Well, happy new year to everyone and I am breaking in the new laptop I got over the holidays. This will be very mature for a story, well deserving of the M rating. I would tell you what it would be, but that would ruin the surprise. Also English, Latin and Gaelic will be prevalent in the story. The difference between English and Latin is that Latin will be used for ceremonies and the upper class while English is more common day. (I know, not historically accurate, sue me) Well, without further due, here is the story.

"This way, slave." The words themselves were spat out as if they were poisonous to the guard. He pulled on the chains and forced the one following them to the ground. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as the chains tightened and the man followed reluctantly. They spoke the language of the Empire, so that would explain who bought him. Where he was he did not know.

There was muted cheering, almost thunderous in its own essence, as the man with tattooed arms was led down the corridor. He could not see his owners, or where the chain ended on him. He smelled blood, lots of it. It hung in the air like stale smoke. A slaughterhouse perhaps? He did not know. Answers would be revealed shortly.

He moved down the long corridor and was met by two more guards. Those holding his chains stopped and handed them off. They soon placed their powerful arms around him, causing annoyance for the chained figure. If circumstances were different, he would have tossed them off and throttled each and every one of them before he would think of drawing a sword to use in battle.

The chains were removed and he was led forcefully forward, the touch of cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. He walked and looked for any means of escape. Sadly he found none and continued to press onward. He swore silently to himself. He shouldn't have lost. He was cheated of his glory and was now taken as a prize.

"Stop." The voice on his left spoke into his ear and he and the two guards did so. They stepped down on his feet while a few figures attached armor to various parts of his body. What was he? A fool or a doll for the captors? And what were they dressing him up for? To parade him around as a trophy from their conquests? The very thought of it sickened him to the core

The pieces of armor were a various assortment. Around his waist he wore an elongated leather loincloth, while plates of armor covered his left arm and right leg. A peculiar assemblage of such things. It was as if they wanted him armed and armored, though not fully to add some manner of amusement to what ever he was going to fight.

He was then spun around and tossed into an open hallway, where he found a short sword lying in the ground. A large door slammed behind him while the one in front of him opened to blinding midday light. There was thunder out there... no not thunder, it was applause. How many were gathered to make his death a gesture's event?

He shook his head free of such thoughts. He picked the gladius out of the sand and shook it off. He spun it around, familiarizing himself with the weapon for a moment. He proceeded to the light and clapping of hands, ready to face death and show his ancestors his flesh art so he may be judged worthy of entering the afterlife.

Zelda rolled her eyes as she adjusted her position in the couch provided to her. She was board, almost to the point of death with the games. It was only by the command of her father Emperor Ashnard, primus inter pares she mentally recited his favorite title, thought it would not look well upon her if she did not attend the games held in honor of the Empire's expansion.

She popped a grape into her mouth and looked down at the two lions fighting one another. It was the second event in day and already she could hear several patrician throats raw with yelling and hands sore from clapping. A waste, she thought, that the Roman Empire would spend coin on bringing such wild animals only to be slaughtered. The funds could go to fund the Imperial war efforts in the north, or be donated to keep the many temples to the gods clean and appealing. Rhys, her close friend in the priesthood, was always joking on how often the temple floors needed to b cleaned so the filth would not displease Venus.

The lion with the larger mane moved in for the kill on the other wounded. Zelda looked away as she heard the flesh being torn and the rousing cheer from the crowds as their blood lust was slated for the moment. There was a mighty roar from the winning lion and soon there would be an interim of handlers removing the winning lion and the carcass of the defeated lion out of arena floor. She held her hand out and one of her handmaidens refilled her goblet with the wine.

"No! No! No! I said bring be the prime cut, not the primal cut!" Her mother, Petrine, chastised the newest of the slaves. The new slave was a former Celt, named Mist if she recalled, was trying to contain the damage she may have caused.

"But, madam Petrine-"

She was smacked hard by Petrine, cutting her sentence off. "You will not speak back to me in such a manner. You are a slave now, Celt. An object, a thrall, a piece of property. You are a spoil of war, and will be treated as such. Now, bring me a prime cut of fatted calf. Be thankful to whatever you heathens pray to that I am in a good mood. Otherwise I will see to it that you will be the main character in one of our playwright's tragedies."

