Disclaimer: I do not own The Eagle.

I was not yet born when my father left with his legion, the Ninth, for Britain. So my 10 years older brother Marcus is the only father figure I have ever known. Marcus has always been there for me. He taught me how to read, write, ride and even how to hold my own in a fight, which is not something Roman girls usually learn. He sang me to sleep at night when I was scared of a thunderstorm and made me laugh when I missed our mother (she died when I was ten). My brother is the only person I care about in this world, which is exactly the reason why I miss him so much.

All his life Marcus was determined to follow in our father's footsteps. He wanted nothing more than to restore our family honor; by earning so much glory that no one would ever think about the lost eagle again. If someone is capable of that I am sure it is Marcus. I was so proud of him when he was promoted to a centurion…and yet there was some selfish part of me that didn't care about the family name that wanted my brother to be safe…that wanted him to stay with me. I never told him that, because Marcus would not have been able to refuse me anything, he loved to spoil his only sister. Had I asked him to stay he probably would have, but it would have slowly eaten away at him. And I just could not bring myself to do that to him, to make him deny his true nature: he was born a soldier.

And now he is off pursuing his dream and probably risking his life everyday while I sit here in our small villa in Rome and worry about him. It has been three months since I last heard from him and I am starting to think something happened to him, which is why I am up and about at nine in the morning wandering through the atrium, hoping for a message from Britain. And apparently the gods are with me today, because my caretaker, Cornelia, is currently yelling for me:

"Lavinia! Lavinia! Where are you? We have received word from your brother!"

I practically fly up the steps and rip the letter from her hands only seconds later. Finally! If he can write, he is alive! I say a silent prayer to thank the gods for keeping him safe and open the small envelope.

"Dear beloved sister", it says in my brother's very distinct writing, "I am afraid I have ill news. My fort was attacked about six weeks ago and although we successfully defended our station, my leg was gravely injured, and therefore I was honorably discharged from the army. I am living with our father's brother now, until I am fully healed, and then I shall return to you. I am sorry that I have to break my promise, that I will not be a brother you can be proud of. I am sure you have grown much since I saw you last, dear sister, and I hope we shall see each other soon. I could use your calm confidence in me, because I have none left. The writing tires me immensely so I apologize for this brief message. I pray that you are well and forgive me for failing you.

Your brother

Marcus"

My eyes welled up the moment I saw my bothers familiar writing and by the end of the letter I am sobbing uncontrollably. Honorable discharge! If the leg wound hasn't killed him, that sure will. I cannot even begin to imagine how he must feel. He could never be anything apart from a soldier. He trained and studied to become a centurion for as long as I can remember. Oh and what a centurion he was! Whenever he walked into a room his strength radiated off him in waves. I never felt safer than with my brother. And now they took that away from him. His confidence…his pride. Oh if only I were with him right now! He has always been there for me and now would be the perfect time for me to return the favor. I know he needs me. He needs someone to show him that he isn't useless. Someone to lift his spirits again. That someone should be me. It can only be me. I am the only one he would listen to. Before I even fully realize it I have come to a decision: I will visit Marcus in Britain. I don't care what Cornelia will say or the rest of Rome's society. I never really cared much about their opinion anyway, since they shunned our family after our father lost the eagle. My brother needs me. That is all that matters.

Convincing Cornelia of the urgency of our travel overseas was even harder than I thought. Apparently it is not modest for an unmarried 17 year old girl to travel such a distance, only with a caretaker and some Roman guards. She would not have surrendered had I not threatened to leave in the middle of the night and try to get to Britain all on my own. She knows I would have tried. Plus I think she worries about Marcus too. She basically raised him and loves him like a son. Luckily there is no husband who could order me about, and no male legal guardian apart from my brother that could keep me from going. And since my brother isn't here… There won't be anyone to stop me.

A week after my brother's letter we are on our way to Britain. Travelling is exhausting and it doesn't seem as if we are making any progress at all but it is also exciting to leave Rome for the first time in my life. Luckily we have guards that we can count on (Marcus made sure I was well protected when he was gone) so our journey should be relatively safe. Oh if only Britain wasn't so far away!

