Wow, hello everyone! It's been some time!

I decided that in honour of my 5 years of being a part of FF, I would post this updated, more detailed, more developed version of my "Eagle" story. I chose this story because it was my first full length fanfiction, and the first piece of work I ever finished. I wanted to bring it back but in the form of a fully rewritten version.

I hope you enjoy this!

I hated the games. I hated the hype surrounding them. To me the games were nothing but a kind of torture. Not for me, for those who were forced to participate in them. I could not stand watching people walk out into the circle, sword in hand ready to fight, but not quite ready to die. It was the death I hated. The deaths of innocent people, well most of the time they were innocent, made into a game for us to revel in.

Why watching people die was entertaining, I would never understand. Yet my uncle had pulled me away from my work to attend the local games with my brother. He had returned only a few weeks past with an injured leg, and my uncle decided that these games were the best remedy. More of a remedy of the mind I guessed. I was reluctant at first, arguing that my studies were more important. Training to be a full healer took time, and I was barely even half way through it all.

Part of that was my own fault for distracting myself with archery. Still, I was busy and didn't want to leave my work. Especially not for a death match that I knew would be part of the games that day.

"You never leave this villa, Elena. You must leave some time. Besides, your brother could use your company," uncle said that afternoon.

I could not really refuse him when he mentioned Marcus. It had been years since I'd seen him, and now he was back. I had to take advantage of that.

So I went along with them, unwillingly, but I went. After all, it was what a good lady would do. Obey and serve.

When we had settled into our seats at the arena, I sat close to Marcus as my hands gripped the edge of my seat. We had arrived in the middle of a sword fight, and I could barely keep my eyes on it. I didn't mind the sight of the blood, more the fight itself. Marcus reached his hand over to me, and squeezed my fingers gently.

"Still can't stand a fight, then?" he asked.

He bore a half smile on his face when I turned up to look into his eyes. I rolled my eyes at him and shrugged.

"You know how I feel about pointless fighting and battles. Unless there's a point to it, a point besides entertainment, then there shouldn't be any at all," I explained, tossing my hair back off my shoulders.

"I understand why you feel that way, El, I do. But unfortunately we can't stop it."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Both I suppose. All we can do is endure the sights for now," he told me with a sigh.

After that we remained silent, my uncle having drawn Marcus's attention away from me. I was grateful in a way that I didn't need to speak. If I had, I would have gone on for ages about why arenas and gladiator fights were pointless. Marcus would have grown tired of it, though he might have put on a supportive face.

Fight after fight occurred, and I found myself watching the crowd rather than the fights themselves. I had not realized that I held each person with a glare when they cheered. At least not until a small child had looked my way and cowered slightly. It didn't stop me from glowering at everyone my eyes glazed over.

"Elena, why not instead of sitting there scowling at the world, enjoy the games!" uncle had called across my brother.

I tried my best not to say anything rude in return, hard though it was. Instead I calmed my expression and sat back with my arms across my chest. Beside me I heard Marcus chuckle, which only made me more annoyed. But I sat quietly for most of the afternoon, keeping to myself as I watched a fight end, and another begin.

A gladiator ran out into the centre of the arena, sword grasped in one hand, a shield in his other. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause, the sound deafening to my ears. I sat uncomfortably in my seat, glaring once more at those around me. At least Marcus wasn't cheering either, that made me feel at least a little bit better.

As the gladiator swung his sword around in circles, very impressively, the door opposite him began to open. His opponent, a man dressed in nothing but traditional cheap leather trousers with a sword and shield in hand, stepped forward. He was small compared to the gladiator, slim and seemingly untrained. I felt sad for him, wishing him a quick death should it come to that.

Part of me hoped he would surprise us with a skill of fighting that no one would expect, and he would win. Then I looked back at the gladiator, and that hope disappeared. What he needed now was a miracle to live.

Marcus squeezed my hand again as though sensing my fear for the slave. It did very little besides give me a sense of comfort. Other than that, nothing.

"It's a slave!" my uncle shouted.

"I could have told him that," I muttered to myself.

"A gladiator and a slave is never a fair contest!" he shouted again.

He did have a point, but then I thought to myself that the gladiator was likely a slave as well. Willing to fight or not, it was a slim chance that he was a freedman.

