Author's Note: I just recently discovered that "Bible" is actually a fandom category on ! I am excited. So, here is my first piece in the genre. Just as a bit of introduction so you know what the heck is going on: the bold lettering is what is happening "now", and the italics are flashbacks. Until close to the end, where the italics are what is happening in Heaven at the same moment as the main action of the story. So yeah. Sorry if it is confusing. For those of you who don't know much about Bible stuff, I hope it is still entertaining! Malchus was a real historical and Biblical figure, but I have taken some liberties with his life's story. The real story can be found in the Gospels.

I, Malchus

I'm trembling. It isn't cold. Nor is it fear; well, not only fear, at any rate. I thought I'd heard a voice down the corridor. I know the voices of the guards, but this one is new. It stirs memories so vivid and sentient I can all but see them in the dark of my cell.

"Malchus."

"Hmmmph…it's the middle of the night. Go away."

I pinched my eyes tighter closed against the yellow glare held in my face.

"Malchus," said again in a sing-song voice. I did not deign to respond. "Malchus!"

A hot drop of wax dripped onto my face just below my left eye. I yelped and started up, glaring into the roguish black eyes of the disturber. He grinned infuriatingly.

"What do you want, Gaius?"

His grin disappeared, replaced by a look of strange excitement.

"Your master wants to see you immediately."

My master. Yes, he was just mine, now. Gaius has been freed a week before and because of his favor with our master, the high priest Caiaphas, he had been able to obtain the rank of centurion right away. I rose from my pallet on the hard marble floor of the hall. Other servants were stirring, squinting at us, hissing at Gaius to put out his candle. He ignored them.

"You'll want your clothes," he advised. I looked at him inquiringly. Curiosity was getting the better of sleepiness. I noticed for the first time that Gaius was dressed for action. The glint of his armor flickered in the candle light, and he was wearing a sword. A centurion's helmet he carried under one arm.

"There'll be work to do before the sun rises," he said, "now get dressed."

Gaius. That voice…God forbid he should have come to this place. Mixed hope and dread drive me to my feet and over to the door. I strain my neck to see through the tiny barred window as far down the passage as possible. In a moment I am rewarded with the sight of two familiar guards escorting in a new prisoner.

I back away from the door and it is thrust open. The guards shove the newcomer inside, sending him to his hands and knees; I can see the flash of his red cloak in the torchlight in the brief moment before the door slams and we are left in relative darkness. Together.

"Gaius?" My voice is breathless.

I am used to the darkness after weeks of staying here. I watch him start, his form stiffening with the recognition of my voice.

"Malchus? Is it you?"

"Mm."

He squints, his eyes still adjusting. Carefully, he rises and moves to sit by me, closing his eyes and sighing. He leans his head back against the wall.

"I didn't know if we should ever meet again. I hoped we would. But never did I think it would be waiting to be torn by lions." His voice is resigned.

"When is the festival? I've been in the dark for days; I've lost count."

He hesitates.

"Tomorrow."

"Centurion Gaius said you sent for me, rabbi?"

Caiaphas nodded, rising and walking around his desk to stand quite close. The heady scent of spikenard and frankincense with which he was perfumed permeated the air.

"Malchus, my son, tonight is one of opportunity."

I was unsure of how to respond, so I attempted to clarify.

"For Gaius, rabbi?"

"Well, yes. For all of us. Even for you, Malchus."

"I await your command, sir."

He was not coming out with the point, and rather than tread dangerous ground by asking too many questions, I deemed this the wisest response. I didn't want to miss out on tonight's opportunities, whatever they might be. My curiosity was steadily growing, however.

"You know of Jesus of Nazareth, Malchus?" Caiaphas asked, his tone studied and carefully neutral. I hid a smirk.

"I've…heard you mention his name before."

"He is a most vile and blasphemous disturber of the people, Malchus. He profanes Jehovah-God shamelessly; claiming to be the very Son of the Most High. This carpenter…this Nazarene…this sacrilege of his cannot be allowed to continue. If given his way, he would uproot the whole of the nation of Israel; already there has been talk of making him a king, and his teachings incite rebellion that would destroy our traditions. He even denies the need for a High Priest, claiming that he himself is all-sufficient!"

