? So weak? I pulled at my hair, hoping something, if anything, could pull me out of this.

Eventually, after what seemed forever, my breathing slowed, allowing myself to swallow down the painful feeling in my throat. My fingers lessened their hold, rubbing slight circles into my head to ease the pressure. Removing my fingers, I then tried to rub off as much of the wetness that had gathered on my face, trying to dry whatever tears remained.

Even if the worst was over, trying to stand proved difficult. It look a long time to finally get my footing off the ground, trying to gain back life into my dead limbs. As I finally managed to stand without support, I remembered, even through whatever haze I was in, that I did promise Brianus that I would check on the linens. Seeing as the weather is quite warm out today, the linens should be dry enough to bring back inside.

Gathering all of the linens that I set out to dry from the night before, I nervously reentered the hut. However, those worries were quickly ceased as new ones bloomed because Brianus was nowhere to be found. I dropped the linens onto a bare mattress, completely turning my attention to the situation at hand. I assessed the interior of the hut. The bed, where I had left him, was messily done, looking as if Brianus left in a rush. I tried scanning the rest of the hut, hoping to find a clue to where he hastily had gone. 

The basket is missing.

From where we had left the baskets two days ago, one was missing. Brianus must have gone to forage, hopefully in the same spot he took me. As quick as I could, I grabbed the cloak that I had worn the day before to hide myself and left the hut in a rush, heading in the direction we went originally to forage.

Climbing over rocks, I tried to think of what I was going to do when I found him. I mean, is he mad that I stormed out and slapped his hand away? He must, at the least, be confused. Squeezing between bushes, I tried to really recap all that had happened this morning. I was asleep, in Brianus’ bed might I add, and Brianus slept beside me. From what I could tell, I had no injuries, so he didn’t do anything while I was unconscious. He just seemed to caress me? I suppose.

And it’s not like I didn’t like it. I initially thought it relaxing before being awaken. And from my experiences with him, Brianus did not seem the type. He has given little to no inclination that I have previously been able to detect from people that they wanted to hurt me. I mean, if he had wanted harm upon me, he would have done it when I was officially his captive, under his mercy. He didn’t though. He was actually nice for a captor, nicest that I have encountered at least.

I managed to remember roughly the trail we had took before, following the windy path that was lined with trees so high that they disappeared into the clouds. Traveling further, I manage to spot him, leaning over a stream to collect herbs like before. His hair is tied up in a bun, illuminated by the sunlight peaking through the trees. Brianus forgot his tunic, allowing his artistic back to be exposed. Looking at those tattoos never gets old. The bank where he sat was not far from the treeline where I hid behind.

Carefully trying not to disturb him, I creeped over the treeline, allowing myself to stand right behind him. Peering over his shoulder, I looked at the multitude of herbs and other plants that Brianus had foraged on his outing. He was stripping the leaves off of a stem, placing the leaves in the basket with the other foraged items. I leaned forward again to get a better look, but my foot slipped, causing my presence to be heard throughout the whole forest.

I clearly do not learn well from my mistakes.

Brianus turns and launches his body in my direction, pinning me to a nearby tree. His expression seemed agitated, almost furious at me. Fuck, was he actually mad at me? The grip on my wrists would certainly leave bruises if he continued to press harder against the trunk of the tree. Suddenly, his expression dropped as well as the pressure on my wrists, but his hands still remained, keeping me firmly in place.

“Darius? Don’t scare me like that,” he sighed with not much bite in his voice. “You seriously have a knack for sneaking up on people.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t really realize when I’m being quiet.” At this, Brianus furrowed his brows in confusion. “You’re always quiet,” he stated plainly.

I nodded in understanding. Brianus, despite knowing it was me, did not immediately let my wrists go. We stayed in this position for a few moments, breathing each other’s air. The small contact that we did have felt completely different from the one this morning. This one felt more fiery, almost like it burned my skin. However, this morning, his contact on my jaw felt soft, endearing. 

Brianus realized our position, pulling away from me like I also burned him, scorching his fingers where they touched my wrists. He didn’t look at me, gazing at the ground instead. Finally looking up at me, he seemed distressed. “I wanted to apol—”

At those beginning words, I reached forward and clamped a hand over his mouth; this is not how I want this conversation to go. Brianus squinted in confusion, but I did not release my hold in case he was going to start talking again, or fucking apologize. 

“Minime,” I stated. I am really not good at this. “You do not need to be sorry. I should apologize for storming out like that. It was probably really distressing.” The words came tumbling out, eventually trailing off at the end, practically unhearable. “Just, like, let me talk,” my voice softened. “Okay?”

Brianus did not make a sound but nodded as a sign of understanding. I released my hold on him, turning toward the stream and sitting on the edge of the bank, folding my knees up to my chest. He followed me, sitting beside me cross-legged, but we were both not looking at one another but rather our reflections in the water. I cleared my throat to start.

“Like I said, I am sorry,” I began. “I know you probably think all of it is your fault, but I promise you that you didn’t do anything wrong.” My gaze flicked to my hands, fiddling with my fingers to allow me to do something to get this anxious energy out. “I have, um,” I struggled. “I have a lot of stuff that I carry with me from being a servant of Rome.” 

I snuck a glance at Brianus, but he was already looking right at me, hanging onto every word I say. His hazel eyes focused intently on mine, almost trying to find the answers in them. I continued, “Roman elites are not the kindest of individuals, especially to their property.”

“I just get nervous about physical contact,” I force out. “I’m not used to it being genuine.” I immediately looked at Brianus, thinking there would be anger, pity, anything. I searched in his face, his body, for any sign of any emotion.

But all I saw was sadness.

His eyebrows were pinched together, appearing to hold such a weight upon them. They probably were as I was forcing him to listen to what I had to say. I began to clarify, “I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. I just got scared because I don’t know how to react.” I hoped that eased some of his worries, and it somewhat did. The weight on his brow lessened, but Brianus still looked incredibly sad at the news.

“I don’t understand,” he responded. “How can you defend and feel pride in a nation that uses you?” The question came out so sincerely that I was taken aback, leaving me without an answer. I had no way of answering that question. I mean, Rome is my life; they gave me a purpose. I was bought and beaten and used, but I learned so much. I couldn’t exactly disregard them when they gave me the tools to live in this world, to survive without anything to back me up. But what came out of my mouth was nothing that I had thought in this moment.

“It’s hard to vocalize,” I finished off. Brianus, despite not having an actual answer to his question, accepted it nonetheless. “I will say that I am much happier here than I have been anywhere else.” 

At this, Brianus smiled a warm and inviting smile. Despite the heavy talk, he always seemed to lighten the mood. “I’m glad,” he looked off onto the other side of the wide stream. “I’m happier you’re here too.” He scratched the stubble around his chin, continuing his gaze away from me. I shifted my body closer to him, allowing our shoulders to brush against one another. I looked down at Brianus, focusing on his exposed arms where vines crossed over his forearms, snaking around to the tips of his fingers. The amount of detail is truly exquisite.

Reaching my pinky finger over, I lightly trace the vines, causing Brianus to look over at me. However, I continued my gaze on his arms, intently swirling my finger across his skin slowly. I want him to know it’s okay to touch me, that I’m not something fragile that will break at the lightest graze or will pop off at the littlest brush of contact. I am human too. 

He leans his arm further into my reach, almost allowing his full arm to lay in my lap. I continue my journey across his skin, feeling as if each vein or muscle is a separate quest. Brianus clears his throat, “I hope you know I would never hurt you. I mean, I know we’ve had our fights,” he pauses, almost debating his next statement. “But I care about you, Darius.”

“Marcius.” It leaves my lips before I can stop myself.

Brianus slightly leans away to look at me, confused. “What?” I drop his arm, letting it lay lip across my legs. “Marcius,” I repeated. 

“It’s my real name.”  

Chapter Text

Ante diem XV Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

Dabbing the cloth in the murky, dark liquid, I firmly placed the leather breastplate on the table, swiping the polish along the material. Over and over, I repeated this process to make sure the shininess of the leather shined. To pass the time as Brianus worked, I helped out with the more simpler, menial jobs. Polishing the leather, threading fabrics, making thread, and other activities consumed my waking hours as I lived alongside Brianus.

My day-to-day has become…comfortable? There was a simple routine for each day, allowing me to work at my own comfort level without any pressure to do more than needed. I didn’t have a constant feeling of impending death; amazing what not being in the military will do for you. I coasted through hours, enjoying the hidden aspects of the world in which I live. However, some things never change; I still continue to wake up at the first sign of dawn.

I suppose Brianus has a hand in this new easy life of mine. Having someone to talk to, eat with, and generally see everyday provides a steady presence throughout the day. I know that at the end of the day we will both retire to our individual beds mere paces from one another, sleeping among the quiet peace we created together. I don’t think I have ever felt this way with anyone ever.

After covering the entire tunic with the leather polish, I grab a rag on the other end of the workbench, attempting to get as much of the polish off of myself as possible. The greasy finish tends to seep into the patterns of your fingers, outlining each swirl darkly. Most of the stain had already laid across my skin for quite some time, proving more difficult to remove. Hopefully, a bath will solve this issue.

The hut door bursts open loudly with Brianus striding through. He rushes to his bed, lowering himself and rifling through the gap between the bottom of the bed and the floor. Drawing out a small box, his hands quickly fly through the box. Giving up, Brianus moves away from the bed and begins to pace around the hut, muttering to himself and running his hands through his tossled hair. This is certainly a first.

“Everything okay?” I break his frenzied trance, causing his wide hazel eyes to focus upon my frame at his workbench. “Oh, um,” he stutters, continuing to run his fingers through his red locks, gripping at the roots. “My black tunic isn’t with the rest of my clothes, and I don’t think I brought any other nice clothes from home, but I seriously need to wear something nice, and it’s hot out, so I’m all sweaty, but I just took a bath earlier this morning, and I seriously do not want to take another one, and my hair is a fucking mess .”

Through his complicated rambling, Brianus becomes more and more agitated and anxious, walking through small paces again. I ask as I stand up from my stool, “What is really making you so frazzled?”

Brianus sighs, pinching the skin between his eyebrows in frustration. “I just came from the tribe meeting, and the chief wants to see me. He says that he has to determine who can really benefit the war effort. If the chief deems my contribution insufficient, then he’ll send me home. If he sends me home, then I’ll lose the hut, and I can’t guarantee your safety which I had promised you.”

I let the news roll over me. This is certainly not a part of the routine. Trying to figure out all of the possible solutions, all that remained was what Brianus could do to prove himself. No wonder he’s freaking out; this is all on his shoulders. In my silence, Brianus groaned, probably thinking that I also had no clue how to figure out this situation. 

“Uh okay,” I finally said. “When do you have to meet the chief?” Depending on the amount of time to prepare, this might turn out better than Brianus believes. “Like about 2 hours?” He seemed unsure. Two hours is enough time. I can fix this. 

“Sit,” I commanded, pointing to the bed. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, almost hiding his freckles, “What?” I merely furrowed my eyebrows. “I said, sit ,” I repeated again, putting more emphasis in my voice. It clearly did the trick because Brianus gently sat down on the hay mattress, the material bending under his weight. 

I quickly gazed around the room, frantically searching. “Where’s your brush?” I asked, still gazing around the room. “What?” Brianus questioned again; is he broken? My eyes snapped to his; I didn’t have time for his curiosity. Regardless, if we only had two hours, we still needed to act fast. 

“Are you going to ask me that everytime I speak to you?” It came out harsher than intended. The tension became thick in the hut; a blade could have sliced through it. He merely pointed to the workbench, indicating what I needed was there. I swiped the brush off of the table, inspecting its condition. The bristles from horse hair were a little fraud, but otherwise there was no immediate damage. This would do. 

I positioned myself behind Brianus, kneeling on the mattress. I put the brush beside me, gathering all of his hair behind his shoulders, causing him to slightly turn in confusion. I glared at him, hoping he wouldn't say a word, but he merely just turned face away from mine. I scooted closer, allowing my knees to brush his lower back. Grabbing the brush, I started running the bristles through his ratty locks, trying to get all the tangles that he caused out. 

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” He swings his body around to look at me, yelling at the first touch of the brush. I furrowed my eyebrows; this will take all day if he continues to refuse me. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask sarcastically. “I’m brushing your hair, dumbass.”

“Absolutely not!” Brianus leans away, trying to gather all of his hair far away from my reach. Why is he being so difficult? He’s gonna be the reason he’s late or unpresentable. 

“Will you just let me fucking help you?!” I exclaim back at a higher volume, ultimately shutting him up. Finally, I can actually make something pierce through his thick skull. He sighs in defeat, moving so that he was facing away from me like before with my knees touching his back again. 

“What exactly is a proper hairstyle to appear in front of a chief?” I asked. Brianus didn’t respond for a few moments, allowing me to run my fingers through his hair so that there weren't any hidden tangles underneath his thick hair. “I suppose anything that’s out of my face. Braids are common as well.”

I hummed in acknowledgment, continuing to brush his hair. To thoroughly ascertain that his hair was completely untangled, I started brushing from underneath the mass of hair. Immediately, I was met with restriction, causing the brush to barely move. “This is going to hurt,” I warned. I didn’t really give Brianus a chance to respond before I quickly swiped through the knot, reverbing a horrible ripping noise.

“ OW! ” He shouted, holding the back of his head where the knot was. “What the hell was that for?” “That was for making this a harder job than it needed to be because you kept running your hands through it,” I remarked, continuing my work. He didn’t say anything after that, slightly grumbling to himself. The rest of the brushing resumed without much struggle; that knot was the only one that deemed itself difficult.

After finishing up, I put the brush away. I gathered all the hair in front of me, lightly running my fingers through the silky red. Brianus had well-kept hair based off of the soft texture. “Where do you keep your pins?” I ask, still fiddling with his hair. “Um,” he stutters. “Should be one on the workbench.” I flicked my gaze, determining exactly where he meant. I strode over, gathering as many bronze hair pins as I could. Returning back to the bed, I parted a portion of his hair, beginning the braid at the edge of his hairline.

Weaving the strands together, I added more hair as I continued further down the braid. It was finally peaceful again with him silent and me intently working. However, that silence did not remain for long. After a few moments of finishing the first braid with a pin to hold it in place and starting on the second, Brianus brought part of the finished product forward for him to see, inspecting my work on his hair.