Mist gulped and restrained herself. "Yes, madam. Thank you for your generosity." She bowed her head and left. Zelda felt a twain of pity for the poor girl. Her mother was very cruel, not only to slaves but to her own family. There were many theories as to why she was that way. Some in the Senate say that it was Ashnard wanting a son Petrine could never give him; as such he surrounded himself with concubines to get that heir. Others believe she was born this way, cursed by Jupiter and given a heart colder then Pluto's.

Zelda drank some of her wine and squashed such thoughts from her mind. It didn't matter. Her mother was cruel and effective. That was all that mattered. Let the philosophers debate the works of the human souls.

She finished off her goblet of wine and placed it on the awaiting tray. She reached for another grape, but instead saw that there was a bowl of black ovals held in a well calloused hand. Black olives, her favorite, and she looked up to see who the bearer of this gift was.

"Centurion Link Augusta, it warms my heart to see you have returned safely from the northern expanses of the Empire." The centurion in turn nodded his head and knelt before her.

"Magnus filia lux Zelda, it is good to see you in health as I departed to continue to expand our borders. As the sun knows no bounds so must our Empire." He spoke truthfully and with zeal she had known him for. He rose and took a seat next to her, waiting for the next round of games.

By centurion standards, he was infantile. Barely into his thirtieth winter, Link had already claimed many accolades in his service to Rome. His campaign against the Celts was the reason these games were being held. She took one of the marinated olives and bit into the salty treat. "How goes the conquest of the North?"

"It pains me to say but supply routes are being stretched thin. We have so many camps and battle legions that our army is running on its stomach into the ground. Winter is picking up early north; thankfully it is by the blessing of Saturn that Rome constantly has food in abundance for out legions." Link responded. Zelda nodded and passed him a goblet of wine.

She had known the centurion since she was a child, and seeing him training was some of the earliest memories that she had of him. And now that she was almost twenty years old, is was becoming evident that her father would find a husband for her. Goddess she hated the thought, but it was her duty to heaven and Empire that she needed to do so.

Link, she noted as she examined him beneath his loose robes, was muscular and clean of any hair besides that on his head. He bore a few scars across his chest and lower arms, though as a testament to his martial prowess, they were few and far between. The servant girls of her household often gossiped about the Centurions they treated when they visited. And if Link was like anything she heard about… she felt the fire of Venus in her stomach as she shook her head free of Link and her in a darker bedchamber.

"Men of Rome, you have come for entertainment!" Bastian, the announcer of the Coliseum, made his voice heard over the din. "And entertainment you shall have! With the war against the uncivilized comes to a close, we must celebrate our victories! Due to the heroic actions of Centurion Link, who now three hundred barbarians lay dead by his hand alone, we can provide you with entertainment fit for the gods!"

The crowd roared as Link rose and acknowledged the crowd, waving at both plebeian and patrician alike. Bastian continued. "Now, a barbarian the Centurion fought against will now fight for our amusement. Against a beast from the Nile, will a brute from the wilds best an animal weighing as much as ten men?"

As if on cue, a tall man ripped with muscle and very broad shoulders entered the arena floor. The crowds that were applauding now turned to jeers, cat calls, hisses, and boos. He was a barbarian, a monster of the north. Zelda felt tempted to join the crowd but saw that Link was massaging a new formed scar across his right eye. This brute must have given him that injury. That must have been why Link ordered him to be taken alive back to Rome. An honorable and skilled enemy must be put to use for Rome's sake.

The door on the opposite side opened and handlers entered, drawing out the competitor. When Zelda saw it, she almost spat her drink out in shock. The thing was large, almost as large her usual group of servants of hand maidens and servants. It was fat, but most of that must have been muscle. A hippopotamus? Are they insane? She swore in her head as the handlers left and let the barbarian circle the beast. The barbarian should have been armed with a spear or something to even the odds. Also, how much money did they spend to get that animal here?

Zelda sighed and forced herself to look. Even though this was laughably one sided, she would give this person her full attention up to and beyond his ultimate fate.

