Title: Feras Canis
Summary: Tiberius wasn't sure when exactly his desires had changed from wanting the blood of the rebels, to wanting the blood of the Romans. Perhaps it was the fire that burned in the blue eyes of the German that ignited his own, long extinguished flame. A Nasir character study.
Warning: Spoilers for Spartacus: Vengeance
Author Note: Not sure about this. I'm thinking I want to write more, but it depends on how well received it is. Please let me know if you would like for me to continue. In the future there will be more original scenes.
He had been filled with nothing but a hot rage since his attempt on Spartacus' life had been thwarted by none but the Thracian himself. The humiliation of his failure made only more severe, by the man's unwarranted mercy.
He sat, watching the man drink and dine on his dominus' wine and food, and sought to calm the wild fury that burned beneath his breast. He knew not why the champion had spared his life, but sought to learn from the experience, and gratefully accept the second chance the gods had granted him. An opportunity would arise again, of that he was certain, and until that moment he would bide his time. He would be ready when it presented itself to him. If the gladiators wished for him to learn the sword, than he would, and he would repay them for their foolishness by turning their tutelage back on them.
"You press fortune, glaring so at the Slayer of Theokoles." The voice startled Tiberius out of his dark thoughts, and he glared up at the man who had approached him. He was the one Tiberius took to be Spartacus' right hand, and the very same as had likened him to a wild dog.
This man had called for his life.
"His victory but proving even giants fall." He did not hesitate in his rejoinder, though a part of him warned against foolish words. If he wished to survive long enough to revisit his attempt on Spartacus' life, he knew he must gain trust. He had never been accomplished at holding his tongue, and he prayed to the gods that it would not be cause for his eventual death.
Tiberius was again taken by surprise when the man-he remembered now he had heard him called Agron-handed him a cup filled with wine, and kneeled at his side. He still felt a babe next to the towering gladiator.
"What name do you go by, little man? So that I may properly mourn your passing." Tiberius grit his teeth against the unfortunate nickname, as he took a sip of the wine.
"I am called Tiberius." His response was terse.
"You are far too dark for such a fair Roman name." He was unsure if the other meant the comment as insult, but was content to take it so.
"I am more Roman than Syrian."
"There was a Syrian in our ludus. A treacherous fuck if ever there breathed." Tiberius was sure the comment was only said to get a rise from him, so he remained silent. "Do you have family there?"
For just a moment, memories of blood and fire flooded his thoughts, before he shut his mind off from such things.
"I only recall a brother." He said, masking his pain in indifference.
"I too had a brother." The loss was evident in Agron's voice, and it drew Tiberius' eyes to him.
"No longer?"
"He was struck down by the Romans." Tiberius recognized pain, as a fat man knew a feast, and he struck out in the only way he knew how; words could drive pain into the heart oft better than swords, and he had just as much trouble controlling both.
"When you took swords against them." It was more a statement than a question, for there was little doubt in his mind that it was true, and only wished to drive home the futility of the cause. Agron turned towards him then, and there was something in his eyes that gave Tiberius cause for pause.
"As you shall one day. If you hold any fucking sense." Agron stood and left him then, and Tiberius felt unable to watch him walk away, a feeling of uncertainty growing within him. The man had somehow managed to make him feel like a petulant child.
For once he felt unsure in his resolve.
Tiberius' thoughts had not died down, in fact they seemed to be more alive than ever. It had been years since he had ever questioned the hand he had been dealt by the gods, but there was something about the determination he had seen burning hotly without thought of staunch in Agron's eyes that seemed to awaken a similar spirit in Tiberius. For once he truly considered what these men were offering him. What was freedom, truly? He could scarcely remember a time he had been permitted to make his own decision regarding anything of any real substance in his life. Even any insubstantial choice he might make could easily have been countermanded by his dominus. Had he ever truly been his own man?
"Torchers! Arriving from the North." Crixus looked excited at the prospect of battle.
Tiberius sat up from where he had been preparing to sleep, his own bed having been procured by the rebels.
"How many?" Spartacus asked, a look of concern on his face that was altogether absent from the Gaul's.
"Six, maybe more." He turned away from Spartacus then. "Gather the men!"
"Wait." Spartacus caught Crixus' arm. "These may be scouts from a larger force. If a single rider were to escape our grasp it could bring a far greater concern."