“I didn’t know you could braid,” he stated, slightly impressed. A grin twitched at my lips, “You never asked.” Brianus scoffed at my remark, still fidgeting with the finished braid between his fingers. “You don’t exactly seem the type.” I faked a gasp at his dig, pretending to be offended, “Oh, why is that? Haven’t you ever heard it’s improper to assume?”

This incited a breathy laugh from Brianus, eliciting a flutter in my stomach. “Well, I don’t see you braiding your hair everyday,” he uttered. “Where did you learn? Do soldiers like their hair braided for battle?” a joking tone escaping his mouth.

“Not exactly,” I spoke, almost finished with the second braid. “Before I was a servant of the Roman military, I was a servant of a Roman family.” I paused, fastening the second braid with a different pin. Now, I started a twist at his hairline, grabbing only two strands instead of three. “When I was younger, I always felt the need to work. Even when we were given breaks, which was rare, I wouldn’t take them. I had this obligation to constantly be doing something. So, when the ancillae were busy with more important, time-consuming tasks, I did the little jobs for which they did not have the time to do. One of those jobs was brushing and doing the hair for the women and girls of the family.” I paused, fastening the twist that reached all the way down his tattooed back, reaching the length of the other two braids.

“Trends come and go quickly in Roman society, which left me constantly trying to keep up with the desires of what the girls wanted each day, forcing me to learn all kinds of styles,” I explained. “Eventually, as many do, I grew up, becoming a more important servant among the lot that served them. I attended patron-client meetings, conversations with members of the Senate, and other official activities in Roman society, requiring me from doing less of my household jobs to more political ones, eventually landing me as the family’s sponsor in the army. I adopted their name and became Marcius Darius Septimius.”

“However,” I twirled one of his locks through my fingers, appreciating how the red burned orange when the light caught it. “I appear to not have forgotten how to do these styles. It feels like I haven’t stopped.” Silence envelops the room again. I begin another braid at the crown of Brianus’ head. “It seems like it,” was all that left his mouth. Moving around to a quarter of the braid, I asked, “Who taught you how to braid? Or were you self-taught?”

Brianus giggled at the question, “Oh I am certainly not self-taught.” He shifted his position on the mattress. “Back home, it was only my two sisters and I; our parents were never really present, at least emotionally. Seeing I was the only man in the family, they thought that I should just figure life out for myself, not bothering to actually teach me how to survive. We also just had… differing views”

My hands stall a little while braiding at his statement. That seems utterly idiotic; how is a child supposed to immediately know how to do things? Learning takes time and patience. We all aren’t born with the skills needed to fight in this world. He continues, “my sisters taught me everything I know from hunting, to swimming, to leather-working, to even braiding their hair. I’m sure they made me braid their hair because they were too lazy to do it themselves, but I actually enjoyed the process. As I got older, I grew out my hair, so I could braid it myself.”

I finished the final braid, bringing all of the hair, braided and unbraided together, leaving only the braid that started at the crown out of the mass. Twisting the red locks, braided, twisted, or left loose, I turned the mass into a bun. Holding the bun in place, I wrapped the braid that was left out around the bun, using it as a ribbon to hold it in place. Finally, I fastened the braid with two bronze pins, allowing the copper color to blend with Brianus’ fiery hair.

“Alright, I’m finished,” I reached behind me and pulled a bronze mirror, handing it to him. Even if he could only see in the shade of orange the bronze reflected, Brianus awed at the bun. “Wow,” he breathed out. “This seems so intricate.” He moves to touch the bun lightly, almost afraid the slightest graze will undo it. 

“Thanks?” I lightly laugh at the comment. He fully turns to me know, demonstrating more tattoos that litter his chest. “I’m serious, Marcius,” he states firmly. “This is incredibly detailed.” My name from his lips produces a rush of heat to my cheeks. The way he says it always makes my stomach do somersaults ever since I told him it was my real name. 

Suddenly, I felt something squeeze my shoulder. I looked over, seeing Brianus’ hand inked with vines firmly gripping me. I focused my gaze to meet his, his eyes shining a sincere light in their hazel color. “Thank you for all of this,” he claims, eyes still locked on mine. “For fixing my hair and helping me calm down. I know I wasn’t exactly the nicest, but I appreciate it.” I didn’t say anything, merely matching his intense stare with my own. 

“Uh, yeah. Hold on, I just remembered something,” I quickly move off of the bed, exiting to hut. Following around to the back, I snatch the black tunic that Brianus had mentioned before; I forgot I mixed it in with the wash earlier that day. Thank the gods above, it was dry. Entering back inside, I chucked the piece of clothing at him, landing it right into his lap. “As much as all of the camp would love to see you walk out of here without a shirt on, I think it’s best if you were a little modest when meeting with your chief,” I playfully remark. 

Brianus eyes widen at my statement, a deep pink stains his cheeks. “Uh—where was it?” His voice cracks. I shrugged, “I accidentally washed it earlier today. It should be dry by now.” He nods, slipping the tunic on as he moves closer to the exit of the hut. 

“Thanks again, Marcius,” he repeats, gripping my shoulder again but more delicately, lighting my skin on fire. “I’ll tell you how it goes.” I nod, but before I could wish him luck, Brianus was already out the door, disappearing among the swarm of other Britons. Sighing, I return back to Brianus’ bed, sitting at the edge. Thinking for a moment, something wasn’t right. My eyes widened as the last few moments of our conversation resounded through my head.

Did I just say that I liked him shirtless?!

Chapter Text

Ante diem XV Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

B.

Tensions in camp rose to a chokingly thick atmosphere over the last couple days with the chief’s organizational decisions. Everyone gathered around one massive bonfire outside, twiddling their thumbs in anticipation. My meeting felt extremely critical, not of my job, but of my appearance. The chief’s eyes traveled every strand of my hair, an intrigued expression knit into his eyebrows. Perhaps the curiosity sprang from how I was able to do it by myself…because I did it myself, at least he thinks that. 

“Tell me Brianus…” The chief began at our meeting, stroking his large beard while lounging in his wooden chair, “How do your skills benefit us?” 

I met his eyes, finding the balance to answer without a wavering tone, “I repair many of my comrades' items, not just leather, but clothing too. I can make garments from scratch and tailor them to specific needs.” 

My remembering of the meeting was cut short as my fellow Britons roared in triumph for the chief, emerging from his large central home. Festivities ascended from his arrival, drinks were poured, food served, and laughter rang loud through the early night. Ecthigern strolled into my space, crashing into my shoulder with a large horn of drink sloshing in his grasp. 

“Have a drink! It’s not everyday you get to party.” He smiled, that missing tooth gap catching my eye as always. 

I nudged him forward in return from colliding into me, a smirk on my face, “I know that, Horse boy! I’ll have one after I find out if I’m going home or not.” My voice was light and carefree, though my insides trembled with the possibilities of having to leave. Would Marcius come home with me? Would they find him? I can’t exactly bring a Roman home…My sisters would freak out. 

The night sky blurred from the radiant fire, all stars wiped from view. The air smelt heavily of smoke and ale after an hour of party. The chief finally stepped to the edge of the fire pit, an uneven edge to his footing and a dazed look to his eyes, “Now the time all you workers have been waiting for!” He laughed, “There’s no need to worry, everyone stays. You all have proven to be mighty useful to our efforts.” 

A small smile graced my lips as he spoke. I didn’t have to leave Marcius to the wolves. The relief pushed me to the ale barrel surrounded by laughing men and women. They jeered with tilting cups, cursing the Romans as they drank and spitting on the ground in a scorn to Rome. A little much in my taste. The golden liquor flowed abundantly from the barrel, splashing around like a whirlpool inside the cup. It’s been a long while since I last drank, and to be honest, I need it. My thoughts didn’t get far before they returned to him. I took another cup and filled it generously, taking them under my arm and in one hand strolling back to my hut. 

“Leaving already?” Ecthigern popped out in front of me, his one eyebrow up in suspicion. 

“Yes. I am leaving so early, I know.” I roll my eyes with a smile. 

“That for who I think it is? Or are you just indulging?” He laughed, putting the mug to his face and taking a gulp. 

“Goodnight, Ecthigern.” I keep walking, not looking back at him as I speak. 

The air cleared of smoke and light, bringing in the fresh scent of the forest and gleam of bursting stars, accompanied by another scent, British ale. The hut door swung open with my enthusiasm, a grace in my steps as I place the mugs down. 

“I’ve got news!” My voice almost sang with relief, greeting Marcius as he sat on my bed, threading a simple tunic. 

“Better be good.” He scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips while rhythmically stitching. 

“Well-“ I sighed, picking up his cup and approaching the bed, “You’re safe for another day, Roman.” 

He glanced up at me, his smirk growing as he saw the drink. “I must warn you though, it’s pretty strong. One drink is enough even for me.” 

Marcius took it daringly, raising his eyebrows at me, his smirk turning mischievous, “Don’t lecture me, Brit. I can handle it.” His voice was thick, deepening as he raised the mug to his lips for a first taste. I observed his eyes peeking from the edge of the cup, widening as he drank. 

“That’s really good!” He laughed and coughed simultaneously, seeming to find a sickly joy in the strength of the drink. He raised the mug up high, chugging it rapidly. 

Oh…didn’t expect that. 

Marcius sighed contentedly with the drink gone, he folded his hands over his stomach and lay back onto my bed, his feet swaying while dangling over the sides. “Gods…just wait till that kicks in.” I sit on his bed, facing his laying form, raising my own mug. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I drank, relishing the rare occasion. It’s not everyday you escape the jaws of uncertainty…actually that is everyday. Warmth settled in my stomach. I untied my hair from the simple braid that kept it from my eyes all day, raking my fingers through the soft wavy pattern imprinted. Glancing back at Marcius, his eyes were already on me, moving with the waves of my hair. 

“Doing alright over there?” I wave my hand in front of his stare, a sudden laugh seeping into my speech. 

His eyes drooped into a half lidded stare, brows knit together lightly, “I’m fine.” Marcius’ lips peaked into a barely noticeable grin, he shut his eyes and shook his head, dismissing my concern. 

He lulled his head back, body swaying in a dulled sense, as if he couldn’t feel himself moving. With his neck exposed, Marcius flexed his jaw, drawing my eyes to his moles. I felt my mind become softer, almost fuzzy, remembering the placement of my hand over those moles, wanting that back. The soft numbing of my mind spread as time passed, dulling my resolve, allowing me to bathe in my own emotions without pushing them away. I can no longer deny it. Heat rushed to my face, tingling like a crackling fire under my skin. The hut suddenly became unbearably hot. 

“Let’s get some air.” I blurt with a harsh edge to my voice. 

Marcius flicked his head back up, eyes rolling around the area lazily. He was propped up on his elbows, I approached the bed, towering over him. Amber eyes glazed over my arms, following the vine tattoos. He groaned, flinging his arm to mine, clutching my forearm. I bring him up with as much control as my own fuzzy resolve can muster. Marcius tilted forward after standing, drowsily making eye contact with me. He draped into my arms, resting his head on my shoulder, purposely becoming limp. A shallow chuckle vibrated from his throat that pressed into my chest; the deep sound sent a shiver raking through my spine. I pushed him off of me, Marcius stumbled back, barely catching himself. 

“Can’t you walk on your own?” I spat unintentionally, an irritated tone gliding into the words though I didn’t feel that way. 

“Yes.” He laughed, “But I don’t want to.” His spontaneous laugh continued, bubbling from his ribs.  

I sigh heavily, taking up his hand in mine, “Come on, we’re going outside.” 

“Can’t you just carry me?” Marcius groaned, his face upset in an over dramatic fashion. 

“No.”

Marcius stopped, an almost offended look in his eyes along with a slight flare of his nostrils. Suddenly his brows arched upward and his lip jutted out in the most pathetic pout. I gathered all my strength to ignore his plea, not wanting to give into whatever flirtatious scheme he was plotting. The outside air wasn’t much cooler than the hut, but pleasant anyway. My thin tunic hung loose and pulled into the breeze, I took a much needed deep breath. Marcius tracked my steps with minimal coordination, practically dragging his feet and barely staying upright. My arm was pulled taunt behind me while he struggled to keep up. His eyes were down, like he was deeply sad. A pang of sympathy bounced in my chest, I traced back, hooking our arms together. 

The party noise rode the wind all the way to the hut, followed by the smell of ale and vomit. The vile mixture stung my nose. We need better air. 

“We’re going into the woods, try and watch your step.” I mumbled next to Marcius’ ear, being close enough to see his intricate curls spiraling to frame his face. 

 Marcius leans most of his weight over my arm, resting his head on my shoulder, “Just walk, Brit.” His voice murmurs with a breathy laugh at the end. 

I walk into the woods, passing the dense brush bordering camp, its lush leaves leaving cold droplets of water along my pants. I primarily held Marcius upright, he nuzzled the bend where his nose met his brow into my shoulder, putting pressure on the one spot for some relief to, what I’m sure might be, a headache coming on. Silence enveloped between us, though the chitters and chirps of the night sang all around. The air deepened into a slightly humid but earthy scent, driving away the chaos of that party. 

Without warning, Marcius shifted his weight, taking it all onto himself once more. I flick my head to him in a slow urgency. He gazed up, eyes beyond the trees, a silent infatuation expanding his pupil. Treetops waved harmoniously in sync, ebbing and flowing with the tiding winds, the leaves rustled enough for the glittering stars to peek through. Marcius squinted, elevating his neck as if the little extra height that brought could get him closer to those lights. 

“Is there a field nearby?” His voice was small, while his gaze remained fixed upon the sky. 

It took me many moments to remember the layout of where we stood, the fuzzy sensation starting to numb my thoughts, “There’s more of a clearing,” I point my finger half-heartedly down south, “That way, about a mile from the shore.” 

His eyes tore away from the night sky, drifting into mine, pupil remaining enlarged with infatuation, though certainly not for me. Even in the blue darkness, I could see a rosy hue simmering along his cheekbones, complimenting the pink red of his lips.

 I bring my eyes back to Marcius’, watching his stare now dart to my lips. 

Oh gods- 

Without another thought, I pulled us south, towards the clearing. The trek was not long, but wound through the forest. As we came closer, the trees and thick brush thinned into plush shorter grass. The grass sloped with a rolling hill we walked atop of. Marcius strolled away from my side, following the hill’s curve to the bottom. He slumped into the dip connecting the flattened ground to the hill, lounging on his back focused on the sky. The grass shuffled along my sandals while I strolled to meet Marcius’ spot at the bottom. He heard me approaching, tilting his head backward, arching his neck to see me. Marcius’ head returned to a normal position, his broad hand patting the patch of grass beside him. My stomach leaped as he invited my presence. 