He looked into the eyes of the monster before him. What part of the hells did the Roman Empire go to to draw this beast from it? Regardless, it would be a nice tally to the flesh art that ran along his torso and arms. The animal looked starved, making it far more violent. He approached the beast and let loose a bestial growl as the crowed made jeers and condemning words thrown at him.

The beast charged him, and despite it's size, it was upon him in an instant. He rolled aside just in time to avoid two massive feet slamming down where his head and torso was not even a moment ago. The creature turned and opened it's mouth. The sound it made shook the barbaririan to his core. More disturbingly was that the creature's mouth was opened to an almost flat angle.

He slid the sword back into his loincloth band and began to slowly move around the the creature. All that skin and fat gave little chance for his sword to puncture, much less be able to retrieve it before the beast would crush him like a berry underfoot.

The creature charged again and the barbarian waited until the last moment before jumping out of the way. The beast slammed into the wall, knocking a dirty slave into the arena. The man had not a moment to scream before the beast slammed down on his back. Organs and bones splattered across the sand floor and the crowd gasped at such a violent act. But they soon applauded the creature as it and the nose through the bloody paste that had once been a living human.

And they claim my kin to be uncivilized. The barbarian looked to the crowds and back to the creature, who looked as if he wanted to eat the paste, but was unwilling. So the creature was hungry. And judging from the rage, it must be starved. He looked around at the lip of the arena and saw platters of food and bags of barley used to comfort one's elbows as they watched.

The creature stamped its feet once more in defiance of the barbarian and was about to charge again. It would feast soon, but first it needed to be tired.

The man was good. Very good. She had seen him dance around the beast with an unnatural grace. He darted from one side to the next without care for his own safety, it was almost a dance for him. Who knew such barbarians could fight with all the skill of legends?

The crowd was beginning to wane off the jeers and boos. Some actuary began to applause, though to which contestant she did not know. The barbarian himself had not drawn the animal's blood yet, though it looked as if his strategy was to wear the animal out so when the killing blow came, it would be true and accurate.

Link was one of the few clapping for the barbarian, and as he paused to take a drink from the rich wine, he looked over to Zelda as her eyes danced from the gladiator to the beast. "You find this intriguing, no?"

She sighed as if she was woken from a dream. "I do not prefer to watch such useless waste of life and coin, yet this fighter draws me in. His skill, his courage, he willingness to laugh at death and spit in the boatman's face almost convinces me he is not a barbarian."

Link nodded and looked on to the special event that performed before his eyes. It was unusual, he admitted, that such an uncivilized animal fought with skill and grace as the summer winds. He had not drawn his sword and tried to cut the heart of the animal out as many other unfortunate bastards once tried. Those who tried were soon disarmed and splattered to a bloody paste.

Zelda however, was drifting more and more away from the fight and focused on the sculpture of the man who fought the animal. He was now close to where she was sitting with the rest of her family. Four guards near them put a hand on the pommel of their own gladius' in the case that the barbarian tried to attack the royal family.

But he did not. Instead he rested to catch his breath as the animal did like wise. She didn't notice that he had snatched several bags of grain from the crowd, and she really didn't care. She was so intent on this man that besides him, her point of view on the word shrunk to a single plane of perception.

The man was drenched in sweat, the dust clinging to him and those parts not covered in grime was instead glistening in the midday light. He had dark hair, almost a blueish purple in color. It was tied back with several small cords of yarn, keeping it out of his eyes. His tattoos were very evident, winding black colors that stretched across his torso in random yet accurate designs.

He was an animal, it radiated him like light from a flame. But yet he seemed intelligent, much like the thrall Mist under her care. Like animals, he would be tamed and made into an instrument that the populace could use. Maybe if he was educated, she could produce his debt of servitude and bring him into her chambers as a male servant. While he may not be able to wield a sword again in her presence, she could just imagine her taming this beast.

He now tore open the bags, releasing barley seeds and powder onto the ground before the creature and backed away. The hippo moved forward and tasted the grains, and soon began to devour. The audience was silent, as they wondered what he was doing? Was he giving the animal more strength or distracting it from the kill?

