A/N: Hey guys, first fanfic ever! I am in love with Crixus and wanted to write a story about him. Please Read and Review. I may or may not continue this but I could really use some advice on my writing. Anyways, enjoy! Crixus/OC I'm not too sure about how well I did with their awesome language but all reveiws are appreciated.

Summary: Naevia is dead, killed by Batiatus himself after Lucretia beat her and cut her hair. Crixus is now a broken man with an unquenchable desire for vengeance. Batiatus is dead but the scars he has left upon the former champion still remain, and as he and Spartacus deal with the problems of being fugitives, he must find another purpose to live. The arrival of a strange egyptian woman could solve all of his problems. Some Au as some things will be a little different due to Naevia's death earlier than in the series.

Rhaskos glared at Spartacus after the command. Ashia could see the furious glint in his eye. The Gauls were more than ready and capable to defend their prizes against Spartacus' men. She waited, to see his reaction. Then with the smallest of nods, he consented and the other former house slaves swarmed him to get to the food. "Get back!" he commanded, taking the two of the smallest bags of food and throwing them to Mira. "Pray it will be enough, because unless the thracian leaves to get more, your bellies will rest empty on this night." He took a bag for himself and dispersed his men, walking toward her quiet corner and falling next to her.

"Fucking Spartacus." he grumbled as he handed her some meat.

She smiled and bit into the animal flesh with delight. Wherever they'd retrieved it, must have kept their food well preserved. It was still warm and seasoned with spices. It was tough, but it tasted magnificent to a mouth that had not eaten well in days. "Crixus will see to him. You should not cause conflict." She cautioned with a smile.

"So I should bow my head to him, like he is lanista? Like he is a god? I would see him stricken from this world before it occurs, even if Crixus holds him in such esteem. Crixus is the true champion."

She continued to smile as she ate, finally sating the groaning of her belly. Rhaskos ate loudly next to her, but she did not mind. She was used to his barbaric manner, after all, he was not raised as she was, being a body slave to a kind, wealthy Roman woman. Unlike many of them, she was well versed in many languages and could read maps and charts as good as any Roman. It was under her father's instruction as well as that of her Dominus, who treated her almost like a daughter that she become educated, in case their freedom was obtained. Sadly, it was not to be. At the moment, Rhaskos was the only one who seemed to trust her. He would make sure she was fed even before he himself had eaten. Words of payment were never spoken and he seemed content to provide for her in such ways, but she was not.

"Rhaskos, you fucking slob." She looked at the man next to her. He wiped the animal grease from his mouth and and looked at her. "I wish to fight. I want you to train me."

He chuckled. "Why?"

"I do not wish to be burden to you and, I have longed to spill Roman blood." She answered, meeting his fierce brown eyes that burned with a fire that she had only seen in the eyes of gladiators. She longed to feel that fire, to tame it and give it breath and and in resulting inferno, unleash hell on any Roman that dared to face her. She longed to fight at her friend's side.

"When Crixus returns and he has seen to Spartacus, we will train."

"And tomorrow?" She inquired with hopeful eyes.

"Tomorrow, you will train again."

Rhaskos rose as soon as the Gaul leader had returned and went to him to tell him of Spartacus' commands. The undefeated gaul immediately went to the thracian for an answer.

Ashia watched the exchange with interest. She had been lifting stones, as per Rhaskos' instruction to build strength in her arms. She was already in good shape, but she needed to be better to fight.

"Your strength will grow." said the Gaul, returning to her side and taking the rocks from her. "Soon, sword will become as feather." He said, unsheathing his weapon with a flourish and handing it to her. She took it. It was heavier than first presumed but she didn't drop it, neither did her arm bend beneath its weight. He seemed surprised at this but began to teach her anyway. Both of them were unaware of the empty dark eyes that watched them.

She had caught his eye on her first day. The Gauls had found her on a carriage that they had planned to rob. She had slaughtered her dominus after he'd tried to have his way with her. Since, she has remained distant from others, despite Mira and Aurelia's encouragement. She had chosen to only share words with Rhaskos or the other Gauls. At first glance, one would think she was of the same blood as they, but no, she was egyptian, with skin of tempered gold and long wavy hair, blacker than night and seemed to retain its shine through any weather. He had to admit that she was beautiful, very beautiful, but never had he heard her voice. She spoke not to him and he found it oddly maddening.

He watched in silence as Rhaskos instructed her in sword techniques. Her body flowed naturally through every motion, like a graceful dancer. She had given no sign that she had trained with sword, but anyone could see a sword was made to fit her hands.

"What captures your thoughts, Crixus?" asked Mira as she passed, noticing his intense gaze. It had been far too long since she'd seen nothing but dark coals behind eyes that had once smoldered with bright flames.

"The egyptian." he said simply.

Mira looked at the training pair. "She looks strong."

"What do you know of her?"

"Nothing. She would only share words with Rhaskos. She seems to be comfortable with your men."

He grunted in reply and continued to silently watch. His thoughts began to drift to his Naevia, thoughts of perhaps one day training her to fight, then to her perhaps bearing his child. A smile actually flickered on his lips.

"Thoughts of Naevia?" Mira asked.

"Yes."

"Then I shall leave you to them and pray they sweeten your dreams." She departed to Spartacus' chambers and the Gaul was left alone. His eyes returned to the egyptian as she went through all the techniques with surprising precision and speed. The voice of Rhaskos strayed to his ears. "The gods bless your hand with skill. With further training, I may find a worthy opponent in you."

The egyptian smiled, lighting the dreary tunnels and causing the absent heartbeat of the undefeated gaul to pound once more. He frowned at the strange sensation and retired to his room. It had been a month since Naevia's death, since his heart and soul was torn from him and left him a shadow of his former self. The only thing that held him to this world was his men. Without him, they would turn to wild dogs and probably try to slaughter Spartacus and those who followed him. To them, he was the true champion. More memories began to ascend as he remembered fighting in the arena. The blood, the sand, the roaring crowd. Then, his life held meaning, he had purpose, to bring honor and glory to his house. Now, he was no longer sure. His Naevia, his love, was gone. Stripped of this world, torn from his arms forever by Batiatus. She would never train with him or fight at his side, nor would she ever bear a child. A gift bestowed upon that bitch Lucretia but denied the love of his life. He began to boil with anger and quickly left the sewers to breath air that was not tainted with loss.

Ashia watched the man depart in a hurry and silently prayed for the return of the

undefeated Gaul. She prayed for his health, for a broken heart had no cure and could leave scars that were deep beneath skin that would cease to heal. She did not know the man's pain of losing a lover, but she had lost more, much more in her pursuit of freedom. She would have like to share words of comfort, but she after a moments ponder, she decided that her sword would do so for her.