I shifted my weight, uncomfortably, watching his frenzied pacing and heated gestures. I had had two masters before my Jewish one; both had been Roman legionnaires. From personal experience I had learned that an angry master was a master to be wary of. And though Caiaphas had never given me reason to fear him, I felt he was reaching a dangerous level. He stopped, abruptly, as if realizing his indulgence in temper, and breathing deeply he allowed a smile to tangle beneath his mustache once more.

"I have frightened you, my servant," he said, soothingly, "My anger is not toward you."

"No sir," I said, uncertainly.

He took a seat behind his rich mahogany desk once more and leaned forward, folding his hands and lacing his fingers on the polished surface before him.

"Jesus of Nazareth must be stopped. He will be. After all, it is expedient that one man should die, for the people."

He fixed me with a calculating look, as if he were measuring me, sizing me up. I stood taller, aware that I was under inspection and hoping I passed for whatever job he had in mind.

"Malchus," he said, slowly, "Events will take place tonight that I am most eager to see accomplished. However, because of the nature of said events, I cannot be present. That is where you can be of service. You understand Hebrew well, and you write it even better." My master handed me a tablet of parchment and a stylus. "Go as a scribe for me; you will witness the arrest of this insurrectionist and record all that you see so that I may read it on your return. Your friend Gaius is leading his century, and a band of true, zealous Jews shall go forth as well. A price of silver has been accepted by one of Jesus' own disciples as blood-money; he will lead you to him. Do you understand your task?"

I nodded, keeping my face carefully schooled to hide my excitement. I could not, however, keep the enthusiasm out of my voice.

"Yes, master! I shall not fail."

His smile broadened. He looked genuinely pleased.

"Excellent. You have served me well, boy. Perhaps if you perform well tonight a promotion of some sort is in order. A position in Gaius' century waits for you. Now go, with my blessing."

I bowed, and walked backward out of the room. I stood facing the closed door of my master's study a moment. I breathed deeply. This sort of excitement was exhilarating. I could feel the eyes of the waiting Romans though, and turning, I met Gaius' gaze. His black eyes were sparkling with mischief in the torch-light, but his pleased half-grin was for me.

"Well? Coming, squirt?"

I grinned, and for answer, took my place beside him.

"How came you here?" Gaius asks. He is pacing now. A man of action, caged away from the sunlight. I feel a surge of affection for my best friend, and in spite of myself am grateful for his presence.

"You know what happened in the Garden," I reply, tilting my head as if asking him to recall. I touch my ear, lightly. Not even a white scar remains, but I haven't forgotten.

Not surprisingly, our quarry spotted us before we spotted them; our torches brightly declaring our presence through the garden's night. We heard a hoarse, startled shout from one of the fisherman followers as he realized what was happening, and I grinned. We'd caught them napping.

In a moment I was able to see more clearly as we entered the little glade and I moved to the front for a good vantage-point; eleven men stood in a close huddle, looking disoriented and unsure whether to stand or run. They held no interest to me; a great brute with wild eyes and untamed beard glared around at us like an animal in a trap, and I found myself marveling at his arms and legs, which resembled tree-trunks. Surely this was the fellow. He looked the part of a sturdy rogue, the Jews might well have named him their leader.

Judas darted forward, earning a harsh exclamation of surprise from the giant's mouth, and rushed to the side of…not the brute, but a man standing by him whom I had failed to notice. He was not of unusual stature, had no commanding presence. He showed no alarm at our arrival, but he looked profoundly sad. Judas leaned close to him and kissed his cheek, our agreed signal.

This is our insurrectionist? What do they see in the man?

"Judas, betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?"

Then he turned to the rest of us as a group.

"Whom seek ye?"

Gaius stepped forward, his face proud and hard and unarguably Roman. I loved him for it. And soon, I would be his soldier.

"Jesus of Nazareth."

The man inclined his head.

"I am he."

The moment he spoke the words, it was as if an invisible wave crashed over us with incredible force. The torches guttered, we were thrown backward to the ground. I struggled up, stunned, trying to fill my lungs after they'd been emptied of breath by the blow.

Jesus of Nazareth watched us, solemnly, as Gaius directed his soldiers to close in tighter. They obeyed, but reluctantly, frightened by this show of supernatural power. Our Jewish consorts pressed closer to us, as though for the protection of our swords, as they too advanced. I was pushed along in front by the jostle of the crowd behind me, but from that vantage point I could see and hear everything clear and close as when I stood right up by the stage of the traveling performers.