“What’s all this about?” I chuckle, settling in next to Marcius, with an anticipatory glance. 

“The constellations.” Marcius’ eyes met mine, tone warm and personal. I took in his whole expression, noticing the way his mouth curved into a genuine smile. 

It caught me off guard. Not a smirk, teasing, or playful gesture, but a truly human and sincere smile. 

“You-“ I started but trailed off, discovering my face warm and flushed. “you know how to translate the stars?” 

He nodded, closing the gap between our bodies by rustling next to me in the grass. Marcius placed his head above my shoulder, resting in the crook of my neck though still gazing at the sky. I watched him closely, paying attention to the pure glimmer in his eyes that mapped the stars above. His hand glides along my forearm, igniting sparks in my veins. He intertwined our hands together. How could I look at the sky when this was happening on the ground? 

“Look up” Marcius interrupted my focus on him, pulling both our arms up.

The night sky loomed above. Purple, blue, and deep red hues swirled like whirlpools and dancing leaves, and stars amounting beyond my comprehension freckled every inch. Marcius held our hands up, he pointed his finger to a grouping of stars.

”There’s Pegasus.” I could feel his breath along the shell of my ear, warm with the scent of ale. 

“What’s a Pegasus?” A laugh erupts from my stomach at the odd word. My eyes tear away from the sky, I only want to look at Marcius. 

He chuckled against my shoulder, “Pegasus is a horse with wings like a bird, born from the neck of a Gorgon.” His voice was lazy but passionate.

I have no idea what a Gorgon is, I didn’t care either. 

Marcius moved our hands, pointing to another cluster, “These two sets here are Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. A mother bear and her son cub.” He continued, moving us again, “This one is Orion, the hunter.” 

The stars barely appealed to me, they were beautiful and mysterious, but why gaze at something out there when I have someone far more interesting laying at my side? 

“Here, These two matching shapes are Castor and Pollux.” Marcius flicked his eyes to me, holding contact when he saw I was already there, “What?” He smiled endearingly, wrapped in the passion of his subject. 

“Nothing. Keep talking.” I whispered, our arms lowered, he rolled over onto his side, and so did I. 

“Castor and Pollux were twin brothers, sons of Jupiter.” Marcius smiled as he talked, eyes squinting in reaction, “They were brave cavalry men and sailors- born from an egg— they’re mother was a mortal woman, and Jupiter seduced her as a swan.” 

“how does that even work?” I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Just go with it!” He gently smacked my arm, “anyway, they wanted to be immortal together. So, Jupiter made them into stars.” Marcius sighed and looked up again, a deep admiration in his actions. 

“Who taught you this?” I furrowed my brows, still failing to comprehend how people can see shapes and stories within the stars. “I only think of stars as the sky’s freckles, I have never seen what you see.” 

Marcius sat up, peering up again, “I see…they do look like the freckles on your nose.” He glanced back at me, the larger clustered stars— constellations reminding me of the moles that dot his face in the same manner. 

“The family I served had other slaves, who were from Graecia. They taught the noble children of the household.” He gazed fondly into the sky, remembering what appeared to be a pleasant part of his past, “They wanted me to learn as well, even though I was nowhere near noble. So at night, the teachers would take time to educate me. I appreciate all they did for me, very much.” 

Marcius’ words flowed through the night with a gentle grace, in a way I’ve never heard before. “Did the teachers know what the stars are? Are they another world as so many stories say?” I sat up with Marcius, suddenly wanting to know if there are more possibilities out in the vast sky. 

“They did not know either, but if there is validity to the stories, then yes.” Marcius pondered the statement, a doubtful crack in his own belief. 

The words tumbled from my mouth, derived from the impulsive fuzz still corroding my mind, “Maybe…Just maybe there’s a world out there—“ I face the pooling void of endless twinkling lights, “A world where we don’t have scars but are still here together.” 

Marcius’ brows knit together with a gentle pressure, appearing more somber than angry. It looked like words hung heavy between his teeth, on the cusp of breaking into sound. His torso leaned in, a hand grazing over my knuckles and traveling along my tattooed skin. The contact spread heat among the surface like a dancing fire, only festering with more intensity as he moved up my arm. Marcius’ thumb ran along my veins and muscles. I can’t admit it, but oh how I relished the way he adored my tattoos. 

He found my gaze again, a now sultry aura deep in his enlarged pupil. “Why does any of that matter? We’re here now.” 

His hand descended back down my arm, smoothing over the lines he previously climbed. “You’re right.” Was all I could manage through the heated silence, thick with something unavoidable. My hand so eagerly found the spot between Marcius’ jaw and neck again, this time pulling him in.  

Marcius rotated his eyes around my face, that half lidded stare and those delicate eyelashes fooling with the steady beat of my heart. Our faces drew closer, we breathed in unison, the smell of ale drifting around our heads. Marcius and I leaned into each other’s touch, his lips brushing mine, sparking with warmth. An after shock repelled us back. Marcius still held his gaze, and I mine. I intertwined my hand with his, glazing over his rough scarred knuckles. Our faces leaned back in, a sense of need diffusing into the air. Our lips pushed forward again, finding the heat and pursuing it. More force poured into the touch, threatening to push us rolling over the grass. 

The link between us broke, ragged breaths shared while our noses rested together. My eyes gazed endearingly at the flush painting his cheeks and the harsh line of his brows furrowed in exhaustion. 

The woods crackled beyond us, a noise similar to buzzing insects swarming approaching. It grew to deeper shouts and roars. What was that? The moment encased me, attempting to drown the buzzing out. Clarity reached my ears, those roars were of my comrades… 

My head snapped up, above the hill, orange fire dawned over its crest. Torches, swords, spears, bows, arrows, shields, and axes huddled among the group. At the head, the chief stepped into view, his eyes narrow and full of fury. The whole camp rallied behind him, screaming at us. Marcius’ face twisted in anger.

I could only look at him with the utmost sorrow and failure.  

Chapter Text

Ante diem XV Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

The familiar feeling of rope on my wrists burns with memories: memories of how I got here in this mess. The numbing feeling from the ale slowly seeps away as reality unfolds. Anger only courses through my veins. Anger at what? Me? Brianus? The world? I couldn’t tell in those moments, but the hot, white rage that I was so accustomed to settled in my bones. 

Brianus sat across from me in the same predicament, hands tied, but his face represented something different. Fear, maybe shame, but that didn’t matter at the moment. The British chief paced the length of the tent, stalking around us, scrutinizing. I felt his cold presence even without his stature in my sight. 

“I did think it peculiar,” he started, the deep voice echoing in the rather large tent. “Brianus arriving here with a foreign hairstyle when he’s never been outside the country.” Shit, this is my fault. If I hadn’t pinned his hair, maybe we could’ve had more time. I dared a look at Brianus, watching as his face grew more fearful. I did this. This is my fault. 

“And then it all made sense,” the chief continued. “Him missing communal meals, missing foraging duties, simply missing from everything.” He paused, fully turning to the both of us. “He was fraternizing with the enemy, a Roman.”

“No,” my voice broke. “This is my fault. I tempted him. He would have never betrayed his tribe if not for my insistence.” I tried, trying, to save him. Try and do something I should have done long before any of this started. “Oh, I doubt that,” the chief scoffs chillingly. “I understand how the idea might be…tempting.”

Once his lifeless, dark eyes flicked to me, raking his gaze across my body, I shuddered. Looking at Brianus, I hoped he didn’t watch what just happened. However, as I dared a look, his face turned to look at the chief, boiling with rage. “Fuck off,” he spoke in a low voice, breaking the shameful façade. 

A loud crack resounded through the tent. 

Silence followed, echoing louder than before. Brianus lay his lead limp to the side as a blooming red appeared on his cheek. I struggled against the bindings, coursing hot rage flowing through me. “Control yourself, Brianus,” the chief’s voice boomed throughout the tent. “I await to extract all the information that you have been feeding to the Romans.” He grips at Brianus’ face, pressing so hard that he’ll most likely leave bruises.

“No,” I spoke. “Torture me, instead. I’m the reason he is in this mess. I corrupted him. I should be tortured.” The chief looked at me scrutinizingly. “I don’t think I will,” he responded. “It may have been your fault, but ultimately Brianus was the one that decided to betray his tribe. By that instance, he surely deserves whatever comes to him next.”

“I refuse,” I spat at his feet. “If you lay another hand on him, I will gladly rip your skin from your bones and feed it to your horse.”

The chief did not seem scared by my threat but hummed in amusement. He turned, striking another blow to Brianus. Over and over repeatedly. Brianus isn’t a traitor; he is not that type of person. I’ve met thieves, murderers, and criminals, but Brianus is none of that. He’s good, one of the few still remaining in this world. He has a kind heart, a pulcherrimus heart. Brianus helped me out of kindness, not because he wanted to betray his clan. 

Why can’t this motherfucker see that?

Tugging at the binds, the cloth was clearly old, easily fraying at the edges of the wood to which I was tied. As I freed one arm, I quickly launched the other one out of its binds, throwing myself across the room. Before the chief could land another blow, I pulled at the aimed arm, allowing his body to stumble slightly in my direction. In a swift motion, I threw my fist in the center of his nose, knocking him to the ground. 

Getting down to his level, I repeatedly landed blows upon Brianus’ assailant. The blood did not help my vision as all I was seeing was red. It stained my hands, crawling up my arms, surrounding the floor of my attack. There were no thoughts, no feeling, only instinct. Over and over as the chief did to Brianus, completely making his face unrecognizable. But through the assault, a weak voice could be heard.

“Marcius.”

My hands fell to my sides, stopping the war. I turned to look at his limp figure, watching as his red hair matted with blood spilled lifelessly around him. I move toward him, reaching for his warmth. The blood on my hands coated his skin, blending with his own bloodied mess, continuing my stain on him. I wanted to hurt the world for him, anything for him to not feel an ounce of it.

Before I could say anything, apologize for all that has happened, my body was ripped from him. Hands found themselves around him, pulling my reach from him. I thrashed and struggled, but my strength could not overtake any of those who tore me away. They locked me back into a prisoner’s hut. I was captive once again. 

Days passed chained again. I rarely saw anyone unless they brought me food which I refused everytime. I do not know what poison they wish to seep into me as I wronged them once already. The hours I spent waiting and thinking. I thought of how I could have done this differently. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the woods; I should have pushed forward no matter how drained I was. I could have backed away, keeping myself out of Brianus’ work and business. I could have not kissed him.

But gods, it was such a wonderful kiss.

Thoughts riddled my brain, contemplating every possibility that I could have chosen other than the ones that led Brianus and myself to this point. Both of us chained, and I do not know how he is being treated now that I fucked up the chief.

This is honestly my fault.

The door of the hut opened, signaling my possibly tainted food is ready for me to not eat. Once a day they did this, but I always answered with myself turning the food away with a “fuck off”, forcing myself to live off with which I entered. However, the person entering did not bring food; they brought nothing. The unknown individual wore a hood, obscuring their face.

They wasted no time, reaching over to me quickly. I tried cowering from them, but they did not reach for me but my bindings. “What’re you doing?” I choked out anxiously. I am in no condition to fight someone again. This person could easily overpower me; this may be my end. However, the person scoffed, looking slightly up for me to finally recognize them.

“I’m trying to free you, asshole,” Ecthigern intently worked at my wrists. Holy shit, never in a milennia would I think anyone, let alone him, would help me. I sighed in relief; the gods allow me one more day to breathe. “Now, we need to be quick,” Ecthigern states as he works on the last of my holdings. “They guard Brianus nearly all the time. This is the only time of day where there is a small window of opportunity to get you both out.”

I nodd in understanding, attempting to stand as quickly as possible. We exit the hut carefully, inspecting each corner before moving. Enemies surrounded us, allowing them to easily find us out. Brianus’ captive hut was at the other end of the camp, making it even more stressful with how far we had to travel. Even with how cautious we were, I felt something watching us, knowing our plans of escaping this place once and for all.

Eventually, we arrived at the entry to Brianus’ prison. Echtigern turned to me, holding out one other cloak and Brianus’ hunting knife. “Take these two to disguise yourselves. Exit out the back, and no one should see you as long as you go straight to the woods.” I accept both of the dark clothes and the knife, meeting his eyes. “Thank you,” I softly spoke. He nodded. “Brianus would do the same for me, and he seems to like you.” My face warmed at the comment. “Just make sure he stays safe. That’s all I ask,” Ecthigern almost pleads with me. I nod to him, promising him. I would have done it anyway.

Turning away from him, I entered the hut.

B.

Cold winds reaped through me. Nothing but a thin fabric tarp covered the wooden frame of the tent. A post staked into the ground, which was wrapped onto the sturdy tent frame, held me still with coarse rope bound around my wrists. Images of Marcius’ raw wrists looped in around my head, now I’m sure my own reflect the very same state. It burns, my wrists and my— 

The split fabric curtains acting as a door flew open in the night. My head hung, hair draped along my face in stingy sections mixed with sweat and blood. Fear surged along my throat. They must have been coming back for another round…I won’t make it, I’ll surely die. 

“Get up! We need to go now.” An all too familiar voice rang in the stale air of the tent. I look up frantically, Marcius’ eyes stare back into mine. 

He wastes no time unbinding my hands from the rope, slashing it with a small blade. The cool air stung the burning ring around my wrists, I flexed my fingers to ease the tension. Marcius wraps a cloth around my head, making a temporary cloak. He grasped my hands and darted out the back of the tent, I just barely kept up. Stiffness encased my muscles, I haven’t moved much in the past few days. Everything rushed past us in a blur, the darkness only obscuring the scene further into an unrecognizable image. My limbs become numb with the constant running, we only went deeper and deeper into the forest, to where even I do not venture. 

“Marcius!” I mustered my weakened voice into something audible, exhaustion driving me to the brink of passing out. 

He stopped, pivoting to my direction swiftly, he held my shoulders while restraining heavy breaths that racked his body from running. his amber eyes melted in a soft attention, filled to the brim with a vast worry. As my breath slowed, I finally truly got to see his face again. I spent my days turning it over in my mind until I felt as though I couldn’t remember it. The lines of his neck, strength in his jaw, strong bridge of his nose, and softened eyes made me crumble. Meager tears leaked from my dry eyes, tracing clean lines over my dirty face. All my strength failed me, I collapsed to the ground, clutching the moss on the forest floor. 