About six weeks later our ship reaches a small harbor approximately 30 miles from the village my uncle lives in. The journey was brutal. It is now November and we were lucky to cross the alps in the beginning of autumn or otherwise we would not have been able to make it so far. Cornelia has aged at least ten years in the last six weeks and I fear for her health if this journey goes on for much longer. Lucius, one of our guardians, told me that we should reach my uncles house the day after tomorrow. If all goes well that is. He said that here in Britain we had to be a lot more careful; because it is far more dangerous than any other country he has ever been to. Lucius used to be a soldier under my brother's command but he had to retire when he lost an arm in the war in Gaul. My brother was very fond of him and thus entrusted him with Cornelia and my safety and I could not have a more devoted protector. Lucius is the only one of the men I really trust. The others haven't done anything that would justify my slight mistrust towards them, but I find them sometimes whispering behind my back and overheard one of them saying it was a shame they respected my brother so much. I really don't want to know what they would do if they weren't so scared of Marcus.

But alas apart from the occasional whispering we had a safe and uneventful six weeks of traveling and I hope it stays that way until the day after tomorrow when we are safe with my brother. For now I shall seek out Lucius' company for a little while before I go to sleep. Cornelia went straight to sleep when we made a halt to camp but I am still wide awake.

"Soldier! Where is Lucius?", I ask one of the men on watch close by. He points in the direction of the campfire so I casually stroll over to find Lucius laying by the fire fast asleep, an almost empty bottle of wine by his side. Drinking is his only flaw really which is why Cornelia and I made sure to keep him away from anything only remotely similar to wine during our travel. But tonight the men must have given him something to drink. Somehow that thought makes me uncomfortable. Why would they share their precious wine? Before I can come to a logical conclusion I am snatched from behind and a hand is covering my mouth so my scream is muffled and almost nonexistent.

"There, there, sweet little maiden. Why are you screaming? We are here to protect you right?", the voice speaks directly in my ear and gives me Goosebumps while the hand reeks of alcohol and things I do not even want to think about. I hear muffled laughter behind me while I am being dragged away from the campfire. I try to kick my captor and use my elbows to smash them against his rips but all I get as a reward is a grunt and a murmured: "Feisty bitch! I'll teach you how to behave!"

I feel my stomach churn at that. And I can't stop thinking of how close I got to Marcus and that this had to happen the last night… A second later I realize that we have come to an abrupt halt. I prepare myself to use any opportunity to inflict as much pain as possible on those bastards that dared to touch an Aquila. Maybe I am not strong enough to fight them off but I am definitely able to hurt some of them should they make the mistake of underestimating me. As I said before: my brother taught me well. Suddenly the hand that covered my mouth is gone and I am being pressed against something hard, a tree most likely. "Now you can scream all you want, little bird, no one is going to hear it. We waited so long to have a little fun with you. But somehow we never had an opportunity. Until tonight we finally decided to lend Lucius a hand…or better a bottle of wine. And now we got you all for ourselves. I am first…"

"No! let go of me you bastard!", I yell and scream and kick but to no avail. He just pushes me against the tree harder, before pressing his filthy mouth on mine and making disgusting moaning noises. I hear the other three cheering and all I can think about is how I am bringing more shame to the name of Aquila…I feel the hand of my attacker push my skirt upward and a new boost of energy surges through me. I don't know where it came from but I just know I have to stop this from happening. I don't care if I die but I will not let anyone dishonor me or my family. Somehow I manage to entangle one of my legs and kick him as hard as I can while at the same time giving the guy a head-butt that makes me see stars.

It was efficient though because I am free long enough to flee his grasp. Only to be caught by one of the others though. However I am fighting back and screaming as good as I can now:

"Let me go! When my brother hears about this he will hunt you down personally!", I get a good scratch at one of the guys before I am slapped so hard my lip splits and I feel dizzy and numb. I am waiting for the next one to approach me and I start to sob silently because I know I don't have any strength left to fight back. But the next assault never comes. The guy that had me pressed up against the tree is suddenly choking on his own blood and another one is lying on the grass, seemingly unconscious, then I realize his neck was snapped. The other two are trying their best to fight off the savior I never saw approaching. He is neither very tall nor of exceptional muscular built, but he is so fast you almost can't follow his moves. Much less block them. This is why the last two of my attackers are lying dead on the grass only seconds later, one with a slid throat, the other with a knife in his heart. I stare at this strange man that came to my rescue but I find no words to thank him. No words at all. He seems so strange to me. I have never seen a man like him before. If you asked me how old he is I would not be able to tell. Maybe in his mid-twenties. Maybe as old as Marcus. Maybe as young as I. His hair is of the strangest color. It reminds me of bronze and it probably has never been cut properly. His skin is so pale I can almost see through it. And yet he seems more familiar and trustworthy to me than anyone I have ever met. Those observations I made in a split-second, because that was all the time I had before he addressed me in a faint foreign accent:

"Are you injured, my lady?", I just stare at him, mesmerized with his bright green eyes, unable to utter a single word. Must be the shock from the attack settling in.

