Inspired by the awesome Civilis Barbaro on Deviant Art ( art/Civilis-Barbaro-664315179) – of course I had to keep the title.
The Roman Empire had a surprisingly subtle way to deal with a defeated enemy, Germania realized when consciousness returned along with a pounding headache, bone-deep chill from stone walls against his bare skin, and burning pain from his shoulders and wrists.
As he regained control over his body, Germania could take some of his weight with his legs, enough to take the worst strain from his arms – his wrists were shackled above his head, high enough that he could do no more even when he stood and leaned against the wall. In his current state, weakened from battle and defeat, the shackles were more than enough to keep him from escape.
Other aches, bruises and his people's confusion, formed a dull background to the sharper pain of his head and arms. Beneath that, his body's urge to submit to the victor pulsed through his veins, reminding him that the fate of a defeated nation could be as horrible as the victor desired. It would be some time, months at best, possibly years, before he would be rid of the need.
Leaving him chained here, in darkness, becoming increasingly aware of his body's aches and needs, that was a level of subtle cruelty Germania had not expected of the Empire. Their encounters so far had been inconclusive, but without subtlety, things of brutality and fierce fighting, and after, the victor had taken his due with no further conditions.
If Rome planned something similar this time, Germania would be shocked.
He shifted position, trying to ease the ache in his shoulders, hissed when the movement jarred them and sent pain shooting through his arms. All he could do was try to ease the worst of his suffering and pray that the All-Father had seen fit to gift the Roman Empire with some degree of understanding that it was seldom wise to humiliate one's defeated enemy.
Victory was a fleeting thing, easily reversed the next time one clashed with an enemy. Humiliation, though, an enemy unmanned would never forgive, and would devote all his energies to seeking vengeance.
Germania preferred to end men – or nations – who would choose to treat a defeated enemy in such a fashion. It lacked honor, and he had long believed that the true measure of honor lay in how a man behaved to those he ruled.
It was almost a relief to hear the sound of sandals against stone, the scrape of metal and wood as a bolt was drawn back.
After an unknown time in darkness, the light from the small oil lamp Rome carried was enough to pain Germania's eyes, but he dared not look away. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, watching as his enemy, his victor, set the lamp into a niche cut into the wall.
Rome looked as though he had come from drilling with his legions: he wore pteruges and lorica over his tunic, though he had removed his helmet and greaves. His gladius was sheathed at his side.
He advanced on Germania with a predatory smile. "You, my barbarian, have cost me the most expensive victory I have ever achieved." He spoke not in his own tongue, but in the mother-tongue, the language that had once been common to all men and was remembered only by nations.
Germania merely watched him, eyes narrowed.
Rome's body pressed against his, southern heat against northern ice. "Twas well worth the cost, to hold such a magnificent weapon."
Again, Germania said nothing. He strove to keep rising warmth from his cheeks, to give no sign of his body's reaction to his captor's – his master's – closeness.
A warm hand, fingers dark against pale skin, caught Germania's jaw, turning his head to force eye contact. Rome's other hand ranged south, skimming perilously close to regions eager to be claimed yet never quite touching. Dark eyes studied eyes of blue ice, a predator ready to seize the least weakness.
"You will be my slave or my weapon," Rome breathed, each word a puff of warm air against Germania's face. "Your choice, barbarian."
Germania clenched his teeth against the traitorous desire to beg Rome to use him as he pleased. To give in to the burning need to submit to the one who had defeated him.
A slow, vicious smile curved Rome's lips. "Make no mistake, though it would grieve me to break a weapon so magnificent -"
Germania barely suppressed a cry when Rome's free hand curled around his rising vital regions, hot, roughened with calluses. He could not suppress the shudder that ran through him.
Rome's smile broadened. "- but if you force me, I will break you without hesitation." He leaned closer with each word, until his lips brushed Germania's skin.
Another shudder, as Rome's hand moved against him, bringing him fully erect with indecent skill.
"Choose, barbarian." Rome's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Lest I take matters into my own hands."
With his great forests rising to Rome's hand, doing the Empire's will, it took all Germania's self-control to gasp out, "Sword."
Rome paused.
"I will be your sword." Accepting defeat, perhaps, but the more honorable of the choices given him.
Rome smiled. "So be it, my barbarian, my sword. Let us finish this in the baths, where there are oils and other comforts to ease you."
There would be no comfort sufficient to counter the demands of the Roman Empire. Germania had no need of the gifts of the Fates to know that. Rome would use him without mercy, test his self-control to its limits, and Germania would have no recourse. Such was the fate of the vanquished.
"I thank you." He said no more: best to say little, let Rome draw his own conclusions from what few words Germania chose to use.
Rome merely nodded, then said, "The men who come to bring you to the baths: they do not speak your tongue. Obey them and do them no harm."
Germania gave a single, slow nod, his body aching for Rome's touch now that the Empire withdrew.
He suspected from Rome's slow scrutiny that every bruise, every smudge of dirt was being cataloged, that Rome's men would suffer should more bruises be added before they met again to finalize Rome's victory. The suspicion did not make the Empire's absence easier to bear.
Germania swallowed, watching as Rome left, the lantern remaining while the Empire spoke in quick, fluid words that might as well have been pure childish babble for all he understood them.
When, soon after, two legionnaires entered, Germania bowed his head. The submissive posture ought to be sufficient to tell the men that he would do their bidding as best he understood it.