This is all my fault. 

I got us here. I’ve made everything worse in every way possible. I shouldn’t have taken him in. I shouldn’t have treated his wounds. I shouldn’t have made him clothes. I certainly shouldn’t have kissed him! I hope he doesn’t remember that, even though I will keep it in my heart forever. 

Marcius bent down next to me. His hands found their way to cover mine, the calloused pad of his thumb gliding soothingly my knuckles. Marcius settled into a seat in front of me, he sighed and continued to hold my hand. 

“Marcius, they-“ My voice choked up, my eyes couldn’t dare to meet his, “my back…” a stiffening silence trembled inside me, I could barely speak. 

“What about your back?” There was an edge in his voice, like he didn’t want to accept the possibility.

Marcius rose from his seat to peer above my hunched over form. A quieted gasp made his body go taunt. I suddenly became vividly aware of my wounds and lack of a tunic; a harsh shiver coursed through me. My gaze panned over Marcius’ face, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open slightly. He met my stare, and more tears began to flow with the look. 

“Brianus.” He knelt back down, gently cradling my tear stained cheek with one hand, “I’m sorry…so very sorry.” His voice was ever so soft, like a plush textile cradling glassware. 

I could do nothing but bury my face in the ground, gripping the roots of my hair. The wounds burned as if they were fresh. It was though I could feel the infliction all over again, just as vivid and visceral. The way my wrists were hung high while my body draped limp. The way my eyes faced a wall but could feel a multitude of people behind me, watching and revelling in my pain. The way the whip cracked with each flick upon my back. The way several lacerations flowered in long ribbons where my skin tore. The way they roared in fury if I couldn’t answer their questions. 

The way I was utterly helpless and weak… 

I was brought out of my sobs by a hand over the crown of my head, “I need to treat your wounds immediately. We don’t want them to fester.” 

Marcius tore a strip of fabric from his makeshift cloak, then dampened it at a stream next to us, which I had not noticed before. Where are we? With my eyes dryer and resolve clearing up, I saw the stream and plants surrounding us, felt the sandy bank just in front of me. It’s the same stream we fought in weeks ago, at the very same spot. Now, the sun has set, the blood that littered the plants has washed away in the rain, and the stones settled back into the ground. 

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He whispered calmly, I could see him holding back something in his voice.

I have no fight left in me. I nod with a weak movement, trying to sit up straight while feeling the pull of scabs cracking between the gashes. He kneeled behind me, the damp cloth hovering over the wounds, he’s hesitating. 

“What’s wrong?” I sigh, nothing behind my voice, turning to look back at him. 

Marcius’ eyes twitched into a squint, mouth arcing down, and eyebrows pinching upward, “Your hair— It’s sticking along your back, crusted into the wounds…” his breath hitched and Marcius unsheathed my hunting knife. 

“For this to heal, I have to cut your hair.” 

“What?” My speech was more of a wince. I didn’t want to believe what he said, not ever would I want to believe that, but I know he’s right. 

“Just be quick. Don’t let me think about it.” My gaze rolled forward, staring into the foliage and darkness beyond. 

Marcius lifted the hair rooted above the nape of my neck, gingerly raising it higher. The force pulled on the hair stuck along my back. With a quick snap, hair began to go taunt, and as he increased the force, more hair broke through the encrusted blood. I can feel the wavy pattern lifting from my back, like strips of skin were being peeled up. 

“This might hurt, I’m sorry.” Marcius whispered along my ear. 

He isolated a couple thicker strands of hair and flicked up swiftly. They ripped from my open wounds, stringing partially dried blood and scabs along with the separation. Pain shot through every nerve in my spine. I cringed, flexing every muscle in my hands and back to numb everything out. Marcius gathered my hair into one hank, keeping it up and away from the wounds. Cold air rushed up the carved and bubbling ravines, igniting into a slight sting. He split the hank and moved the sections to lay in front of my shoulders. Marcius shuffled around, now facing me, cutting my view of the midnight forest. 

His eyes met with mine, purple and pink painted dark circles under those amber irises. He was tired, drained, yet he still held such an attention on me. Marcius looked thinner, his face only slightly sunken in around the cheekbones. My heart ached for him. 

“I’m sorry, Brianus.” Marcius’ pupils dilated when he looked at my face. I could feel the density of sorrow weighing heavy upon his chest. 

He took the knife which glinted bright even in the darkness and grabbed one side of my split hair. We exchanged another glance, I sighed while closing my eyes, giving in to what needs to be done. Marcius sawed through each strand, they snapped and fizzled into waves with the cut. There is no energy to cry, no reaction within me. Marcius moved to the next side, his hands shaking as he saws through again. The hair falls upon my knees, soft compared to the rough fabric of the breeches. I grab onto a section falling, rubbing it between my pointer and thumb, connected no longer. 

I only feel lighter. 

Marcius stabs the knife into the dirt with a silent animosity, quickly, he shifts back behind me. With no warning, the damp cloth meets my wounds. It doesn’t burn, but soothes me greatly, finally quenching the festering inferno. 

“I heard a rumor,” Marcius began plainly, “There’s a Roman camp a couple miles east. We have to go there.” 

“Why would we go there exactly?” I furrow my brows with curiosity. I was not rejecting the idea. 

“It’s the only way we’re both safe.” He paused, pressing the damp cloth into my back, “Trust me.” 

“I do— and I will.” My reply rippled in the air, Marcius hesitated with his work as he listened. 

A moment longer passed in the pause. The running stream being the only thing to cut the silence. Marcius finished dressing my back. He stood up and extended his hand. I took it. Our hands dropped slowly, wanting to linger in each other’s warmth before it became noticeable. Marcius took the knife, and tucked it into his belt. He faced eastward. 

“Let’s get going, can’t have your tribe catching up.” 

Into the night we ran, going east, to the Roman camp. 

Chapter Text

Ante diem X Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

Approaching upon the camp, smoke plumed into the skies, coating its blue into a hazy grey above. I held Brianus’ forearm to make certain he was following, but also for stability. I thought that my frame was lighter than before, but I could not run the risk of getting poisoned when I was imprisoned. My body was weak, clinging to the fumes of energy left pumping through my muscles. I can’t wait to finally settle. 

However, rest is not assured in our future yet; we still have to convince them that we are their allies. Or at least pretend to convince. We encroached on the entrance to the camp, cautiously taking each step. Two men stood on guard, eyeing our arrival. One, slightly shorter than the other, aimed an arrow at us while the other reached for the hilt of their sword; they both won’t be easy to convince. 

I removed my hand from Brianus’ arm, the warmth leaving my skin immediately, as I raised both hands in a silent surrender. “Viri!” I called in the Latin language. “My name is Darius Septimius, a soldier from the first legion sent to Britannia by Caesar. I’ve escaped from their tribe; I was imprisoned.”

They lowered their weapons, intently listening to my plea. Good, words shall suffice for this meeting. “I have come with news and an ally,” I gestured behind me to Brianus. “He is a Briton but was also imprisoned by his tribe as I was. He wishes to work with Rome to aid the war effort. He has aided me and wishes to prove his worth for the inevitable victory of Rome.”

The man with the bow fully un-knocked his arrow, signaling to me that I could lower my hands. However, the other taller man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, still unsteady about my explanation. Understandable, it’s not a common occurrence that a prisoner of war escapes and brings an ally from the enemy. They turn to one another, flicking their eyes between us and themselves to silently communicate a plan. 

Breaking eye contact, it seems they came to a consensus. “We’ll notify the commanders about your arrival,” the archer announced. “Wait here until I come back. Titus will keep watch of you both.” He nodded his head to the swordsmen beside him. I nodded in understanding, watching the archer enter the camp. 

I sighed in a slight relief. It seems everything is going as I planned it. I dared a look back to Brianus, watching his gaze anxiously flutter around the landscape. I can understand how nerve wracking it can be when arriving in enemy territory. I had felt it when I was initially imprisoned in their camp. I needed him to get into the camp as fast as possible to treat his wounds. I only could buy us time before it could truly fester with the resources I had available in the wilderness. 

Moments passed by slowly as the archer remained away. A growing tension brewed among the three of us. Eventually, the archer came back, gesturing his hand to indicate to enter. As the archer led us, the swordsmen, Titus, walked behind Brianus, trapping us both until we could arrive at the designated hut. 

We passed a multitude of people gazing and peering at us. They didn’t know me, but I certainly knew them. Romans have the same jobs at every camp, and I know they do not understand why they are fighting in this war. Yes, they joined for the glory of Rome, but what is that glory? Victory, but not for them. They will never get a lick of the benefits this war produces. Only the consequences. 

Their whispers filled my ears, consuming all of my thoughts. Word spreads fast throughout the camp. I’m surprised all of the main continent doesn’t already know of our existence, a prisoner of war and an enemy spy. 

Brianus walked fairly close behind me, most likely scared of lagging too far behind. I would as well if I were him. Rome’s rumors of being ruthless is not far from truth however much they preach that the enemy is far more barbaric. 

Arriving at the tent, Brianus and I entered. Titus and the archer let us be in the tent; I assumed we were waiting for whatever officer would deal with us. I managed to look at Brianus, gazing at his frantic eyes. I probably reacted the same when I was first introduced into his camp. However, that train of thought was broken when he finally looked at me. 

I think this is the first moment since our time in the field that we locked eyes for more than a few seconds. He looked haggard, worn by days without a bath and exhaustion from healing wounds. Through his eyes, however, it was still him. Even in dirt and blood, it was still the Brianus that I drunkenly spoke about the stars above, about my past. The same one that embraced me like I was as precious as gold that would melt by his touch. The same one that kissed me like I was important as any need, like food or water. Like he needed me to survive. 

And now I might get him killed. 

Regret swarmed my mind. What was I thinking? Bringing him to a Roman camp, how was this ever a good idea? At my sudden fearful thoughts, they easily overtook my expression, exhibiting my feelings for everyone to see, but it was only Brianus that saw. 

He reached for me, wrapping a tattooed hand over my forearm. The sudden warmth shocked my system, bringing me away from those thoughts and to this moment. I could only focus on his hand on me, burning himself onto myself as the many brands that coated my skin. 

Fingers squeezed my skin, hitting more bone than I’d like. “It’ll be okay,” Brianus spoke hoarsely. “Whatever happens. We’ll be okay.” I nodded. It won’t be if something happens. It’ll be my fault if something goes wrong. I’m the one that decided we’d go to a Roman camp. Sure, it was the only other option besides living in the woods, and with our states, that isn’t exactly ideal. 

Guards filed in. Fuck, this is it: the beginning of our end. I broke away from Brianus, ripping the warmth from me. I stood with my head tilted to the floor, focusing my gaze to the ground rather than the scrutinizing eyes surrounding us. Through my peripheral, I could see Brianus repeat my actions. 

Around ten men with swords at the ready surround the walls of the tent, encompassing Brianus and I. If we had planned to escape, they proved it to be impossible. Silence continued to resound in the tent, suffocating the enclosed space. 

Finally, the commander entered. I didn’t see his face, but his walk and armor were enough to tell that he was of a higher status than the many men around us. Golden breastplate and a red with gold accented pteruges adorned the man. His boots, despite the unfavorable Britannian conditions, were free of dirt and mud. The sword at his side was also golden with silver accents encrusted throughout the hilt and sheath. 

“So, this is the escaped Roman soldier,” his voice boomed in the deafening silence. “And his British companion.” I didn’t speak a word. The officer continued to stay at the entrance of the tent, focusing heavily on us. I bared a look at my superior, but the wind was ripped from my lungs as I gazed at who was before me. This situation just got a thousand-fold harder than prior. 

I bowed my head more deeply, trying to stabilize my voice as I addressed him. 

“Imperator.”

B.

Marcius held himself with a stiff respect for the man in front of us. Having my gaze pointed down I could not see the noble man’s face, only shoulders below. What did imperator mean again? Everything was so blurred at the moment. The man’s sandals shifted across the tent floor, beginning to pace around me. 

There was some quality to the man which made every one of my hairs stand on end. Deep eye creases and harsh frown lines shifted with differing expressions as his stare cuts through my defenses, leaving me bare. The man’s face was old, though not elderly, and it seemed like a pressure weighed upon his shoulders which he carried with dignity. Exhaustion allowed my expression to flow freely, I furrowed my brows and stood somewhat taller, casting my gaze downward onto him. His air boasted a sense of pride and lofty status, to which I would never bow. 

“Loquiturne?” The single harsh word exited his mouth, directed toward Marcius, who still stood bent in respect. 

Though my thoughts were slow from decaying health, I knew what that meant. Does it speak? 

Soldiers bordering the tent snickered under their helmets, sly gestures they thought would go unnoticed. Metal plates of armor glint off the raging fire pulsing in the lantern above our heads, shining into my eye. The light was blinding, flickering, and unrelenting. I could feel stares, peeled and peering over any detail they could ravage, from my tattoos, hair, dirty face, scrawny physique, tattered clothing, and especially the man made claw marks that raked my back. Disgust scrunched the man’s nose when he swiped his eyes over my tattoos, a look describing just how much he already despised the way I was without even trying to hide it. My gaze on the man festered into a boiling hatred. His blank irises held mine, daring me to strike, knowing deep down that I was nothing more than a barbarian that will never amount to anything else. 

Blood pooled in my mouth, coating my teeth. My tongue throbbed as I kept a firm bite on it. Never had violence seemed to taste so sweet. 

“Ita vero, sed non sic loquitur.”  Marcius’ voice eased between the tension, balanced and firm with a sense of care for how he addressed the man. 

The man spurred on in his native language to Marcius, talking with a rapid pace and urgency. Marcius kept his head tilted to the floor, a shaky tension around his eyes. He replied dutifully, and kept explaining something. I heard my name once or twice during his speech— was he talking about how I captured him? The latin language could never have a full grasp on my head. 

After many moments of my eyes flicking between the two when each spoke, Marcius finally turned to me, speaking in Celt, “I’m going to translate his questions. You must answer all of them with honesty.” 

The man faced me now too, his cold stare falling back on mine. I felt the anger bubble again. 

“What are you?” Marcius translated shortly after he spoke. 

I didn’t exactly know what this meant. What am I? 

