Author's Note: Yes, I know, I know, another new historical AU. This one's based on the historic Emperor Nero of Ancient Rome, and the Britannic rebellion in Iron Age England that occurred during his reign, led by the Celtic warrior woman Boudica (here played by Mukuro). Enjoy.

A Note on the Title: Pluto and Proserpina are the Roman equivalent of Hades and Persephone. Pluto, or Hades, is well known as the God of the Dead, and Proserpina, or Persephone, is the Goddess he abducted to be his queen.

A Note on the Chapter Title: Fortuna was the Roman goddess of luck.

Disclaimer: Yu Yu Hakusho is © Yoshihiro Togashi, Funimation, Shounen Jump, ADV Films, etc. I donít own Yu Yu, I just play around with the characters (and I'm not earning money by doing so).

Fortuna

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General Hiei, legatus legionis of the Twelfth Roman Legion—first in command behind the Governor of the province of Britannia, Butajiri—tried to blink the ash from his tearing eyes. He wanted to forget himself and paw at his bare cheeks, skinned alive by the wind's scythe blade. He'd always hated the North; the sky was a different color here. The craggy Britons with their ice-crusted beards and the torpid she-wolves they loved made him long more and more each day for the sunny overcrowded noise of Rome.

Hiei watched a bedraggled eagle veer above billows of smoke, pale against the dreary sky. The screams of women and high-pitched sobs of children were less interesting to Hiei than the bird's screech. His face relaxed, the uprising's bloody finish fading back into nothing, smoke and scenery, as unremarkable as the ancient trees entwining beyond Manduessedum's walls. Hiei noticed a young soldier draw back his pilum, his eyes fixed on tawny wings, and his expression flattened. A pilum's tip bent or broke on contact with its target, and no experienced fighter would willingly have destroyed one for a bird. The legionary, thinking to skewer himself a meal, hurled his weapon adeptly. Sun glinted off its metal point, but the eagle rode an updraft. The pilum fell well short, arcing rapidly from the sky to the ground where it sunk, shuddering, into the blood-clogged dirt next to an unburied corpse.

"General Hiei," a soldier said in greeting, saluting rapidly. Hiei's eyes narrowed slightly, looking away finally from the body of the soldier. He had seen that one die. The first arrow had merely wounded him, but a second had gotten him through the throat, slaying him instantly. The smug presence of the soldier-turned-courier before him mocked the legionary's pitiful form, slumped in front of a siege engine leaning against Manduessedum's walls. The man was infuriatingly relaxed, like a cat fat on milk, blood and dirt beneath his fingernails. Hiei's eyes pressed him, and the smile on the soldier's face slid into a business-like expression.

"Speak," Hiei snapped.

"The Governor wishes to discourse with you. It's about gifts for the Emperor, sir."

Hiei scowled. The Emperor had demanded good-looking creatures for his sport. Naturally, of the slaves taken today, the most beautiful would be brought back in a different cage than the unlucky rest, those forced to service their captors as the whim took his brutish soldiers.

Thinking of the nature of their current Emperor, Hiei revised his estimation of luck. Red eyes watched dispassionately as a woman streaked out of one of the smoking, splintered gates, getting only a few desperate lengths in before a chasing soldier swung her to the ground by her shawl, slamming onto her with a second legionary as she clawed at the grass, wrestling and shrieking. The general's eyes met hers, fierce and defiant and scared, for only a second. He looked away, surprised at his own weakness. The sound of the woman's struggles grew fainter as Hiei reluctantly accepted the soldier's hand up and mounted his horse. He kicked on Black Dragon, his beautiful Persian mare, and galloped around the burning walls of the Britannic stronghold, his face grim.

Kurama was all that stood between these men and the long goblin tongues of their torches and all that he loved, which felt lost already. The burning brands spat cinders that left black dabs on the gore-and-mud-streaked iron of their helmets and ashy pockmarks on their faces, the grim faces of men entered into brutal manhood. They looked with yellow smiles or eyes made red by the torchlight at the corpse of his mother, crumpled behind him like a girl's straw doll, and his little brother who clung to her futilely. The shabby doorway of the cottage they'd been assigned to only a few weeks ago arched above his brother's head. The hut had been built as a storehouse, and Kurama had no ties to it, had no hope or ability to protect it. At the moment it symbolized home, however, and so the irrationality of defense was not forefront in Kurama's mind.

Shuuichi was crying. Kurama raised the knife he held in a tight fist, knowing the pointlessness of it, a knife against swords.

"No," he repeated in their vulgar language, the only word he knew. He was shaking, crying and red-eyed from the smoke gusting into his vision, crying from more than the smoke. His winter clothes had gone to the warriors—he still wore his tatty summer wrappings. He was cold, scared, and knew deep in his heart how useless this was.

One of the legionaries struck while Kurama's attention was elsewhere, and Shuuichi shrieked behind him. Kurama whipped around, slashing ineffectually at the man's snide face, a blow that would have been deflected by the metal guards on the man's plumed helmet anyway. A hand grabbed his wrist and Kurama was dragged clear off his feet, yelping, feeling dirty and pathetic. He was unsurprised by his failure, though he watched them like a hissing cat, leaning back but keeping his body still.

Their alien faces drew close once the knife dropped, his wrist crushed until his fingers loosened from pain and lack of circulation. He glared at them, trembling, knowing the Romans were famous boy-lovers and worried more for Shuuichi than himself. The loving of men was a common practice in Kurama's tribe—the loving of boys, however, neutered their warrior spirit, and was frowned upon.

Wrestling with the man's grip brought a knee into his stomach. Kurama's mouth was forced open while he was disoriented, his teeth examined, fingers prodding at his gums. He bit at them, earning a backhand that made blood spurt against his tongue from the inside of his cheek, sliced open by his own teeth. From the corner of his eye, he could see Shuuichi shrinking and cowed as he received similar treatment. Kurama's tunic was yanked up, exposing his starved, bruised chest, showing more ribs than it had a year or two ago at this time.

The legionaries chuckled. One man's hand reached into Kurama's wrappings, fondling him crudely. Kurama kicked—the man hit. When Kurama kicked again, the man pointed at Shuuichi, and Shuuichi earned a harsh cuff for Kurama's troubles. Another soldier drew his gladius and held the blade close to Shuuichi's neck.

Cowards, Kurama thought, staring for a moment into Shuuichi's round eyes, which begged him to be prudent. Aloud, he said nothing, unwilling to risk his brother's life. Leaf-green eyes glared openly at his captors, Kurama's jaw clenched and his chin dimpling with suppressed rage.

Around them was mayhem: people ran and screamed, women forced callously to the dirt. The looters set houses on fire and watched the consuming flames gleefully, their sacks filled with the sparse valuables the defenders had left and their hands dragging chains of captives they'd soon resell to the slave merchants. Kurama looked around him, at the narrow streets belching smoke and running wet with blood, and couldn't fathom all the cruelty. The captives the legionaries led away were mostly women and children, the men already dead defending the stronghold of Manduessedum, or in previous battles, or tossed like bags of millet into the dirt all around Kurama, throats slashed, bellies open, bodies reeking of gore and blood.

Mukuro was dead. Their ferocious woman leader had committed suicide rather than be subjected to the mercy of the Romans, those starving wolves that showed no mercy. Kurama didn't blame her. His heart ached instead, knowing that the rapes of her daughters that had started the rebellion would be repeated a thousand times more, ten thousand, a hundred thousand even, perpetuated into eternity upon all those who had risen to defense of their homeland.

He was dragged forward, his heels digging lines in the dust, away from the cottage that would be his mother's only pyre. Shuuichi clutched momentarily at the carven doorframe in fear, scrapes and another blow all he earned for his troubles. Kurama fought like a wildcat when they flipped over his mother's corpse, casually shoving their hands around until they could start finding where she'd kept the few precious baubles she had left. More legionaries leaked into the undefended building, moving around the two growling men that had claimed the empty, broken shell that once held Shiori of the Minamino clan.

Kurama lunged forward stupidly, hissing insults, but his wrists were grabbed and ripped down behind his back, where they could be crossed and tied. When he began struggling in earnest the man holding him spat something at his comrades. Seconds later, a sword appeared again at Shuuichi's gulping throat, just nicking the skin. Kurama closed his eyes and simply breathed, respecting his brother's life and his mother's modesty, not wanting to see her desecrated, not wanting to watch the little boy's eyes cross trying to see the threatening blade. He said nothing as coarse rope was looped around his neck and tied, far too tightly for comfort. Opening his eyes again, he saw the slack of the rope tied to Shuuichi's wrists leading up below his chin, a quick and efficient way to string them together. Kurama's eyes were hard and dignified as the two brothers were led off, their fate unknown and frightening.

Glossary:

Britannia - the province of Britannia, which covered all of today's Great Britain that was under Rome's control (including Ireland, Wales, England, and parts of the Scottish lowlands).

Gladius – A type of Roman sword, usual in the kit of a legionary; they were short and light, and mass-produced.

Governor – More accurately egatus Augusti pro praetor (literally: "envoy of the emperor - acting praetor"), this man was in charge of an imperial province (in this case, the province of Britannia).

Legatus legionis – Legatus legionis was a title awarded to legion commanders in Ancient Rome.

Manduessedum – Actually, no one is sure where the final battle, the last stronghold, or even if it was at a stronghold, of Boudica's (here Mukuro's) uprising was. Manduessedum is a possible city, which I chose because it has a name.

Pilum – A type of Roman spear, usual in the kit of a legionary, which was designed to bend or break on impact, so no enemy could throw it back or use it against the Roman.

Helmet, or Galea - Many of the helmets Roman soldiers wore had plumes, usually made with horsehair, though not always.