"Then we shall grip tightly!"
He felt his heartbeat quicken as he listened to Spartacus' discussion with the Gaul. Would his freedom be taken from him before he had even fully embraced it? He stood up, and Spartacus' eyes fell on him. He had not yet decided if he would join these rebels on their fools mission, but he had decided that whatever happened it would be his choice.
"There is a better way. One that will yet keep our movements hidden from the Romans." Spartacus' words felt ominous to Tiberius, but he had made his decision.
Tiberius' blood pounded hotly in his ears, and he prayed fervently to the gods, that his nerves not show upon his face.
He moved quickly when the pounding came at the entrance, opening the doors to allow the Romans in. They walked past him, barely giving him more attention than they would a piece of furniture.
"I would have words with your dominus. On orders of Seppius."
"Apologies. Business has called him to Micentia." Tiberius did not like the way the Roman's eyes seemed to search the courtyard.
"Micentia? I've never known him to favor the city." Tiberius recalled then having seen this soldier in the past.
"He does not." He said, trying to cover his slip. How well this man knew his dominus was unknown, and he hoped it was not well. "He favors it's whores." At the soldier's chuckle he felt himself relax once more, but with the man's following words he felt coldness seep in again.
"You are his body slave, are you not?"
"Tiberius."
"Tiberius! Tell me why you are not at your dominus' side?" The man began to draw his sword then, and Tiberius silently prayed for whatever strength the gods may grant him.
"Because there is no one he trusts more to see his villa attended, while his cock is satisfied." He tried not to let the relief that flooded him then, to show on his face.
"You serve your master well." Tiberius swallowed hard, as the man sheathed his sword. He thanked the gods that he had somehow managed to pull this off. His relief lasted mere moments though, when the Roman's eyes flicked down to his neck, where the marks of his missing collar could still be seen. His initial reaction was to panic, but with a solid resolve he held it in check, even when the man's eyes drifted to the dark corners of the courtyard, looking for the rebels Tiberius knew he now suspected of being there. "Return to your charge!"
As he turned, and began to walk away, Tiberius' mind began frantically trying to decide the best course of action. If these men left, there was no doubt they would return with more, perhaps even enough to wipe out the small rebellion. He still knew not what course the gods wanted him to take, but he knew tonight was not the night he was to die.
"Wait!" He called, quickly conspiring an excuse. "You have come a fair distance from Capua. Come, and I will give you something to make effort worthwhile." He only hoped he would live long enough to explain his reasons to Spartacus. The soldiers halted, and turned back to him, and he only had a moment to appreciate his plan working, before the courtyard was filled with many gladiators, gladus in hand. He fell back, before quickly rolling up into a crouch.
It was a bloodbath, the Romans were far outmatched. A sword fell in front of him, and he entertained a brief fantasy of grabbing it, and using the distraction to run away. When he next raised his eyes, he saw what Spartacus did not. A Roman charged him, while his back was turned, and Tiberius had no time to think. He took up the sword, and with a leap buried the blade in the soldier's back. His eyes met Spartacus' and with a nod from the gladiator, he at last felt the other's forgiveness. He had not a moment to bask in the satisfaction of saving a life, or to reel in the guilt of taking one, before Crixus was before, shoving him back into a pillar with a firm grip on his throat.
"Why did you stop them from leaving?" Crixus growled.
"He killed a man!" Spartacus stepped forward, giving words in his defense.
"When he saw they would not win."
Tiberius rushed out the words, hoping they would come before Crixus crushed his throat in his rage. "His eyes fell to my neck. He saw the absence of my collar! If I had not allowed him in he would have returned with more men."
"You did well, Tiberius." As Spartacus spoke the name he had been given by the Romans, a distant memory of a smiling dark skinned boy, a handful of years older tan himself drifted back to him.
"Nasir." He said quietly, his eyes darting to Agron's, pleased to find them resting on himself already. Perhaps that was the moment, he fully realized he had become devoted to these men. The Romans had stolen everything from him; his home, his family, his freedom, and even his name. These warriors-men who too, were former slaves-showed him, that not all was lost forever, and he could fight, and take back what was rightfully his. "My brother called me Nasir."
Agron gave a nod, and Nasir felt his body relax. For the first time since the rebels had entered into his life, he felt confident in his resolve.