“I am a Briton…” uncertainty wriggled into my tone, I titled my head to the side with a skeptical eye. 

The man’s face was still, giving no indication that my answer satisfied him, “How did you help this soldier?” 

“I nursed him back to health, and kept him safe—“ Memories resurfaced, the view of torches dawning over a sloping hill with the stars patterned behind. 

Marcius’ jaw flexed at my words, the subtlest hint that he remembered too. 

“Obviously not safe enough—“ Marcius translated, though the older man kept talking, but Marcius didn’t say anymore. 

There was a hesitancy clenched between his teeth, he didn’t want to relay whatever the old man said. The man barked a command at Marcius. 

“Obviously not safe enough…” Marcius paused again, hunching over in the shame he brought by not speaking the first time, “That torture from your own people is what you deserve for jeopardizing my soldier’s life and intel.” 

A lump formed in my throat, formed from a violent burst of bile that shot up into my mouth. The acid simmered under my tongue, hot and sour. 

“The only way I’d let a barba- uhm… Briton into this camp is if it pledges allegiance to the glory of Rome.” Marcius did not dare to look me in the eyes, he hid them by focusing on the smooth carpet under our feet. 

The man stepped closer, a crisp commanding step, crossing into my boundaries. The air thickened into a suffocating pressure. He bore into my soul with those dead eyes, appearing to threaten worse than death. Even in the middle of the tent, I was backed into a corner, trapped by a hungry predator baring every tooth in possession. To agree is to give up, lay limp and accept my fate as food for the beast. And if I refuse allegiance, Marcius and I…

Hot bile remained lingering over my tongue, mixing with the blood, creating what felt like an essence of myself. His gaze fixed onto my own rage filled pupils, awaiting my answer which he already knew. I swallow hard, flushing down the blood and acid. 

“I swear my allegiance to the glory of Rome.” 

The dense tension broke and diffused throughout the air. The man’s harsh face lines twitched with his eyes squinting, his stare remained sharp in an unwavering intensity, but a hint of satisfaction seeped into his pupils. He got what he wanted. His decorated armor pieces scuffed one another in movement. Soldiers propped up their postures when he approached them dutifully. He yelled commands while firmly pointing to me and Marcius. The men broke from guarding the inside perimeter of the tent, falling to our sides. One soldier dipped his head, sweeping his hand through the draped fabric entrance to gesture us out. 

Sporadic torches littered the camp, radiating light amongst many working Romans. A blank sky, devoid of its usual freckled light, shrouded overhead. Smells of smoke, shit, and sweat hung heavy in the thick atmosphere. The woods were blocked off from the central camp, instead of seamlessly transitioning into the forest, large stakes of what used to be fully fledged trees caged everything into a large rectangle. I saw forges lit amongst the bustling crowds, hammering the same sword over and over again without care only to toss it into an ever growing hoard of materials. 

The soldier on Marcius’ right spoke from the corner of his mouth, tilting his head down in a timid fashion. Marcius reciprocated similar body language while speaking to the man. The two conversed while we passed through all of camp. Every turn we take is sharp, unnatural even. The tents are lined in rows so perfectly square that stretch from both ends of the stakes perimeters only breaking for narrow roads between every ten. Men wheeled by with carts only meagerly filled with thin grain, and it lacked the usual rich golden color. Every man who walked the narrow dirt roads seemed to swivel their heads to me simultaneously, peering with not curiosity, but disdain. My wounds pulsed in remembrance, and everyone could see me. I wonder if they had opened up again, blood could be trickling down my back at the very moment, blooming in an array of bubbled flesh. I would not know if it did. I can only feel the deep beat of my heart vibrating throughout my head. 

“Brianus.” Focus came back to me, Marcius’ smooth voice snaring my attention. 

Two more soldiers approached us as we stopped in front of a red tent, identical to the many others lined next to it. The men carried folded cloth, stacked neatly by size, ascending into a pyramid. They each handed a stack to me and Marcius, then they presented a bottle to Marcius as well. 

“Gratissime tibi ago.” Marcius dipped his head, gripping the bottle tightly in one hand like it held great importance. 

All soldiers returned the gesture with their heads, moving in sync. They pivot on their heels and stride away in a strong stance, armor shuffling against itself with every step. Marcius clenched his teeth and let out a heavy breath from his nose. 

“What’s the bottle for?” I say without much effort, my voice weary. 

His shoulders keep tight, “It’s medicine… for your back. I requested it along with bandages.” 

I would thank him, but no words could form, my exhaustion started to take me. Marcius read my eyes, wasting no time to hook my wrist and open the tent. It was empty. A lantern hung from the beam pitched across each foundational set of stakes, and the floor was carpeted in a hearty layer of wool fabric. The warmth from the lantern and dry floor appeared to be the only inviting space among the entire camp. I slump onto the floor, rolling to my stomach while keeping my face planted to the floor. 

Marcius chuckled lightly, “Don’t fall asleep!” He knelt down placing his warm hand atop my shoulder, “You have to get up so I can make us a bed.” His voice was mellow; caring even.

“I’m too tired.” I reply, smiling against the floor. 

For the first time in a while I felt okay. My back had stopped sizzling, but then again I can’t really feel it right now. 

“Stay right there actually.” Marcius mumbled, lifting his hand from my shoulder to our supplies. I heard liquid sloshing onto fabric. “This might sting a bit.” 

The medicine kissed my back with a slight fizzle as it saturated the wounds. This sensation spread among my spine, cooling the festering bubbled scars better than the water from the river. 

I twist my neck to the side, now facing Marcius’ knelt down posture dabbing the soaked cloth across the areas, “Thank you, Marcius.” I murmur weakly, eyes starting to flutter closed. 

Before shutting my eyes, Marcius’ lips turned upward gently, “No. Don’t fall asleep.” He patted the side of my cheek with the back of his hand, tapping rhythmically. 

I let out a disappointed groan. All I want right now is to rest. I push up though my hands, noticing the flexing muscles in my back restricted by scabs beginning to knit the chasms closed. Marcius slides out two blankets into the middle of the tent, unfolding them to lay flat against the floor. 

”We’ll use these as somewhat of a mattress, then cover with the thinner layers.” He reached to smooth over the blankets, “Of course, It is getting colder and there’s not much warmth reaching us beside the lantern…we may have to lay close.” I saw a pooling pink bleed into his ears, then widen further down to his cheekbones. 

“That’s fine by me.” I yawn. Moments later, a realization to what I agreed to surfaced. The familiar shameful heat poured into my face. 

Marcius continued his work while I sat off to the side. He diligently organized our supplies, setting aside piles of tunics, bandages, and heavier clothing. There were no pants…Do Romans seriously not wear pants? Marcius took a tunic from his neat pile, balling it in his hands. 

“I’m going to go change really fast, stay here.” He walked out, deliberately avoiding my stare, the pink still blossoming on his face. 

A chill rippled through the tent without his presence. The lantern flame above swayed lightly in the calm air circulation. It reminded me of my hut and the lantern that kept it aglow. Reminded me of the night I brought Marcius home, bruised, bloodied, and hungry to kill me. A smile spread across my face without conscious thought. 

“What are you smiling about?” Marcius parted the tent entrance, a twitch in his eye. 

“Nothing.” I spit back quickly. 

The warm blankets invited me in. They were coarse compared to the ones I have made, it almost felt like little knots of wool interlaced the blanket instead of thin threads. That doesn’t matter though, It’s warm and I’m tired. The mock mattress blanket presses flush against my skin when I begin to lay flat. I stop before fully lowering my back down, noticing Marcius. He sits folded over, chest meeting his knees. A tightness has wracked his entire frame since we arrived, and it seems to elevate in the stillness. 

“Everything alright?” Concern laced my exhausted tone. I sat myself back upright. All the aches in my body begged to be soothed by sleep, but I would never allow Marcius to suffer in silence. 

His stare widens into a vast void, struck in thought too deep to convey. My words settled into the space with no response. 

“Marcius?” I prod at him again, leaning further to where he sat just beyond the makeshift bed, passing the barrier between our separate spaces. 

Marcius’ eyes glazed back into reality, focusing on his hands, which he fidgeted with. His pointer nail raked the side skin bordering his thumb nail, wisps of thin skin curled as he kept scratching, “Yes?” His head whipped toward me and the fidgeting ceased. 

“Is something wrong?” My eyebrows tilt up though my mouth curves into a small smile. I couldn’t help but find it somewhat humorous how his usual sharp demeanor dulls amongst the Romans…he is home I guess. 

Marcius spirals his gaze around the tent distractedly. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but silently slides onto the bed in a shy manner, “I’m realizing this was a bad idea.” 

Though he took considerable effort to avoid glancing at me, I kept my attention on him. Little tremors vibrated along his hands and his irises flitted one object to the next as he frantically observed our surroundings. I shift closer to him, rustling the rough blanket as a signal of my presence entering the picture. He welcomed me in, sighing heavily and rounding his shoulders. 

“It was the only thing I could think of at the moment, but here-“ He stammered, gazing forward with a furrowed expression at the tent curtains, “This camp is dying. They have rationed food, shitty materials, and no glory worth all this effort.” Marcius’ nose scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, his voice snapping with a harsh bite. 

My head tilts to the side, my now shorter hair swaying with the movement and swinging in mid air. “It wasn’t that bad of an idea.” I pitch some energy into my voice. “We have our own tent, our own supplies, medicine, some food at least, and we’re not being tortured…” 

Marcius chuckled a bit, the sweet sound provoking a grin along my lips, “That is true.” He hummed. 

“And,” I cascaded my cheekbone onto the top of his shoulder, our skin buzzing warmth with the touch. “All that matters to me right now is that we’re together.” 

A gentle comfort soaked deeply through my bones, consuming every ounce of my strength to stay awake. Just before I could sit msyelf back up right, Marcius bumped his plush hair atop my head, resting. Nightly sounds echoed behind us while bustling men and wagons ring from beyond the tent curtain. We settle into our own silence, ignoring the circumstances, a compression lifting from my shoulders in this newly discovered space. 

“Are you ready to lay down?” I whisper against his skin, just barely grazing my lips across the tough muscle capping his shoulder covered by a thin tunic.  

Marcus relents, descending onto his back. His gaze finally catches mine as he fidgets with his hands folded atop his chest. I fall to my right side, nestling my right arm under my head as a small prop. Marcius returned to scratching his skin. I layered my hand over his, pausing the fidgeting. 

“Stop scratching your skin…” My voice grumbles as sleep encroaches rapidly. 

Before my eyes shut, Marcius interlaces his hand with mine and runs his thumb over my knuckles slowly as if savoring the details. I feel him trace my tattoos, swirling with the vines that pattern my skin. My palm dipped at his sternum, laying flat against the bone. His heart beat under my hand, soothing me to sleep with its steady rhythm.

Chapter Text

Ante diem IX Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

B.

My body felt dead and heavy with aching pain. The red tent draped around the space just like it had before I slept, though now the lighting had changed from a dim orange flame inside the lantern to a dull light outside. Thick dirt and grime still lingered along my skin, entirely blurring the blue lines of my tattoos in some spots. Judging by the brightest center of light among the generally even glow that radiated above the tent, it is around midday. The bed blankets wrapped artfully around my body and left a gaping space for another right next to me. Marcius was nowhere to be seen. The clothes stacked among his pile were switched around, he had reorganized them before leaving. My pile sits the same as it was last night, the bubbling in my back itches against the wool mattress under the bandages. It crawls with sharp pins of discomfort up the wounds. Don’t touch it. Leave it alone and it won’t reopen. I cannot have it reopen. 

I arose from the bed, sliding a thin tunic over my head. A new pair of sandals were packed upon the top of my stack. They laced up my legs with thin strips of leather, unlike my others which had thick fabric tied in a similar fashion up to my knee. The new sandals weighed thin under the soles of my feet. Hunger raked its thick claws inside my hollow stomach. How long has it been since I last ate? The smell of heavy smoke drifted in from the outside, I peeled the curtain back, encouraging the daylight to cover my face. A dense blanket of ashen clouds smothered out the rich golden sun into a dull haze of enough light to look around and realize the time. In between the hot bursts of smoke swirling through my nose and around my body, a fresh chill snaked over me, weaving itself along every one of my limbs. 

“Briton.” A flat voice halted my observations, coming from my right. 

A soldier, standing as if he was deeply rooted like a mighty tree, bordered the edge of the tent. Metallic armor plated his shoulders, torso, and wrapped around his waist as a skirt in moveable strips. Red fabric lined all the metal, acting as a cushion, but it didn’t stop them from rubbing together and creating a scratchy noise. The soldier outstretched his hand down the never ending road of identical tents. His head bowed slightly, the helmet he wore shielded his eyes from me. Hesitation twitched in every muscle I had. He remained standing there, bowing with an almost welcoming air. I step my foot forward, noticing how miniscule pebbles prodded me under the weak shoe soles. As soon as I moved, the soldier uprooted himself, striding two paces ahead. He marched with an obligatory sense, armor clanking with every tamping echo of his boots. Many men worked off to the sides, hammering upon anvils, shaping armor to another soldier, organizing materials, and going about their daily tasks. With the soldier and I passing by, every eye pivots to me, my hair, my tattoos, my injuries. Their eyes pry me apart, stripping away every aspect that makes me human till I am reduced to less. Less than them. Less than Roman. Some follow distantly behind me, trailing and hiding amongst the corners of tents, attempting to avoid my attention. 

The tap of the soldier's boots and clank of his armor finally ceased. He pivoted his feet against the border of a new, much larger, tent. The fabric coating this tent, though still red, was deeper, reminiscent of blood. Ornate golden trim flows with the edges of the fabric, dripping with the many folds of garnet. The whole presentation of the tent bore an aura of glory, importance, and prestige. It seemed to loom ominously over my head, peering down pitifully. My sordid hand reaches to part the bloody curtains, the golden trim cold against my fingers while I swing it aside. 

“Ah, Barbari.” A man sat at a round wooden table in the center of the tent, arms folded patiently over the embellished surface. 

‘Barbari’ 

The man’s face sagged with age. His right eye sat slightly lower than his left and his hairline receded far back to the crown of the head. A chair, wooden, was open for me at the table, positioned directly across from the man. He swept his hand towards the chair, gesturing for me to sit, a glint in his eye commanded it. The chair squeaked awkwardly as my weight distributed. He pursed his lips, leaning back onto his own chair, which glimmered with a glossy finish and swirled with natural motif decorations carved into the wood. 