"Whom seek ye?" he asked again.

"Jesus of Nazareth!" Gaius' voice was harsh with an anger that covered his fear.

Jesus sighed.

"I have told you that I am he; if therefore you seek me, let these go their way."

When the great brute of a man realized that Jesus was surrendering to us, the horror could be seen dawning on his face. Not liking to be so near to the horns of a Cretan Bull, I shifted my footing, glancing for a way to back up. My foot caught on a gnarled root, and I stumbled forward.

What happened next was a confusion to me; there was a roar of rage and the song of steel as it is drawn from it's sheath. I was struck down. I heard Gaius' shout as he saw me fall. People were talking; Jesus was rebuking his disciple for drawing his sword. But all I saw was the blood. Lots of it. I was frozen, on my hands and knees, watching the dark puddle right below my face grow with every drop that flowed over my face and fell to the ground…It didn't feel real. And what was that thing? That smallish, pale thing lying close by, half bloodied and…oh. Was that…?

I reached a tremulous hand to the side of my head and immediately felt sick. My ear was sheered away. Finally my bodily responses caught up and the pain crushed me. I was barely aware through the fiery haze of a keening wail. It could only be me.

A hand gently pressed under my chin, lifting my head. I found myself looking into the face of Jesus of Nazareth. My heart clenched with panic. He was going to kill me; where was Gaius? Save me from the insurrectionist!

He was kneeling in front of me, his hand steady and his face calm. He still looked sad, but there was something else in his look, now. It was…love?

"Believe, Malchus," he said, quietly, "and follow me."

He reached down to the ground, but I didn't look away from his face. He brought his hand up to the side of my head, and with gentle firmness pressed something against the wound. I cringed in expectation of agony, but instead a tingling warmth seemed to radiate from his hand, melting the pain away before it.

Gingerly I raised a hand and touched the place. I jumped when my fingers met the curve of my ear. I looked back at the ground where it had lain a moment ago. It was gone. I looked in wonder at the man who had healed me, but already he had stood. His disciples, witnessing his reaction to his captors, and realizing their master's intent to make no resistance, turned and fled into the darkness, like scattered sheep when their shepherd is struck.

Still in a fog, I felt a strong hand haul me up by my arm. Gaius turned my head to the side and inspected my wound, and then without a word to me, turned back to Jesus.

"Jesus of Nazareth, you are hereby placed under arrest. Bind him!"

He was angry because I'd been hurt; I knew that. I also knew I couldn't do this. Gaius had a duty, he was a Roman soldier, now. But though it cost me my future, I couldn't be part of this.

"I remember," Gaius affirms, stopping in his stride and meeting my look solemnly. "You were quiet after that, I thought something was a bit funny. Thought the blow had addled your head. The last I saw you was when we brought Jesus to Caiaphas; the night was full of work for me, and later I could not find you. Caiaphas would tell me nothing but dark hints when I asked of you, and I've not seen you since. What happened?"

"He wanted the explanation of why I had no written account to furnish him, and why I was covered in blood, and yet not wounded. I told him, and begged him not to harm the prisoner. He grew angry, and had me to his chambers."

I shiver.

"He was in a rage; I was so afraid, Gaius."

I curled in on myself, shielding my head with my arms and vainly attempting to shrink away from the rain of blows. I found myself appreciating for the first time what a big man my master was. I found no breath to voice either cries or pleas; it was forced from my lungs the moment I drew it in.

After an eternally long, -though, in reality, mercifully short- few minutes it stopped. I gasped for air and a choked sob hiccupped from between my wheezing, but I stayed down. Everything hurt, but fear was worse. Caiaphas leaned down close to me, his face inches from mine. I jumped, and scrambled backward.

"The life you should be pleading for is your own," he growled.

"No, I…please-"

"SILENCE. I could have you put to death for your disobedience and blasphemy. The fact that you're a Roman and not of age, slave though you be, could cause some complications, but nothing I could not sweep easily away. So you would do well to tread lightly, Malchus."

He straightened up to tower over me, and I cowered, my back pressed against the side of the bed. I could feel a great bruise forming on the right side of my face.