"You are shivering." It is a statement, not a question and I need a second to realize that he is right. I am still sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. Definitely the shock.

He takes a step closer in my direction but stops when he sees me flinch. All the while his eyes are fixed on mine as if I was a doe he wanted to paralyze with his gaze.

"I am not going to hurt you. I give you my word of honor. I only want to help you…", he speaks slowly, quietly, almost in a whisper, as if he doesn't want to frighten me. His word of honor? The question is: does he have any honor? I try to stand up, pushing myself up the tree I was pressed against only mere minutes ago, but there is a sharp pain in my ankle and I fall. The stranger is quick to catch me though and holds me up steadily. "Is your ankle hurt? Do you feel any pain?"

Deciding that I have no other option than to trust the red-haired stranger, because I couldn't outrun him anyway, I give a silent nod. I think I hear him murmur something that sounds like "bastards" but I can't be really sure. It could have been "Romans" as well. Which brings me to a realization: this man, my savior, is anything but Roman. The red hair, the bright eyes…he might be an actual savage! But then I tell myself that it was Romans that tried to harass me…the stranger didn't do anything so far. "Can you walk?", the quiet voice brings me back to the task at hand. I try to put pressure on the foot but almost collapse so the stranger has to catch me and lean me slightly against him. "I guess this means no.", his voice is so quiet he might have been talking to himself. "Where is your camp?", I don't bother to ask how he knows I am not from a village nearby. He can probably tell from a mile away that I am Roman. I need some time before I can answer and when I finally find my voice, it trembles: "I am sorry but I don't know.", I haven't noticed that I stopped crying until my eyes start welling up again. "Shhhhh…it's alright. I'll figure something out. It's not your fault.", his voice is so gentle that without even realizing I lean closer to him for comfort. "It sure is cold tonight, is it not?", he must have felt me leaning into him. "Here.", with this he is throwing his cloak over me and giving me a long look. "Do you allow me to carry you? I don't think you should walk with a sprained ankle. I can take you somewhere safe.", he averts his eyes while asking and I can feel he is being sincere and honest. I only know him for a couple of minutes but I trust him so I nod silently and mumble a "thank you". He just gives me a nod before lifting me up bridal-style, so gentle as if I were made of glass. It is weird how gentle he is towards me when he can be so fierce and coldblooded in battle. Killing four men did not seem to face him at all. After a couple of minutes I can't stand the silence any longer because the pictures of the assault keep coming back to me so I take heart and try to start a conversation:

"I am sorry, you rescued me and I don't even know your name…", my voice is still thinner than usual but the shaking is gone.

"Esca.", the answer is curt, almost impolite, but I want to find out more about this mysterious bright eyed man.

"Just Esca?", he nods. "So are you…Britannic?"

"I am a son of the Brigantes.", he says it with pride. Like he is royalty or something…which maybe for his people he is.

This whole questioning thing isn't really working. He doesn't seem to be interested in a conversation. Maybe I should just tell him something about me instead?

"I came all the way from Rome to visit my brother, he is a centurion, you know, or was until he was discharged because of his injuries…I am here to cheer him up…we were supposed to arrive at the village he lives in tomorrow…and then…" I feel the tears well up again.

The stranger's, no Esca's, grip on me tightens. Somehow I feel even safer than before. I am fairly sure he wouldn't let anyone harm me. I let myself relax against his chest and close my eyes for a second.

"How could your brother let you do this journey all by yourself? Even for a Roman this sounds rather reckless…", his voice is louder now, and I can make it out for the first time. A very deep, rich voice.

"He doesn't know I am here…I talked my caretaker and my guard into it…and those…those…well they should protect me…but they got my guard drunk and well…", suddenly I am crying again, sobbing uncontrollably and I feel Esca coming to a halt and sliding down a tree slowly. My head is still buried in his chest and I am crying all over his shirt but he doesn't seem to care. After a little while I hear him whisper into my ear but I don't understand a thing so I figure he is talking in his own language. The words soothe me however and when he starts rocking me back and forth the tears have almost stopped. I realize I am sitting on his lap which is extremely inappropriate but I cannot bring myself to care.

"Better?", he asks after a little while, his voice a whisper again.

"Yes, better. Thank you. And sorry about your shirt. I got it all wet."

He doesn't answer at all, not even a shrug. As if it was a given. He really is a strange man.

"We should go on. I need to be back by sunrise…", with seemingly no effort at all he scoops me up again and strides through the forest.

"Where are you taking me anyway?"

"My master's house."