The smaller man stepped up to the gladiator, shield and sword pulled close to his chest, but he didn't hold them long. The crowd began to chant at them, saying only, "Fight, fight, fight!" Over and over again. The gladiator spoke muffled words through his helmet at the man, and I could see something in his eyes that told me he wasn't going to do it.

Lowering his arms, the slave dropped his weapon and shield to the ground. For a moment I felt my mouth go dry, and could not find any words to speak. Why he made me care so much, I didn't know. Likely it had to do with the fact that no slave has ever simply dropped his weapons. Most cared too much for their lives to just let it all go, so they fought as hard as they could. All that I had ever witnessed, had died, which saddened me. There was nothing I could have done, but it still hurt some part of me that hated watching innocents die.

This slave must not have had much to live for anymore if he was just giving up. I thought it was almost brave. He wasn't giving in to the crowd and their love of watching people die, rather he was…almost rebelling.

I smiled at the thought, finding the act admirable.

"There's bravery," my uncle began, "He's going to give himself his death."

As my uncle spoke, my smile faltered. Then it was wiped from my face as the gladiator taunted the man over and over, until he finally swung his arm out. His shield came into contact with the slave's face, knocking him to the side. I jumped slightly upon seeing it, my insides feeling uneasy.

During the next blow, I turned my head away, and my eyes landed on my brother's face. He was looking out at the arena, his brows pulled down, and lips in a tight line. I could tell he too was uncomfortable. Maybe he felt as bad for the slave as I did. I could only hope.

The slave was up again, stepping closer to the gladiator who only knocked him down again. It went on this way for a long time, and each blow to the face or to the stomach, caused me to cringe. I grabbed hold of Marcus's hand this time, and squeezed it hard.

"Are you alright?" I heard him whisper lowly in my ear.

"Fine…I just hate this," I replied.

"I know. So do I," he said.

Another swing to the stomach caused the slave to double over, and another to the face forced him to the ground. Both Marcus and I flinched as if the sword was being flung at us.

The crowd was getting bored, tired of the lack of returned fighting. They kept shouting for the slave to get up, to get up and fight back. But he was weak, I could see it from where I sat. Wounds covered his body, the more severe of them on his arms, face and stomach. Blood began to seep from the cuts, dripping to the sand below.

Swallowing hard, I silently prayed to the gods that he live. A quick death would have been merciful, but it was clear he wouldn't be getting anything of the sort.

The man staggered as he stood once more, his eyes seemed to be slightly glazed over as he looked around at the crowd. For a moment, I thought he had looked him my direction, but it was likely just my imagination. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and I wished for nothing more than for this fight to end. It seemed to drag on, to be an endless one-sided battle that the slave could not win.

"Marcus…" I whispered, shaking his arm. But he didn't seem to hear me. His focus was on the arena below.

With one final blow to the face, the slave was knocked down onto his back. As I watched him fall, I knew he wouldn't be getting up again. Then the gladiator wandered to him, blade pointed at the centre of his chest. He was ready to kill.

Shouts emanated from the crowd, the chant to kill was the only thing on their lips.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" they shouted.

I looked down at the slave, saw in his eyes that he was ready to die. But I wasn't ready for him to die, not yet.

I could not say what came over me, but as the others chanted for his death, I stood from my place and shouted the opposite. I raised my arm, hand stretched out with my thumb pointing to the sky.

"Life!" I shouted. It was a slim chance that my voice would be heard amongst all the rest of them, but I had to try.

"Life! Life! Life!" I repeated. I said the word over and over, hoping someone would listen and turn the verdict around.

What I didn't expect, was Marcus to stand up beside me, a hand gripping his crutch while the other was outstretched with a thumb pointed upwards.

I glanced at him as I chanted, and he smiled at me while he did the same.

Together we shouted for this slaves' life, and at first no one seemed to care. That was, until Marcus started to say, "Come on, get your thumbs up! Come on you fools! Life!"

I could not stop the broad grin on my face as I looked at my brother with pride. Then I turned my attention back to the slave who still remained on the ground. He stared up at us, his face almost expressionless.

Slowly, Marcus's words seemed to inspire others and soon the entire arena was shouting for this man's life. The gladiator's head turned around, looking at the people above him and seemed to decide on giving the man his life. I breathed a sigh of relief when he removed his sword from the slave's chest and backed away.

We had done it. I laughed nervously as I lowered my hand, and turned to my brother. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, nearly knocking him off balance. He placed his free arm around me in return.

My uncle muttered something that I could not hear over the sound of the cheering crowd, and I didn't care. He wouldn't have raised a hand to save that man's life, so it mattered little to me what he said.

With Marcus using me to lean on, the three of us left the arena soon afterwards. My uncle helped Marcus up into the small cart we had taken to get here, before disappearing elsewhere. So together my brother and I headed home alone.

I didn't sit up in the cart with him, rather I walked alongside it, wrapping a piece of my hair around my finger.

"You never did like following the rules, did you?" he asked with a chuckle when we came to the private road that led to our villa.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, first of all, your hair," he stated.

Scoffing, I looked over at him as he leaned over the edge of the cart and raised my eyebrows.

"What is wrong with my hair?" I asked, with a smirk as I tossed my hair dramatically over my shoulder.

Marcus laughed and shook his head while saying, "You never wear it up the way the other ladies do. Well, unless you're working, but otherwise-not so much."

Laughing softly, I shrugged my shoulders.

"I like it down, it feels nice on my skin. I only like it up if it's going to be in the way," I explained with a smile. "What's the other thing then?"

Marcus stared down at me for a long while before he answered. His expression read as though he was unsure of whether to say what he was thinking or not.

However, he finally said, "Today, at the games. You saved that slaves' life. No one else would have done it, but you did. Why?"

Looking down at my feet as I walked, I shrugged my shoulders again. I had not really thought of why I'd saved that man's life. To me it just felt like the right thing to do. Why him out of all of the others who had fought today? I didn't know.

"I don't know, Marcus. I suppose I felt bad for him. At first I was convinced that death would have been a mercy, but then he dropped his weapons like he had nothing left to live for…" I paused for a moment, thinking it all over.

"I suppose I wanted to give him a chance to find something new to live for," I said finally.

I looked back at Marcus to find him smiling at me still, though I didn't know why. I raised my brows at him once more, asking him with my eyes what he was doing.

"You're a kind woman, Elena. Perhaps too kind, but I know mother would be proud of you," he told me. Reaching down out of the cart, he held out his hand to me, which I took. He squeezed mine gently before letting it go again.

The rest of the journey home was quiet. I skipped alongside the cart, picking up rocks that I found along the way, and throwing them back into the trees.

At last the sight of the villa came into view, just as the sun began to set behind it. I ran ahead of the cart to prepare for getting Marcus out of it comfortably, only to be greeted by my uncle.

"You took the long road home I see," he said when I arrived.

"We did. It's much prettier," I smiled at him.

"That is very true, my dear."

"Where did you go off to, uncle?" I inquired, dusting off the front of my dress after the cart pulled up.

"I went to settle a few things, you will see later," he said.

I looked at him suspiciously, but left the matter there. When Marcus arrived, my uncle and I helped him down.

"Are you alright?" I asked as he leaned on me for support.

"A little sore, but yes. Will you come sit with me for a bit, El?"

I nodded, then led him into the villa.

Being taller than me, and heavier, his weight caused me to stagger a little as we walked, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed helping him out when he needed it. Any way I could, I would do it. There was something in helping people, not just my brother that I loved. Which was why I practiced healing.

Once we had arrived in his room, I helped him settle into a chair nearest the window. His room was by far my favourite in the whole villa. The windows, which in truth were more like doors, opened to the back of the villa. It was out there, farther down past the fountains and pools, where the lake was. During the late evening when the sun slowly set, the orange glow reflected in the rippled water, casting a strange light in the room.

It was a beautiful view, whereas my room overlooked the other side of the villa. It looked out across the field near where our horses roamed. It was in itself a beautiful thing to see, to watch as the horses wandered the large, open meadow, but it was nothing compared to watching the sun rise and set over the water.

I walked to the open doors, leaned against the inner frame and looked out across the water. I had been hesitant to live with my uncle at first, having only heard of him no more than a year past. But it didn't take long to settle into this place. Here I was able to continue my healer training, as well as my archery, and it had a view that my old family one didn't have. That alone made the transition easier.

When Marcus had arrived after his injury, the place began to feel more like home than ever. He was my only close family I had left. My uncle would never be as close to me as my brother was, though he didn't make much of an effort to try being close.

"Damn shoe," Marcus muttered then.

Raising an eyebrow at him, I turned and looked at him over my shoulder. The breeze washed over me through the window, gently blowing my hair in my face. I saw Marcus struggling with his laces, and made my way to him.

He looked up at the sound of my footsteps and raised a hand.

"No, I'm fine, El," he said.

When I looked at him with concern, brows raised and lips pulled into a thin line, he just shook his head. So I left him to it and sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table where he sat. I watched him struggle for the longest time, and though I continued to insist that I help, he simply shook his head.

After a while he finally called for our uncle's slave, Stephanos.

"Stephanos!" he shouted, his voice echoing around the room.

"Why don't you let me help you?" I asked again.

"Because it is beneath you," he replied, glancing at me sternly from where he sat.

"Please, helping my brother isn't beneath me. What am I training for if I cannot even help you?"

To this he said nothing, but continued shouting for Stephanos who didn't come.

"Where is he?" Marcus grumbled.

I rolled my eyes and sat back against the chair. He was too stubborn for his own good, and that was not going to get him anywhere in life.

Moments later, the door finally opened with a loud creak, but it was not Stephanos who arrived. My uncle stepped into the room, hands behind his back as he glanced at Marcus, and then me. He looked at me with disapproval, and I knew it to be because of how I slouched back in the chair. I just smiled innocently at him before smirking.

Shaking his head a little, he turned his attention back to Marcus.

"Where is Stephanos?" my brother questioned.

With a sigh, our uncle said, "I have decided that Stephanos is too old to serve two masters. I bought you your own body slave. Elena has her own, and now you will too."

"I don't need my own slave, uncle," Marcus sighed in frustration.

"Marcus-"

"I should have been consulted!" he snapped at our uncle.

From where I sat, I looked sympathetically at Marcus, understanding more or less what he felt. My uncle had bought me my own slave when I first arrived at the villa, despite my protests of not needing one. The girl was nice enough, but I never felt I needed one. I was perfectly capable of dressing myself, doing my own hair, and all the rest of it. I had a slave of my own as a girl, but she was sent off elsewhere when I was sixteen.

I had not had one after that until I moved to this villa.

So in a way, I understood why Marcus was getting defensive, even angry. That was why I said nothing while he argued with my uncle. It was not my place to intervene, so I simply sat and listened.

"Yeah, well you weren't, I'm sorry," said uncle.

Turning around briefly, he called out the door, "Slave!"

As we waited, Marcus looked over at me, defeated. I just shrugged at him, and sighed.

Footsteps approached from outside the door, and I could almost sense my brother's anticipation. When the slave came into view, I sat a little straighter in my seat when I realized who it was. The slave we had saved from the games that day. He stood with his head bowed just behind my uncle, his hands clenched into fists in front of him. My eyes skimmed over him, my gaze pausing on the bruises that covered his face. That same sense of near guilt came over me when I looked at him. I felt sorry for what had happened to him, and wished I could have stopped it.

"His name is Esca," my uncle explained briefly before he turned to leave.

For a while we all sat and stood in silence. Nothing was heard except the sound of the water hitting the stones at the shore outside. I could not take my eyes off of Esca, not because of how he looked, but because I wanted to help him. His wounds seemed to have been cleaned up decently before he arrived here, but there was more to be done. More that I could do.

"I have no use for you," said Marcus, standing up now.

I moved to help him, but he waved me off. I shot him a glare, frustrated that he wouldn't let me help him.

"I had no wish to be bought," Esca said.

For the first time I heard the way he spoke, heard his strange accent that made me smile. It was not funny to me, but almost beautiful. I had a love for people from other places besides Rome, and hearing the different accents that belonged to different people, made me smile. His was no exception. It sounded a little familiar to me, similar to the one that belonged to my former slave. I wondered if they were from the same area.

"You should have run, my uncle wouldn't have stopped you," Marcus told him.

"I wouldn't be so sure," I muttered to myself.

"You saved my life," Esca pointed out. "I have a debt of honour to you now."

I almost didn't hear him; he spoke so quietly and from so far away.

"Against your wish," Marcus argued.

I nodded in agreement with that. Anyone who was, or could be bought, had very little say in anything they did. Once they were sold, everything they did was likely against what they wanted to do. I felt for them in that way.

"No man should ever beg for his life…"

In his tone I caught a sense of sadness and shame, making me frown. I knew I shouldn't have felt sorry for a man who was now my uncle's property, that was the way I was brought up, but I had my own feelings. And my feelings led me to feel bad for him. He was after all, a person.

"You didn't, we did. On your behalf, and we meant nothing by it," said Marcus, looking over at me as if for reassurance.

I nodded once at him, smiled then looked up at Esca from across the room once more. He didn't meet either of our gazes, his head still bowed down. I wished he would look up.

Another long silence passed between all of us, and after a while I stood up again and made to leave. I was blocked when Esca decided to step forward, closer to Marcus than to me, a dagger in his hand. I had not seen him pull it from his person, but seeing it gripped in his hand, I instinctively made to protect my brother. However, Marcus threw out his hand and stopped me in my tracks.

"I am a son of the Brigantes, who never broke his word," Esca said, snapping his head up and looking straight at Marcus. He took another step forward, the dagger pointed at my brother. I eyed the blade in his hand, ready to knock it from him should he try anything. Then he threw it aside.

"My father's dagger is my bond. I hate everything you stand for, everything you are, but you saved me. For that I must serve you."

When he finished, he glared at my brother, then turned his eyes to me. I matched him with a steady, stern gaze.

"Very well," said Marcus finally.

With that I stepped back, allowing him room to move around. He walked back to his seat and leaned against the back of it, groaning as he stretched himself out. I continued to stand around, watching Esca to see if he was going to try anything else. He remained still for a long time, keeping his eyes down.

When I was sure he wasn't going to attack either of us, I moved to the place he had thrown the dagger. As I moved close to him, he lifted his head and watched as I picked the blade from the floor, placing it on the table near Marcus.

"I'm going to bed, if you do not need me," I told him.

"Good night then, El."

Leaning down I placed a kiss on the top of his head. Straightening out again, I headed to the door and glanced over at Esca as I passed him. For a brief second our eyes met, his still filled with hate. I looked away. When I was out of the room, I made my way to my own chamber, head reeling a little from the days' events.

Darya was there when I entered, and she bid me a good evening with a smile on her face. I returned the smile gladly, and went to sit at the edge of my bed.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly as she came to help me with my shoes.

"Just tired, it's been…an emotional day," I chuckled, lying back on the bed. "What about you? How are you?"

"Well, thank you. Tired as well, but in a good way."

I smiled at this. Darya was always so sweet, so eager to make those around her happy. She often succeeded, especially when I was not in the best of moods. I was glad to have her around, which I liked to believe made my uncle upset. He only thought slaves were good for one thing; serving. Sure, he had his own relationship with Stephanos, but at the end of the day I knew he didn't think much of him.

I thought the world of Darya, the way I thought the world of my childhood slave. Ciara. I smiled at the thought of her, of the adventures we used to have together. She was more than a slave to me, she was a friend. A good friend who I lost too soon.

"That's good…Have you met Esca yet?" I asked her, sitting upright again.

The question seemed to catch her a little off guard, but she smiled at me, nodding.

"I have. He's quiet, though I suppose that's because he has only been here for a few hours…"

"That would likely be it. Marcus is not thrilled at the prospect, so I hope Esca turns out well," I said more to myself than her.

Darya simply shrugged as she undid the final laces on my shoe, and pulled them off.

"I can handle the rest for tonight, thank you Darya. You can go to sleep early if you like." I gave her a small smile, to which she grinned in return and left.

When she'd gone, I went around the room, blowing out all the candles, leaving it so the only light was that of the nearly set sun. Reaching around my back, I began to untie the laces that held my dress together. Piece by piece, my stola came apart. Large pieces of coloured material fell to the ground in a heap, leaving me naked. I gathered up my gown, and folded it up neatly before tucking it away with my other gowns. From that pile I grabbed my night shift and pulled it on.

A cool summer breeze came through the window that night, causing a shiver to run through my body. It was refreshing at least, I thought, especially after the near-traumatizing events of the day. I climbed into bed, wrapping the blankets around me tightly. It took me a while, but after laying there and listening to the sounds of creaking floors, and howling wind, I finally fell asleep.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed this, and I would be interested to know what you think. I really wanted to do a rewrite of this to show how I've grown as a writer, and I hope that you will all stay to see how this develops.

If you would like to see more, let me know in a review. I would really love to know what you guys thought.