"This night has much business for me to accomplish; I have no time for a slave. But when I return, Malchus, I promise you. Your punishment will be fully seen to. Your behavior will determine how severe or how final that punishment might be."

"Rabbi, please!"

His colorful robes whispered as he swept out of the room, and the door banged closed with terrible finality behind him. I struggled quickly to my feet, and stumbled in my haste to get to the door. It was locked. My breathing sped up; I turned back toward the room and frantically scanned it. Desperation suggested I find a place to hide before his return, though reason told me it was foolish.

But…there. A window. It was small, to let light in without much heat, but I could fit through it in a pinch. I peered out, and my heart sank. It was far too high from the ground; I would break both my legs if I jumped. I leaned out, inspecting the wall. Some flowered ivy twined it's way up to the window, but it was thin and flimsy. I glanced back toward the door, and grit my teeth.

Wait here for my doom, or risk injury escaping? Stay with Caiaphas, submit to him, and try to mend our relationship as servant and master? Or take the plunge? Where would I go, what could I do on my own? I remembered.

"Believe, Malchus. Follow me."

That's what I would do. Caiaphas hurt me. Jesus healed.

A sound in the corridor outside. I started so violently I nearly fell, balanced as I was on the casing. The time was now. I could wait no longer. I trusted my weight completely to the vines.

"Did you make it?"

I grin at Gaius.

"Yes and no. The ivy pulled out of the wall when I was halfway down; so the last half of the decent was quicker than I'd planned it."

Gaius snickered at the mental image of me plummeting down, holding onto some useless greenery for dear life.

"At any rate, after that I laid low for a few days. Let my bruises heal so I wouldn't draw attention. I heard Jesus had been crucified the morning after my escape…I didn't know what to do, then."

Gaius gives me a haunted look.

"And it was I," he said, "who did it. God forgive me."

I pause in my narrative, unsure what I'd just heard.

"You?"

He puts his head in his hands.

"Yes. Malchus, I'm so sorry. I killed him. Ikilledhim. I was one of the ones who did it; I took part in his death. It was my job, I didn't…didn't say anything against it. I saw him heal you, but I told myself it was black magic. I was angry that you'd been hurt at all. I thrust the spear through his side, I watched the blood flow…Malchus…I…"

He is sobbing now. Broken. I move closer to his side, but I don't know what to do.

"As I watched him, though, I knew…he was not what I'd been told. He prayed for us. Prayed God to forgive us, even as we…even as I…and I knew he was who he said he was. Truly…he was the Son of God."

"He is the Son of God," I said, quietly. Gaius lifted his head and smiled through his tears.

"Amen. News reached me all the way at my new post of the Resurrection. I spoke to the believers there…I believed, Malchus. Praise Jesus Christ, he rose again."

Tears warm my eyes, and though the torches have long since burned down and we've been plunged into darkness, I know that if I could see, my vision would be blurred.

"I believed, too. From the moment when he healed me, I believed. I didn't understand, when I heard that he had died. But still, I belonged to him. I was meeting with believers when I was arrested for the Faith. And now, we are brothers."

The door to our cell opens. Guards are standing ready. Their faces are hard. It is time. Gaius smiles at me as we stand behind the gate, hearing the roars of the crowd in the arena and surveying the sandy floor, already stained with the sport that had come before us.

"Let's go, Malchus. We'll make him proud."

I smile back. I am not alone.

The King looks down upon the scene, eyes shining with love and pride. "My servants are coming. Make ready the gates to let them in. Bring forth their robes."

The gate rises. I take a deep breath. Gaius grips my hand. And we step out. Together.

A shining angel steps to The King's side.

"Who are they, Lord?"

The King smiles.

"They are mine. For them, I died. For me, they die. And they shall have eternal reward. Bring them to me, now."

The lions spring forth out of their cages. I lift my eyes to the sky…. I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God. I hear Gaius cry out, and all is confusion.

I wake. Light floods my vision. I feel…new. Gaius stands beside me. He is fresh, and vibrant, the lines of care are gone. He looks steadfastly at something behind me, wonder etched on his features. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to face the Man who Healed Me.

"Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

Finis

Author's Note: Please, please, PLEASE review! It totally makes my day. ;) And John Mitchel, if you are reading this, special thanks to you. Your faithful readership and comments mean so very much to me! AND HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY!