A little one-shot with no ties to either "Not for Sale" or "Good Hunting."
On the Road: Coming Home
"Esca, it's freezing."
"You southerners are soft. You should be used to the cold by now."
"Used to the…Esca! My hair is soaked, my tunic is soaked…my bracco…my boots! I've been half-drowned in river water, pelted with rain, and at night the wind must come straight from some icecap in the north, if not old Aeolus' cave.* Don't tell me you don't feel it."
"I don't."
"You're lying."
"Say that again, Roman, and I'll regret that I came back to you with Guern and his men. I'll be sorry I saved you from Liathan's warriors yesterday."
"Who saved you from Liathan yesterday, Brigantes?"
"Who brought us on this fool's errand to start with?"
"It was no fool's errand. My father's shade can rest in peace, now that I've done what I set out to do."
"I, Marcus?"
"We, then. Put more branches on the fire, would you? I will make an offering of thanks to Mithras, once we're home."
"I see."
"I suppose you'll offer thanks to your god…Lump, or Lush, or whatever he's called?"
"Lugh, Roman."
"Right, whatever. Give me the blanket, then."
"Ask nicely."
"Esca!"
"Shhhh, enough. Eat something, Marcus. You'll need your strength to reach the Wall by tomorrow's eve."
"I refuse to eat another rat."
"I wasn't offering one."
"What's left in the pack?"
"The Eagle. Dried deer meat."
"I've been eating dried deer meat for days. I'm sick of dried deer meat. If I never see dried deer meat again, I'll be happy."
"You should be happy that we have it now. As I said, you southerners are soft. If you sit closer to the fire, you'll soon be warm."
"No I won't."
"Suit yourself."
"Esca."
"Hmm?"
"Are you certain you're not cold?"
"I'm quite comfortable, thanks."
"Oh. Esca…"
"Mmmm?"
"What we…what you…um…last night…what we did…"
"In a moment of weakness, you mean?"
"No, it wasn't weakness. I wanted…and, uh, you seemed to want…"
"Well?"
"Damn it, Esca, are you going to make me say it? I want, er, to do it again."
"Really."
"Um, yes. If you…want to, that is."
"Hmmm."
"But this time, I want to try…that is…"
"Tongue-tied, are you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothing. Let's see if you're up to it, then, shall we?"
"Ow! Esca! Your hand is like an icicle! Let go!"
"Patience, Centurion. It'll warm up soon."
"No, it…oh. Yes! Oh."
"Well, well. They do say the rain makes things grow."
"Be quiet! And…do that again."
"Lie down, Marcus."
"You first. Yes, like that. Ah, you're so beaut…er, so warm."
"And you're—oof!—nearly twice my weight."
"No, I'm not. Take that back. Oh!"
"Here. We can…you can use this. Put some on your fingers. Like this."
"What is it?"
"Seal fat."
"What!"
"Well, we haven't any oil, or salve, only this."
"Alright, then. Um, could you…raise your knees, a little. I can't see what I'm doing."
"Marcus, it's too dark to see anything. Mind your elbows!"
"Lie still, Esca, just until…"
"Then stop ordering me about, Roman. I'm not your slave any longer, you can't—ah! Ahhhhh!"
"You see, Esca? We southerners aren't soft."
Aeolus was the wind god, in ancient Rome.
I confess that this is rather a shameless rehash of "Back to School," which I wrote a long time ago for the Merlin fandom, but oh, well.