“Tell me…” he spoke Celtic harshly, his mouth certainly not used to the different pronunciation, “What do your people plan?” 

My brows squeeze together at his shrewd voice. I glance around cautiously, an overly conscious sensation tingling throughout my shoulders. No guards stood around the square tent room, it was just us and the table accompanied by two lanterns hanging above. He eyed me patiently like there was all the time in the world to spare. A shallow bowl cradled twirling stems that sprouted purple orbs. I have never seen them before… The man reached forward, the orbs snapped from the stem with a crisp sound. He lowered the entire thing into his mouth and chewed slowly. The bowl and unknown food snared my attention immediately, I felt my stomach inflate with hunger. The chair I sat upon squeaked when I leaned toward the bowl to grasp a purple jewel. It popped from the stem just as his own did. 

I brought the thing closer to my face, seeing how its surface was cloudy and barely reflected the light, “my people-“ I stop the food before it reaches my lips, “they plan something massive. They are out to get me.” 

The man’s face piques, interest wrinkling his forehead. He lifted the heavy armor around him and straightened his patient posture, readjusting the tone in the tent. His face encouraged me to continue. 

“They will go to great lengths to find me. I cannot let them get me or my companion. We know too much.” I drop my voice to a hush, marching along to his interest. 

“What do you know?” He fed into my voice, edging his torso onto the rim of the table. His eyes looked hungry and desperate.

I pop the food into my mouth, feeling it burst under my teeth with a satisfying crunch. Sweetness coated my tongue along with a sour pinch seated back in my jaw. I relished the taste while the man’s seemingly inherent impatience festered. 

I swallow gently, “My former tribe will unleash all their might onto your camps. They know where you are, who you are, and when the best time to strike is.” 

“When is that!?” He planted his palms upon the table and raised his weight. He stood up now, shaking with anticipation.

“The next new moon.” I state in an unwavering tone. 

The man exhales, collecting himself by smoothing over the armor and decorative robes underneath in preparation to sit once again. 

He settles into the seat, his pronounced brow furrows, “How do I know you’re not lying?” 

Great question, “I swore allegiance. Does that mean nothing?” My eyes narrowed onto him. 

He twitched, shrinking under the weight of allegiance, “You did.” He pauses.

A couple moments flew by as he slouched in thought, draping his arms over the sides of his chair. Suddenly, the man rose up, the chair screeching as it stumbled back.

 He opened the bloody curtains behind me, “You may go. I will report this to Caesar.” 

Before he ushers me out of the bloody tent, I snatch two more of those fruits. They lay like small eggs upon my palm. I dip under the draping fabric, feeling the same chill weave around me again. Nothing has changed from the moment I entered. The sky still sat motionless under layers of clouds and men still slaved away for their tasks. My escort, the soldier, also remained rooted into place. I tensed my muscles to walk as evenly as possible, stepping gracefully upon the flattened dirt road. Adrenaline pulses throughout my back, sending waves of nausea up into my head. I lied. I lied so much. Guilt wasn’t present, but the fear of death was. How would they treat me after they know I gave wrong information? It didn’t matter, I’ll figure that out as it comes. I repeated that phrase, turning it over and over, attempting to soothe my aching nerves. 

I carried myself down the road, returning to the area where our tent stood. The adrenaline kept pouring into my veins, a hypersensitive consciousness looming around my head. Several men from their working areas stride toward me. Six in total seem to close around me. They spaced themselves evenly among each other and formed a circle, leaving gaps too awkward to run through. Some wielded sheathed swords, others nothing. I stop dead in my tracks, in the center of their circle. The men ranged in ages, a couple had strong creased faces and battle scars peeking from their tunics, while others resembled myself, and two who barely sprouted into adulthood. Murmurs circulated around their form, and they shifted in a disturbed fashion. My blood pumped harder into my ears, sending every moral and reason into the back of my head to die. As if almost in unison, they all stepped forward, shuffling. My hands curl into fists, pressure squeezing my nerves tighter and tighter. I felt like my breath escaped me, leaving my lungs flat. The broad end of one sword sheath jabbed my back. The contact ricocheted along my wounds. It seized and constricted my muscles, firing off an alarm inside an expanding pit of primal rage. The man poked again, as if to see I was even alive. They all stared intently. Without a thought or even consideration of how to handle the matter, I clutched the sword and its sheath from the man. I swing my arms back, yanking the sword toward me. The man followed through, his grip still tight around the handle. He yelped and stumbled, before he could crash into me, I rocketed my fist deep between his brows. 

“Barbari!” Many of those in the circle and men past their barrier shouted at me. 

The clamor melded into one roaring wave of anger. Now every man around camp flocked to the scene. Rapid steps of running and hurried walking resounded around while even more people rushed over. The anger in my body surged with more people coming in. I gripped the man’s tunic and slammed him into my knee, stabbing his stomach. He buckled and began to heave. The other men around the circle closed in further, this time with a cautious shuffle in their feet. One of similar age to myself jolted out at me, wielding nothing but fists. He swung at my left, I duck, finding the opportunity to attack. My right arm shoots up, his jaw creating a crisp crackling noise from my knuckles. 

“Fuck all of you!” My voice ripped from the pit of primal rage, straining the bands in my neck. 

I can’t feel anything but the pricking of my wounds, awakened by that prodding man who now lay in a pool of his own vomit mere feet from me. Another one runs in, fists raised in ready position. A growl rumbles from my throat as he draws closer. Another man runs in, he loops in from behind and punches straight into my kidney. I cough and almost stumble, suddenly all my exhaustion returns. The voices keep growing louder. I stand back up, seeing someone part the sea of people surrounding me. He rushed in and clocks the man behind me. Then he swivels to the other in front of me with a graceful edge. I saw his back and the scars raised beneath the thin tunic. 

Marcius. 

M.

It’s the smell that rises me from unconsciousness. The smell of smoke from the many fires burning throughout the camps, of milled grain baking into bread, of the sweat of hard working men, of war. My eyes pried themselves open deliriously, sticking together as if they were sealed while I slept. By darkness surrounding me and the silence emanating from the camp outside, it was before dawn. Some were probably awake, but certainly not the generals or officers. Certainly not Caesar. As my senses slowly returned to me, the thrumming of something beneath me resounded through my ears.  Despite me laying on him when we started sleeping, our positions were flipped. I turned to face the source sleeping peacefully beneath me, placing my chin lightly on his sternum. 

His face was slack with rest. The only motion was the rise and fall of his chest beneath my body. Brianus’ usually vibrantly red hair appeared as a burnt copper in the dimness, chopped slightly uneven at his shoulders. His skin and hair was still covered with grime and dried blood from our escape, causing the disappearance of his light freckles across his body. It was disappointing seeing the dirt cover his beautiful attributes. However, sleeping soundly, he looked as divine as that night under the stars, listening to me ramble about silly stories of the constellations that hung above us. 

And with that memory replaying through my brain, I finally got up from our makeshift bed, making certain that my movements were not quick enough to stir Brianus. Standing up, I shook my hair out, hoping the remnants of sleep could quickly dissipate from my form, taming my unruly curls. I slipped on the leather sandals from the pile of clothes that was gifted to us. Weaving the leather straps up my ankle, they criss-crossed along my feet, creating multiple cross-like shapes. Standing up, my gaze turned to Brianus again. He remained in the same position, dead to the world. The only indication of life was the continuous breaths inflating and deflating his chest. 

I crossed the tent, crouching beside his sleeping figure. I moved my hand to smooth the stray strands of red hair from his face, causing a small groan to elicit from his throat. I smiled at his reaction, continuing to lightly run my fingers through his hair. Bending down, I grazed my lips on his forehead as a silent farewell, quickly moving away after the action was committed. I left his body, taking long strides to exit our blood-colored tent.

Once outside, everything came rushing back, my memories as a soldier, my duties. Like an instinct, I went over to one of the great fires burning between the multitude of tents lined up neatly. A few soldiers had already followed my lead, sitting around the blaze while they ate their first ration of the day. Like in my old legion, everyone ate the same thing everyday. Bread from flour you had to mill yourself along with a serving of barley stew that was cooked in small communal pots around the camp. I grabbed an empty wooden bowl beside the communal pot of stew, only giving myself a small portion so there could be enough for those who were not awake before the sun rose above the horizon.

I sat on one of the few stacks of hay surrounding the communal pot, the straws scratching my legs as I settled to eat. I stirred my stew mindlessly, rarely taking bites from it. The sounds of others approaching captured my attention instead. For it being almost dawn, they were incredibly energized. I continued to move my stew around, hoping that the other men would carry on with their antics separate from me. 

However, hope was a fickle thing. 

I heard their footsteps stop, but they didn’t move away; their figure loomed over my sitting one, deciding what to do. Two of them rounded the haystack, encroaching on my left and my right, but the others remained at my back. I looked up to the two before me, staring blankly at their suppressed excitement. 

“What?” The word slipped off my tongue with the Latin pronunciation. The two merely smiled dumbly like they understood some joke that I was not privy to know. A hand reached up my back to clasp around my shoulder. “Why don’t you let the real Romans sit?” The chilling voice erupted in my ear with the closeness. The action made my breath leave my body. A chill, despite the blistering warmth from the fires and cooking pots, threaded deep in my bones. Some things never change. 

I sighed, some of the pent up fear leaving me, “There’s other seats. I’m sure they’re suitable enough for real Romans like yourselves.” I didn’t look up at any of them to see how my answer landed. Instead, I felt it. One of them behind me dug their thumb into my slave branding, inciting the old wound. 

My breath hitched at the pressure, involuntarily moving my torso away to relieve some of the pain. The soldier twisted his thumb, revealing that the old wound still continued to hurt even as an aged scar.  “I don’t appreciate the attitude, servum. I suggest you move before I make that pretty, little face bleed.” It was too fucking early for this. As I got up from my place on the haystack, the soldier smacked the back of my head as a little send off. I stumbled forward at the impact just as the two followers in front shoulder-checked me. The force made me fall back, hitting the frozen ground, taking my food with me as the bowl left my hands and soiled the grass beside me. There goes my breakfast. 

Laughing echoed around me from the group of soldiers as they took my spot on the hay. I dusted myself off, trying to remain detached from rage. Any action in retaliation would only result in a worse outcome for me than them. I walked away from that cookpot, hoping to find something else to pass the day a little faster. The sun was just breaking the horizon, decorating the camp in an orange glow. 

Walking towards the outer walls of the camps, many of the slaves owned by the army itself, or calones, were bringing in the baggage of everyone and sorting the necessities of the army. I joined them, entering into their pattern that they have created. However, as I grabbed luggage and boxes and moved them from cart and horses to inside the camp, my mind ran wild. Remembering those Roman soldiers forcing me to move brought up feelings I had not thought for some time. 

Now that I have spent time with the Britons and their culture, which was not built on slavery as Rome’s, the stark differences of my treatment, even as a prisoner of war, repeated in my thoughts. While thinking, Brianus’ question from when I found him in the woods returned to me

“How can you defend and feel pride in a nation that uses you?” 

I still could not think of an answer. Through my many conflicting thoughts, that question still pounded in my head. I stewed and stewed as I carried many boxes to the gates of the camp. The sun reached its height before it fell as it once rose while I attended the similar duties of others. Many of the calones had dispersed by that point, attending to other duties. I walked back into the camp with them, officially starving because of the missed breakfast from that morning. 

Shouts carried out through the camps, echoing across the rows of tents. Something was happening. There was always noise in the camps of people talking or practicing, but never like this. A crowd of Romans surrounded the source, huddling and cheering on whatever situation they were obscuring with their bodies. I pushed many of them aside, trying to create room for me to move forward. Through the hustle of people, I could see one thing clearly. 

Red hair. 

Brianus stood in the middle of the crowd with many angry Romans surrounding him. He continuously circled in his stance, trying to front every potential threat that came his way. Many were yelling or poking him with spears and swords. Fear gripped me. I couldn’t breathe. Eventually something snapped in Brianus. He snatched one of the swords and pulled it forward with the man wielding it following after. His fist landed into the Roman’s face, creating a loud crack that could be heard clearly among the crowd. At that moment, everything shifted. People were moving in all directions, attempting to completely crush Brianus in the circle they maintained. My view was obstructed by all of this commotion. I tried looking and peeking at any gap that I could, hoping to find signs of life within the circle. I saw flashes of him fending off the many, but not a clear shot of him. He shouldn’t be fighting at all with the state of his back. The roar of Romans consumed my senses. Words in the Latin language filled my head, viciously cutting through my thoughts. Many minutes passed before I found any sign of life. I could hear his profane shouts in Celt through the many Latin voices. Eventually, I found an opening, an actual sight of him. As he was fending off the man in front, another released his fist into Brianus’ side, causing him to buckle to the floor. 

Everything became quiet. 

No more Latin or Celt invaded my mind. No more words that my brain was forced to process. My fists balled together as my back tensed with adrenaline. I pushed off and began running, shoving men out of my way. As I invaded  the circle, I reached for the man that punched Brianus, clutching his tunic with my arm raised, aimed at his eye. My knuckles cracked with his skull. Red sprouted from his socket like a fountain, coating my hand, marking my deed. I dropped him. His body fell limp to the floor, clearly unconscious. Another, much taller, man stepped forward. I crouched even lower, widening my legs as I mapped out his movements. He clearly wanted to get to Brianus, but I blocked his path, making it certain that I was his first and only obstacle. The man did not slow his pace, continuing forward. I surged toward him, wrapping my arms around his torso. Even with the man trying to locate me, I used my momentum to quickly swing around his body, closing my legs around his stomach as I now hugged him from behind. I fisted his hair, pulling him to look at me as I held his throat with my other hand. The force of myself leaning him back caused him to fall into me, taking us both to the ground. The weight of the man incited pain throughout my body. My throat released a yell at the sensation. The man above me trashed, trying to rid me of him. In retaliation for the continued anguish on my body, I bent down, sinking my teeth into the meat of his shoulder. The contact created a roar from the man as I continued to break skin. Blood flowed into my mouth and clotted in my throat with the mix of saliva. I ripped my head away, taking the flesh with me. I spat the metallic slab out, blood following it as it sprayed across the grass and dripped down my face. 

