Warnings: Vague descriptions of violence, war, and death.
i. Death rides with her, Death is her companion, her friend; and when Death takes her hand to reunite her with Crixus, she gently refuses his offer, and greets what she knows will be the last battle against Rome with a copper smile and calm defiance. She's not ready to die yet.
ii. She becomes death. A goddess among fragile mortals. Invincible. Crixus's voice vibrates within her body and she lets it out - a war scream that cuts through the air like a blade. The Romans tremble before her as she sweeps them away and crushes them with righteous rage. Death lays a bony hand upon her shoulder, but she brushes it away. She's not ready to die. Not yet.
iii. Brazen, made of earth and blood, Naevia bares her teeth and leaps into an abyss created of Roman soldiers. Golden, made of fire and battle, Saxa throws back her head and laughs as she follows her. They are sisters, Erinyes, and they bask in the gods' favour, claiming Roman lives and forcing their way back to the main body of Spartacus's army. Death covers them, but does not take them away. He's not ready to rob the world of their glory yet.
iv. Naevia kneels beside Spartacus's grave. The battle is over and the war is lost. She's too exhausted to cry, but tears fall freely from her eyes, leaving marks upon her cheeks. Death takes her hand and helps her stand up. She looks straight at him - her face carved with paths of loss and pain and fatigue - and asks him to tell Crixus to wait just a little bit longer. She's still not ready to die… And Death is not ready to let her.
v. They are damned, those who survived the war. Saxa, Belesa, Nasir and Agron, Castus, Sibyl, Laeta, all the women, men, and children - and by chance of fate, Kore, among some other slaves who escaped the cold wrath of Marcus Crassus. Naevia counts herself among them and embraces damnation as her closest confidant. They are a family of damned souls. And she won't let Rome take that from her, too.
vi. The day she finds out she is with Crixus's child, Naevia weeps. She weeps for the dead, for the living, and for those yet to be born. She weeps for herself and the child growing inside her. And when the strenght to weep leaves her, she rises from the ground, and sends Death away. It's merely a whisper, but he nods and lets her go. She won't be ready to die in a long time, now.
vii. She buries Tiberius's sword beneath a tree at the foot of the Alps. Crixus kisses her good-bye, soft and proud, and she smiles through her tears. Naevia never picks up a sword again.
viii. Naevia fights every day against the bitterness and the hardness that threaten to overwhelm her in lonely moments. It's hard to accept peace in her life, even far from Rome's grasp, but it becomes easier with each passing day.
ix. Bathed in glimmering fire light and held in Crixus's arms beneath a starry sky, Naevia has once sworn never to love another man. She keeps her promise, kissing the tenderness of Kore's lips, tracing the soft lines of her body, hearing her breathe words of sweet nothingness against her mouth. Never would she love another man. She loves Kore, though, and it feels right.
x. Her daughter is born in freedom. She calls her Diona. Kore holds both of them in a firm embrace and they celebrate the dead. Naevia gives Death a silent smile of gratitude. She is ready to die this very moment, but she knows that she won't see him again for many years.
Naevia is at peace, at last.