Her mind faded back to thoughts of him, maybe as her manservant is what she would make him to be. He could take the place of her other hand madens, freeing their time to gather valuable gossip from the senate and their wives. She pictured him, dressed in a toga that revealed his hairless chest, sculpted as if it was from the finest marble. He could bring her trays of delicacies from her favorite olives to cherries from the then pictured him removing his toga and her own as well as-

Her mind began to dance at the lewd thoughts she had and she shook them free. What was wrong with her? The man was a brute, lower then a whored slave. Yet still the goddess Venus pushed the thoughts into her head.

The sudden cheering of the crowd snapped her attention to the front of the Arena, where the hippo had the barbarian cornered. He had one last bag of barley and the crowd was waiting for the kill. Zelda watched noticing the smile that played on the barbarians mouth.

He tossed the bag into the opening of the pen from which the hippo came out of. The creature snorted and moved to the bag, as if it would return to finish the job after it had a snack. As soon as the creature was in the entrance, the barbarian drew his sword and tossed it like a javelin. The gladius was a thrusting weapon so it allowed the shot to be true.

The sword flashed out of sight but the crowd knew what would happen. The iron gate crashed down, the blade cutting the counterweight rope and sealing the live animal inside. The crowd stood there awestruck for a moment. No blood of either contestant had been drawn and now the barbarian stood there as if he was awaiting applause. Or perhaps condemnation.

Link was the first to clap, rising from his seat. Others plebeians followed suit and the patricians eventually joined as the lower rungs of the arena erupted. Zelda clapped as well, thankful that both fighters were alive and the coin of the empire was not wasted on death.

She looked out the corner of her eyes and saw her father leaning into Bastian's ear and whispering something. Petrine also looked perplexed. Bastian nodded and approached Zelda, producing a rose. "The gladiator from the north has earned a praise. I see it only fitting fro such a skilled fighter to be given a rose and title by the heir apparent."

Zelda was taken back for a moment. Surely there were other members too... she stopped the thought before it got her in trouble. It was not a request. It was an order by her father under the guise of Bastian's use of words. She nodded and rose, shaking away the guards with a gesture from her hand as she grabbed the deep red rose.

She descended the steps and as if the stars were guiding them, he walked twords her. Once he reached the pulpit she stood from, she held out the rose to him. He hesitated as if unsure what this meant and he took it, his fingers touching her own. "Your name?" She whispered.

He looked to her perplexed, so she tried again. "What are you called?" She then realized her stupidity as he probably didn't understand what she was saying.

To her surprise he responded in perfect, if not heavily accented, understandable language. "My name is Ike. But I believe you know of my other titles. Warden of the Wilderness, Legion of one, and tribesmen of the Celts. You are the heir apparent, Zelda. Even in the wilds, the words of your beauty spread like fire. I can see that such words were lacking."

She was shocked, she didn't expect... that from a barbarian. He continued. " Do not mistake my words, for advances. What am I to do? I know my position and what I must do. I can only hope, when I meet my fate, and in the hand of a worthy foe, and my flesh art is presented, that they may see I may be judge. And the poets will write songs of my death in this arena, the greatest of the gift of I could ask for to be watched by a daughter of Venus. Bless you ancestors, may they watch over you"

He was then led away by two guards, rose held next to his breast. She was perplexed. Was she flattered or amazed? Was there a difference between the two?

"What did he say?" Link asked as he took her hand and helped her back up the stairs. The crowd was funneling out for a brief recess from the games, so she didn't need to talk as loud.

"Nothing. He chose the name Warden of the Wilderness." She looked back to his leaving form, as if to steal one last glance before she returned the look to Link. "By any means, will you be able to make it to the celebration we are holding in your honor tonight?"

He laughed, something she was fond of. "Very much so. I see your handmaidens Lucia, Elincia, and others are slaving away preparing the feast. But duty calls me away for the moment." He bowed deeply. "But I cannot wait to hear of your exploits at the dinner." He spun around and walked away with all the grace and courage that befell his office. Even the dust must have felt unwilling to cling to his cloak.

Zelda relaxed in the couch and took another drink of wine. Something was going on inside of her, and she wished by all the power of the gods it would be made known.

As the thought formed, she knew she would regret asking the question.