The man above me ripped himself from my grip, running away into the crowd as he held his bleeding shoulder. Flinging my legs above my body and planting all of my weight in my hands, I pushed off, landing with my knees bent. I scanned the circle that surrounded me. My fingers twitched with anticipation; adrenaline coursed through my veins. A rustle in the crowd grabbed my attention. My eyes flicked over to find another man wielding a spear, twirling it in his hand. This would be more difficult, but I would manage. I raised my hands to protect my face, squaring my body to the side so that any openings would decrease. I lunged forward, holding my arms out to navigate the motion of the spear. Nothing landed, however, as men in armor forced their way through the crowd, yelling at everyone to either come forward as the perpetrators or disperse. In the midst of the commotion, a set of arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me out. The crowd got smaller and smaller as the arms around my waist dragged me farther and farther away. A smack on the back of the head told me everything I needed to know. Brianus forced me out. My body slowly relaxed, starting with the unclenching of my fists. 

As I caught sight of our tent, I attempted to wriggle free of his grasp. I wasn’t some child; I could fucking walk on my own. Eventually he released me, but Brianus didn’t even acknowledge as he went first into the red tent. Fuck, he’s mad. I followed in after him. I saw him near the bed, pinching the bridge of his freckled nose with his fingers in frustration. I stayed near the exit, waiting for him to talk first. I didn't trust what my voice would say in this moment for fear of making it worse. Finally, he opened his mouth, “what in the hell were you fucking thinking?” It didn’t come out in a yell, but a chilling, even tone with a slight bite. His words filled me with a hot rage. “What was I thinking?” I responded, my mouth finding it hard to stretch with the blood drying on my skin. “You were the one in the middle of a circle of Romans. I wasn’t going to let you do that alone while you were injured!” Brianus finally faced me, eyes creased in anger. “If you even cared to actually watch what happened, you would’ve noticed I was doing perfectly fine before your little intervention.” He moved forward as he spoke. “You still got injured, and they would have done worse if I hadn’t stepped in.” I leaned forward as well, creating little distance between us compared to before. We stared for a while, waiting to see who would break first. Time passed as neither of us moved. Seconds went by, and my body slowly realized its exhaustion. My shoulders slumped with the loss of adrenaline, and my knuckles throbbed from overuse. 

Brianus must have seen this too, for he broke the contact to grab the medicine bottle I had previously procured from beside our mattress. He popped open the cork, facing me again. “Sit,” his red hair flowed limply with him as he nodded toward the mattress. I smirked, “I feel like we’ve done this before.” My attempt to lighten the situation quickly died as an icy glare from his hazel eyes put my body into motion to sit as he directed. As he prepared the medicine, I looked down at my cut knuckles. My hands shook with pain as the cuts covered my hands in a sickening red. I was sure that nothing was truly serious, no fractures, but that doesn’t mean it still didn’t feel like fire on my skin. Brianus came over to me, sitting beside me. He took my left hand into his and patted the medicine with a cloth onto my injuries. I hissed at the pressure and stinging, but Brianus traced circles along my fingers, allowing me to focus on other places of contact rather than the pain. 

He still hadn’t spoken a word since our little spat moments before, festering this thick tension between us. I continued to stare at my hands, avoiding any other contact besides his tending to my injuries. Finally, his voice broke through the dense tension. “And I thought this medicine was meant for me.” The comment morphed my mouth into a grin. I managed to look at him, finding that his eyes were already watching me. “When have you ever known me to stay healthy for long?” I said back, provoking a giggle from Brianus. No language would ever match the level of beauty than his laughter. My eyes rested back onto my hands, continuing to watch his work. I let my fingers from my right hand trace his muddied tattoos. Even with them clouded by dirt, I still remembered how they flowed. 

He eventually moved onto my right hand, covering the left with some bandages that reached from my knuckles to my wrist, encasing my hand in white. We sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying the time spent with only us in the room. As Brianus continued to tend to me, I felt something I’ve never once felt before. The gentle care he always offered to me never wavered, even as his captive. Very few have ever offered me that kindness. I’m more accustomed to having something useful to give for the reward of kindness. Even before Rome, I was traded from tribe to tribe, forced to learn new customs and tongues. I felt myself continued to be halved for every culture I have adopted. Words from Celtic, Latin, Greek, Germanic, and many other languages fill my head to the point of not knowing my own language, my own person. 

As he finished up with my hands, I realized I never wanted to leave. I wanted to have this little haven of a tent with him forever. Maybe this is what home feels like, a need to never leave, a feeling of being wanted. 

He is my home. 

Chapter Text

Ante diem VIII Kalendas Octobres anno LV ante aeram vulgarem

M.

Sitting on our mattress, I unwrapped the red and pink gauze from my hands, exposing the sore wounds upon my knuckles. The broken skin already scabbed over in these sickly black spots since I had originally dressed them. I grabbed the medicine, slightly pouring the liquid onto my injuries. I hissed at the contact, gripping my hand with so much force that I had thought that I would create new wounds. No matter how many times I’ve treated my cuts, they seem to never be less painful. A pressure unexpectedly landed upon my shoulder, breaking me from my concentration. I could feel his breath on my neck. 

“You want me to do that for you?” Brianus whispered in my ear. I sighed under his touch, relaxing my shoulders where he leaned. However, before I could answer his question, a sudden jolt from my body shoved his head off my shoulder. I turned to face him, scrunching my face in disgust as he looked at me with wide eyes. “What was that for?” His tone came out slightly annoyed. “You’re not touching me again until you stop smelling like a horse’s ass,” the statement flew out of my mouth before I could think of anything nicer to say. I had not thought about how long it has since either of us had taken a bath. Almost a whole week. Brianus’s expression softened sadly, his mouth slightly agape at my response. “Are you serious? I can’t touch you unless I’m clean?” It came out much sterner than his face was letting on. 

I turned my body to fully face him, looking straight into his sorrowful hazel eyes. “That is exactly what I’m saying. No companion of mine will be dirty unless they do not have the means to wash themselves,” my voice reflected that of a parent slightly scolding their child. “And it so happens that we’re not far from water. There is no reason for you to smell like a stable.” Brianus turned away from me, sulking. Is he seriously going to act immature? A bath is not that difficult. 

I got up from the bed to assemble items for our new mission. However, while gathering fresh tunics and soap, Brianus continued to remain quiet on the other side of the tent. I turned to face him, signaling to him that I knew something was awry. He sighed, looking away. “I don’t smell that bad,” I heard him grumble. I rolled my eyes, “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not having someone touch me that’s covered in fucking blood and grime.” He sighed, but relented to my insistence. That seemed to end the whole ordeal as we exited the tent together to find the nearby stream. 

Weaving around tents, we tried not to get spotted by other soldiers. It was not that long since the brawl, and I certainly didn’t want a repeat. Brianus and I have sustained too many wounds for such a short amount of time. I hope that the future will include less fighting for the sake of our health. While hiding from the main crowd, Brianus and I approached on the treeline surrounding the camps. It felt similar to our foraging adventures back in the Briton camp, wandering around in the forest by ourselves. The thought brought back happier memories before everything. While stepping over roots and pushing past bushes, the vegetation revealed a clear, blue stream that flowed silently as I had predicted was near. I set our supplies down, facing Brianus. His face was blank, and his gaze was focused on the water before us, lost in thought. His hand mindlessly fiddled with the seams of his tunic.

I reached my hand over to his other, limp hand. My pinky interlocked with his, breaking his focus. His gaze landed on me, instead. I squeezed his pinky in reassurance. His mouth tilted slightly upward, but it did not reach his eyes. I frowned slightly, pulling away. With my back facing Brianus, I stepped forward while pulling at the edges of my tunic. The fabric dropped to the forest floor, leaving me in my cloth undergarments. My neck turned slightly to peek over at the taller man. I saw his eyes travel down my back, raking over every scar, lesion, and branding. However, his expression represented something different than it had before. Instead of fear or pity that creased his brow, it was realization, a new understanding. He hesitated to follow suit, slowly tearing off his tunic and allowing it to cascade to the dirt beneath our feet. Brianus’ back was still covered in wounds and lashes, but they were well on their way to healing and pink from the new skin. He passed me, heading to the stream ahead of us. As the water rose, Brianus sunk deeper into the calming waves. Dunking his head, he flipped his now deep red hair, creating a small arc of water. I followed after him with our supplies, sitting in the shallow areas of the stream, so my waist was slightly wet. I watched the man before me acclimate to the coldness of the water. The stream was strikingly colder than the outside temperature, creating a sharp difference between the parts of my body that were and were not in the water. 

I traced the water below me, creating small ripples in the usually silent water. My mind finally quieted from the constant roar of uncertainty. It truly felt like I could relax without the feeling of someone hunting me. I sighed in content, wishing this moment could last my lifetime. A pressure woke me from my trance, flicking my attention to the source. Brianus had laid his stomach in the shallow part of the stream with his hand wrapped around my ankle. His face looked confused, eyeing me suspiciously. “Everything okay?” His voice was only a deep whisper, but it felt like a shout in the quiet environment around us. I nodded in response, “yeah it’s just so quiet here.” Brianus hummed in agreement. He began to soothingly stroke around the bone of my ankle in affection. “Come up here; I’ll wash your hair,” I said, separating my knees to allow space for him.

As the grin on his face brightened, Brianus pushed himself slowly to me, sliding in between my legs as he laid his back against me. His hands rested on my legs as his head settled right in the crook of my sternum. I grabbed a brick of soap from our supplies. Creating little suds from the water of the stream, I started to rake my fingers through his knotted hair, massaging into his scalp. At the soft movement of my fingers, his head rested deeper and deeper into my bare chest as his eyes remained closed in relaxation. Brianus began to smirk, “I think I could fall asleep here.” I grinned at the comment but kept my tone frank, “I’m not carrying you back to the camp if you do.” My words created a bubbling giggle from him, resounding the vibrations through my bones. “What? Are you not strong enough?” I flicked my gaze over from his hair to his face, raising an eyebrow at his question, causing another round of laughter and a gentle squeeze of my calf. Out of the two of us, I think we were both aware of who could or could not carry the other with ease. 

After thoroughly running the soap through Brianus’ grimy hair, I cupped water that lapped at my waist and brought it up above his face. I let the water trickle through my fingers, soaking up the oil from the soap and making all the bubbles dissipate. I continued this a few more times, making sure that all of the soap had been cleansed from his fiery hair. I began to part a little above the crown of his head, intertwining the red strands in a small braid. The braid was strikingly shorter than when I previously had done his hair, but there were some sacrifices needed to be made for our safety. We continued our bath in the stream, scrubbing our escape and survival from our skin and allowing the water to wash it away.

Brianus and I began to dry off and put our tunics back on. Almost immediately did Brianus reach over and grab me by the waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. I reached my arm to softly caress his damp hair. “Is this better?” He asks in a mocking tone, pressing a kiss to my neck. I turn my head to look at him better, grinning at my achievement. “Insurmountably better,” I responded in a similar voice. Brianus squeezed my waist tightly before fully letting go and grabbing our remaining supplies from the bank of the stream. Gazing at the sky, something caught my attention. Plumes of smoke rose from beyond the treetops. “Brianus,” I called out and pointed to the suspicious activity. “Who do you think that could be?” He asked from behind me. “It could be any number of Celtic tribes, but they are awfully close to our camp,” the minute I said our camp, it felt wrong. The tension began to gather from my words, but it was best if we pretended it did not exist for the moment. There were bigger things to worry about.

“I say we investigate,” I faced Brianus. He debated silently. Eventually, he nodded. We followed the rising smoke, attempting to gauge the actual distance of the nearby camp. We were about half a mile before something prickled the back of my neck. I stopped in my tracks immediately, trying to see in my peripheral for any movement. “What is it?” Brianus asked. I held up my hand as a signal for silence. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on edge. I was certain there was something human in this forest with us. Then, there it was. A stick broke behind me, causing myself to pivot to face the sound. Brianus heard it too, following my initiative. “Show yourself,” Brianus called out. From behind a tree, a shadow emerged. It stayed still for a beat before it spoke.

“Brianus?”

The voice was familiar, but I could not exactly place it. My mind ran a mile a minute before Brianus answered my burning question.

“Ecthigern.”

The shadow materialized into the gangly stableman as I once knew him. He bared a green cloak with the hood up. His face remained in a shocked state, seemingly surprised to find our figures standing before him. “Holy shit,” Ecthigern gasped out. “I thought you guys were dead. Well, I didn’t really know what happened, but I thought there was no way that someone wouldn’t find you.” I seemed to watch from afar. I did not feel connected to the whole exchange. This was Brianus’ friend, certainly not mine. I’m not exactly the friendly type.

Suddenly, Ecthigern lunged towards Brianus, enveloping him in a hug. “I’m just glad you both are okay,” he said into Brianus’ shoulder. He pulled away and faced me. Ecthigern seemed to hesitate before he enclosed me in the same hug that he gave to Brianus. Feeling his arms around me, my body tensed again, feeling as if I was made of stone. My arms remained at my sides as my body stayed rigid. I looked at Brianus, who seemed to slightly find humour in my discomfort, holding back laughter. After what dragged on forever, Ecthigern officially released me from his hold. My body unclenched from its fixed form, releasing the mounds of tension from the awkward encounter. 

“What happened?” Ecthigern directed the question to Brianus. He told of our adventures from surviving in the woods to finding the Roman camp and our rough start. The scrawny man hung onto every word, completely enraptured by our tale. “I’m glad you guys are okay,” he responded. “Those guys are just fucking assholes.” Brianus nodded along, but I remained silent. It felt awkward entering into their conversation. A thought dawned on me, but it escaped my hold before I could ponder it further. “What are you doing this far out?” I asked Ecthigern.

“Uh, I was on foraging duty,” he forced out, but there was something else. I stared him down, hoping that would break whatever truth he attempted to cover. However, it did not suffice. “But there isn’t anything of value on this side of the camp, and you know that,” I prompted, squinting my eyes in suspicion. Ecthigern sighed, running his hands through his limp, brown hair. “Okay, fine,” he relented. “I wasn’t just on foraging duty. I have some friends from some tribes in the mainland. You Romans call them Gauls. We were trying to dig up any knowledge about possible upcoming Roman invasions.” I nodded in understanding; no wonder Ecthigern did not want to give this information up freely. There was silence as I was comprehending the situation.

Gauls and Britons working together would be detrimental to the advantage Rome has conjured. However, if they did not have correct intel, their alliance would be useless. This was a monumental decision, and if done right, the decision could heavily weaken the growing power of Rome. I battled with myself. I had no idea who I aligned with in this moment. However, the feeling quickly dissipated when I met Brianus’ hazel eyes. 

“We could tell you that,” my mouth did not feel like my own. “What if we gave you that intel?” Ecthigern and Brianus stood in shock. Brianus walked towards me, slightly grasping my forearm. “Do you really think this is a good idea,” he whispered so only I could hear. I glanced between him and Echigern, watching as the latter eyed the interaction closely. Oh, he knows. I focused my gaze back to Brianus, “don’t you want to go home?” That seemed to kick the wind out of his lungs. I don’t think he ever saw it that way. If we give knowledge to his tribe, they might allow him back in as a hero for Britannia, and he can finally return to his rightful home.

But I don’t know where that leaves me.

“So, what do you say?” I did not wait for Brianus to give a verbal answer. Ecthigern grinned like it was the day of his birth. “I say fuck yeah,” his grin never wavered. Right as he said this, a horn echoed throughout the forest, sending a chill down my spine. Rome did not use horns during war, so this was from the Briton camp. Something was happening, and it certainly was not good. Ecthigern looked incredibly worried, and it appeared Brianus shared the same sentiment. “What does that mean?” I dared to ask. Brianus turned to me with wide eyes as his hands shaked. Something was seriously wrong. As he grasped my hand and started pulling me to the Roman camps, I could hear him clear as a blue sky.

“It means to run!”

B.

The familiar blare of the horn insights a panic through my heart, resurfacing the views of dead bodies, blood spatters, and a stench of death lacing the air. The warmth of Marcius’ calloused hand grounds me as the scars and prints of his fingers brush against mine. Ecthigern faced me with wide eyes, a silent farewell. He bounded down into the brush, clashing with all the plants weaved around the tight knit trees. The forest rushes by in blurs of green transitioning to warmer oranges, reds, and yellows. Through the thinner patches of trees, the British forces- My people– filter into the thicker forest bordering the roman camp. The warhorns perch high above every head bustling into formation, the long snaking spout rising upward and curling into the shape of a hog’s head. 

“What is that?” Marcius struggles out as he breathes heavily, “The huge bronze tube.” 

I flash my eyes back at him, brows creasing as fear continues its climb into my mind, “It’s a warhorn. A Carnyx.” My eyes anxiously return to the horn looming in the woods. 

His gaze follows, eyes bouncing along the british battleline while they flood every gap between the trees. Marcius huffs with a vicious air, flicking my hand away from his. He strides ahead when the camp comes into a clearer view, surpassing me greatly. The camp begins to shut their gates, heavy wooden doors creaking as four large men push with all their might on each side. Marcius shouts out in his Latin tongue, cupping his hands around his mouth to accentuate the sound. The soldiers halt, wide eyed looks plastering their faces, a mix of worry, stress, and anger boiling together. 

“Brianus!” He cries out, standing in the threshold of the gate, waiting for me to cross with him. 

Marcius’ hand flew out as I ran closer. He grasped my hand as I crossed the boundary between camp and home. His eyes met mine sparingly, his focus darts among every soldier lacing their sandals, chest plates, and grieves. More smoke shrouds the sky, smells of burning sap, woods, and iron wrestle together inside my nostrils. My eyes begin to water, a prickle jabbing my bottom eyelid. Marcius pulls me closer to his side. Soldiers rush into herds bound to leave camp while we swim against their current. With a heavy hand, Marcius clawed his way through the dense crowd, grasping my bicep to keep me from drifting. We parted the crowd hastily all the way to our tent. 

“Stay here! I have to get to the armory.” Marcius whipped his hand from my arm, breath frantic and eyes unsteady. 

“Mar-“ I called after him, but stopped short. Marcius leaped back into the rushing soldiers. 

A knot in my stomach tightened, constricting my spine into a stiff locked posture. I can’t stay here any longer. We have to run. My mind boiled and turned in a stressful loop. I flung the curtains of the tent open, rushing in to gather supplies. We could run! My hands rummage messily into our materials, shaking the organization into my own system. We can’t run…with a sudden drop from the anxious high, my hands fall limp to my sides. My kneeling posture slacked, spine curling in as my face nears the scratchy wool flooring of our tent. 

“Get the fuck up!” His dry voice felt like it shook the world. 

A helmet dropped to the floor, clattering noisily. Marcius adorned battle armor while he was away. Black leather and metal plated his skin. 

“Mar!” I flailed to my feet, eyeing him as he fastened a thick belt around his waist with a sword sheath attached. 

He huffed a short but hot breath from his nose. Anger boiled in his gut, boiled for Rome’s glory. Does it boil for anything else? 

“I have to go into battle.” He grunted with a heated expression. 

I picked up the helmet he had thrown to the ground, holding it softly. The metal was blunt with dents littering the surface. The leather straps which would tie together had messy stitches, uneven and loose from all the wear. My thoughts began to run. He was leaving me to go to battle for Rome, leaving me in this camp with no connections, leaving me for glory. 

My heart sunk to a deep pit in my stomach, deflating any and all bliss, “Well…” I began in a whisper, lifting the helmet to the crown of his head, “don’t die.” 

His angry eyes turned round for a mere slip of a second. His hands overlapped mine, sliding the helmet over his head with me, eyes never breaking a delicate contact with mine. The warm roughness of his hands cradled my heart even as it sank deeper into an abyssal pit. I brought my lips to the tip of his nose, placing a small kiss. 

“Goodbye.” I whispered, pulling back and opening the tent for him to leave. 

I lowered my eyes, sensing a bubbling tension in his body. He exhaled harshly, stomping just outside the tent. 

“I’ll come home.” He almost spat, his voice monotone and guarded, “I promise.” He added gently and barely audible. 

As my eyes drew upward to meet him again, barely holding onto the anger as I realized he was actually leaving, he was gone into the crowding mass of rushing soldiers. The wind wrapped me in a chilling blanket, it melted into my skin, sucking the warmth from my soul. What am I to do now? Am I to wait like one of Rome’s loyal dogs bred to love no other? 

I will not be a dog. 

As my mind swelled into a pool of deep emotional turmoil, the flaps of the tent flutter open with a flick of someone’s delicate wrist. The old man who spoke my native tongue too harshly ushered himself into my tent. His arms splayed out widely, hands graciously open in a welcoming presence, like he was greeting me into his space. 

“Ah! Barbari! My Friend.” He sighed and clapped his hands together, the sharp sound piercing my ears. 

I pinch my mouth in a tighter line than it already was, tension coiling in my throat. He continued to use that word ‘barbari’. I wonder if he truly understands what it means. A flowing red cape hung loosely over his slender slumped shoulders, draped artfully over several plates of armor stacked upon his chest. 

“Please come with me. We’re going to watch the battle from above.” He smiled with his thin crusted lips, “I’m sure you’d like to know how our army operates.” 

My eyes flicked around his face, observing the thin flakey quality of his skin and false cheery nature. I turn my chest to face him, mouth sealed in contemplation. Two guards clad in dusky scratched armor and hefty helmets covering their eyes stomped past the fabric barrier. They loomed over the old man, bulky compared to his frail size. 

“I wasn’t exactly asking.” He placed his hands down to his side, beginning to turn out to leave, “Now please, may we go?” 

The guards circled around behind me, herding me up towards the door. The man whisked through the fabric, out into the oddly silent camp. Dark clouds caressed the sun, holding the light dim. All inside the walls encasing the camp held its breath, waiting as it stands still from the pervious flurry of soldiers passing into battle. The old man begins stepping carelessly along the beaten dirt paths, sliding his boots over the ground in a soft dance. The soldiers and their armor clatter behind me, rattling the nerves along my back. They lead me out past the dense wooden walls, past stumps shattered by axes, and grasses burned to soot forming a path of destruction. Shouts echoed in the dense trees, too thick to see through, but thin enough to hear gritty screams clinging to life. The hair along my arms raise to a prickly static, senses spiking as my stomach churns for him. We wade through the paths, coming up upon a sloping hill, the screams grow louder while my feet carry me further up. The old man leads the party, slowing his pace cautiously to the top of the hill. 

“Sabinus.” A harsh hiss of a voice cuts through the screams, calm in its address. 

“Caesar.” The old man- Sabinus -bows deeply, dipping his head in total submission. 

Caesar— The Caesar… do they mean? 

I peer past Sabinus’ bowing form, meeting the gaze of a man towering over a small squadron of soldiers perched upon this hulking stallion. Purple and gold adorned every bit of clothing and armor on the man, defining his regal presence. This was definitely Caesar. The one who started this war, who has killed hundreds of my people, and who has stolen dignity from everyone. Now I stand so close to the man who made my life a living hell. The screams of the battle close by only seem to amplify in his presence, like they surround him, follow him to cause destruction in his wake. Smells of battle seep into my nose, though, how do I know he doesn’t just reek of death and rot. A sick wave of rolling nausea floods my head, blurring my vision and flipping my stomach as I watch this man bask in the glory of the blood he is responsible for spilling. 

“Bow. Now, Brit.” Sabinus slithers close to my ear, a commanding air to his words. 

My eyes stick to Caesar, boring into the cold gaze of his dull eyes. Rage shoots its hot boiling energy into my veins, it festers under my skin, threatening to surface here and now. Caesar returns my gaze, awaiting my submission. All my bones seem to crackle while I bend my torso down with an aching pride. I grit my teeth, biting the anger back and forcing it to sleep deep in the pit of my stomach. 

“Bonus.” I hear from atop the stallion, a satisfaction humming in his voice. 

My hitching breath dares to break into a primal raging scream. I would kill him right now if I stood the chance. I’d break his bold boney nose into pieces, mutilate his back till I saw his spine poking through the gore, And then hang his body over the tallest building in his glorious city to rot and get picked clean by the crows. I pull my head out from the rage, standing back upright, expecting his eyes to be on me again. He gazes outward, off the steeper edge of the hill, down toward the gore. A smile slips at the corners of his lips, curled maliciously as if he controls the tides of war. My boots shuffle against the scorched earth, approaching the edge. I dare to shuffle closer into Caesar’s space, standing mere feet from the towering horse. 

Over the edge, guttural shouts and wails rip through the air, people clad in their respective armors collide fiercely into a chorus of clanking metal. The dark clouds in the sky tremor, opening into a light drizzle and making steam erupt from the burnt surface. My own people dwindle on the field, their numbers most surely smaller than when they arrived. Roman men swarm the arena, seemingly pouring from an unrelenting source. Though my own are hanging onto the barrier of life and death, my eyes can’t help but search for the one I call home. 

My people begin to flee the field, scattered across the area. They all leap to the tree line between the battle torn field and untouched forest. My people don’t go down easily, no doubt they were regrouping just beyond our view. 

“Impressive. Is it not?” Sabinus’ harsh tongue spits in Celt, he pierces my concentrated search on the field. 

“Yes.” I sigh, gently lifting my strained eyes to his, “Very impressive.” I keep my voice soft and monotoned. 

Sabinus shifted from his soft intrusion of conversation into an incriminating glare. His shoulders stiffened, “Are they fleeing for good?“ 

“I’m not sure.” My gaze doesn’t meet. I stare off, trying to push off the dense weight of my own lie. 

He let out a wheeze like something was funny, “You said you knew this plan. And you even got it wrong.” Now his eyes pricked holes into the side of my head, burning through my facade. 

“They must have switched up.” I face him, eyebrows knit into a furious knot. “They knew I’d been siding with your cause.” 

Thunder bubbled under dark clouds above us. Rain began to pour heavier onto the earth. The sky grew even denser, dampening the light further. I stood over Sabinus, the full gravity of my towering height weighing upon his shoulders. 

“Do you dare defy my loyalty? I swore myself to the glory of Rome.” My voice rumbled like the thunder. 

His feeble form shrank under mine. Sabinus nodded, holding his mouth in a tight line. He walked off, budging himself into another group of men who spoke amongst themselves. I return my bitter gaze to the field. Romans soldiers stood idly by, ready, but in softer stances then when they were in the thick of fighting. Similar to the scorched earth, the rain draped down the soldiers' bodies like a cooling blanket. One of the soldiers slid his helmet off with bloodied, shaking hands. He kept his head down for a moment, allowing the rain to fall atop his black curly hair. Black curly hair… The man rolled his head up. My heart skipped. My hands clenched until my knuckles shined a pure white. 

Please…please tell me it’s him. 

The soldier ran his hands over his face, smearing thick dark blood over his features. He looked into the rain. The water dragged the red down his face and neck to reveal his tanned skin dotted with dark moles. 

Marcius. 

My body began to crash with a wave of relief. Tears almost fell from my eyes. I watched Marcius breath deeply. He walked toward the tree line. All was quiet and still. Maybe my people really did retreat. He slowly lowered himself onto the ground. I could see the stiffness and ache in his bones even from where I stood far off. Marcius glanced around, tracing where his fellow soldiers were and mapping the hellscape he sat upon. His eyes stopped abruptly and his body sat upright quickly. He had found Caesar’s gaze. 

Then he slacked once again, slowly and like he had seen something breathtaking. I found his amber eyes meeting mine across the field. I don’t dare smile, not in this crowd, but my body buzzes in a warm feeling despite icy rain tracing my tattoos instead of him. He kept his eyes on me as he drank in the view he saw. His face melted into a slight upward tilt of his eyebrows, parted lips, and a look of pure ache swelling in his eyes. My body began to heat at the look of his fine face. 

His head whipped back into the tree line, gaze hardening rapidly. The heat fell away from me. He jumped into a tense stature, sword gripped in his bloodied palms. The other soldiers in the field pivot to the same position. All of a sudden, no one seemed to breathe. Silence envelops the scenery. Marcius edges his head forward into the thick trees with a harsh glance. 

A deep blaring horn echoed through the forest. The deep hum of a carnyx resounded again. Marcius jumped back and reached to hold his sword up, but a man jumped from the trees. The man crashed into Marcius, pinning him down. People began to pour from the forest, now outnumbering the Romans. My eyes kept on Marcius, anxiety choking me. He fended the man off. They danced in a circle of cautious steps and mean glares. Marcius met my gaze again. His eyes carried a worrying glint and a glossy finish. 

Suddenly, ten men rallied on him, pushing him into the soft earth in a pile of bodies. My stomach sank into panic. Marcius was buried.