Notes:
So this plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain for quite some time. It had to be fucking written down. Apologies if it is not par to liking. First time in writing with this kind of setting. God, the speech pattern kills me Dx Anyway, hope you guys still enjoy :) If it gets good feedback, will post the rest.
Chapter 1
Saved from pain of the cross only to be ripped away from loving arms. It is fate worse than death.
Nasir.
Agron will never understand how Naeivia survived. To be parted forever from one loved most dearly and yet find the strength to live; not a thing meant for him. Despite having taken vengeance on as many Roman shits as his body would allow, he is still left with emptiness so deep there is naught left but an endless black hole where beating heart used to reside.
He is but a shell of the man he once was.
If given chance to make different choice, he would've fled with Nasir to distant lands; far away from this wretched place, away from the rebellion, from every fucking Roman shit that took pleasure in ripping away everyone he holds dear. He would've found great joy in being a shepherd or tiller of land, Nasir by his side, as they lived that simple life. He stands a fool. Desperate imaginings will never bear fruit for the future no longer holds Nasir to share it with.
Many moons passed and yet whenever eyes were to close, all he could see was sad, love-filled gaze and bittersweet smile adorning bloodied lips.
"Do not loose self with my death Agron. Promise that you will live." Every syllable forming on tongue is a struggle for breath, yet Nasir couldn't be deterred to voice plea.
"Cease talk of demise at once." Words choke out through Agron's clogged throat as tears continue to spill from turquoise eyes, hand profusely pressing cloth of worn coat against gaping wound on Nasir's chest to staunch bleeding. "You are not to leave this world. You are not to be parted from me. I will not allow it!"
"Promise me." Nasir presses on, unfocused, weakened gaze boring into his soul.
It is Nasir's last request, the words echoing back to him not too long ago when it was he who encouraged Nasir to find joy in the remaining days even if it meant in the arms of fucking Cilician. How could he make such request of him now when heart was sworn never to beat for another?
"No I will not." Agron rasps out, desperation coloring every word.
Once upon a time, thought of ending Crassus' life once and for all was what greatly occupied mind. Charging into battle with Crixus meant ensuring a future for Nasir where he is to live a full life and truly be free. He would've readily offered blood to make certain he lives no matter how much heart yearned to run away with him to the alps.
Death seemed inevitable then, accepted fate never to return to loving embrace. Yet having been saved from crucifixion, to once again set gaze upon his little man, he praised the gods for granting survival. Nasir was never from his side, tending to wounds, whisperings words of love and promises and apologies for unknowingly leading the Cilician on. There was no room for stubborn pride nor flicker of jealousy at the Cilician shit's name. Theirs was only bestowing of forgiveness and mending broken hearts. As soon as battle wounds healed, they made love and shook loose the earth with unbridled passion as if every kiss, every touch, every breathy whisper of undying devotion was their last. Castus remained following Nasir with longing gaze, yet Nasir's complete undivided attention was solely upon him, his sweet smile lighting up Agron's world as the sun. A blissful time it has been, one he never wanted to see end. But the gods always were fond of cruel gestures; they allow taste of sweetest ambrosia for but fleeting moment then piss upon you and laugh at the loss you are forced to bear.
"Agron..."
He's already lost too much. Life would mean nothing if Nasir were to be wrested from his arms. How could he make promise to live on without him there?
"Do not ask this of me. I belong to no one but you."
Shaking fingers rests upon cheek, tears further intensifying from barely there caress. Nasir is fading. No matter how strongly Agron denies reality, he knows such grievous wound can mean only death. He knows of this for Duro was wrenched away from brotherly embrace in same manner. Pain he never wanted to revisit again and yet here lay his love, dying.
"Spirit shall find no rest unless you… promise me that you will live."
Do not look at me with such eyes. You know I am powerless against them.
"I promise."
The lie sits heavily on cursed tongue. He knows he is not strong enough to live on his own.
A small, sad smile grazes Nasir's blood-stained mouth, the sign of inevitable parting.
"Stay with me." Agron pleads brokenly, cradling Nasir deeper onto himself, head resting upon mop of silken, dark tresses as body trembles violently at thought of losing him forever. Pulling back, he gazes down at him, captures soft lips against his, the taste of blood filling corners of mouth. "Do not fucking leave me behind. I cannot..."
The Syrian's face slackens into a state of calm. "To have loved… and be loved by you was… greatest of blessings. Know that… you are the one that will forever hold my heart." Deep, near-black orbs slip shut as breath of life takes its leave, taking Nasir with it, taking his very heart that still lay within chest. Arm falls to Nasir's side, body lax, limp and void of life.
Agron stares in crippling horror, shakes that small frame, kisses those lips, willing, wishing, hoping to breathe life back into his lungs. "No. No. No, no, no!"
Nasir remains unresponsive, steadily turning cold beneath hands. The distraught German screams and begs and pleads to all the gods. Do not take him yet. Do not fucking take him yet! But it gained him nothing but hoarse throat and continuously shattering heart.
The battle against Crassus' legions progressed in the background. Death and blood and tears lay amass across the landscape. It was the Roman's sword that was meant for Agron, yet Nasir saved him, placing self between enemy and lover. Much like dear brother had. Is this his life's curse? For loved ones to give their lives in favor of his own?
With one last parting kiss, one last caress upon heart's still frame, everything that followed after was nothing but a red haze of bloodlust and vengeance.
Memory fails him when wandering thoughts revisits that day. Nearly everything was painted in blood, though, first moment sanity returned, he recalls Crassus' corpse beneath him, severed in numerous places, torn flesh caked under fingernails where he clawed skin with bare fucking hands.
Overwhelming grief, fury, sadness and heartache was his only companion for the days that followed. He was a man possessed, a demon escaped from hell to rain suffering upon the earth. Wounds were inflicted upon already marred skin that could have killed even the strongest of men yet he remained standing. He was hellbent on vengeance with only Nasir's lifeless frame at the forefront of mind serving as fuel to raging fire within. Life matters not to him any longer. Nor Spartacus, nor the rebellion. Nothing.
Laeta once offered words of comfort stating she too knows of the pain for she lost a husband loved dearly. Agron lashed out at having woman indirectly place comparison between Nasir and shit of a husband, almost costing her life. Spartacus fell in quarrel with him. Second thoughts did not even enter mind as he left camp the next day, abandoning position by Spartacus' side. He became nothing more than a wanderer, killing Romans that strayed into his path. Nasir was no longer there to ground him. He no longer had a heart, only blood upon thoughts and it never shall cease to be so until death welcomes him to the afterlife, reunited with brother and lover once more.
Yet it would seem the gods rather favored pissing on him; so many times he welcomed death, and so many times he escapes fucking clutches, finding self in torturous existence with only but memory of loved ones for company each day that passeth.
Turquoise eyes flutter open at the sound of footfalls and the unmistakable cry of a boy. Agron rises quickly from his resting point, slowly creeping forward, mindful of every step so as not to make a sound. His gaze is alert, body thrumming with the promise of Roman blood upon gladius. He is already quite deep within the woods that it rather surprised him to come across Romans at such distance, away from the road. Thoughts of the rebels being pursued and near is immediately squashed from mind. It does not hold chance. He had made certain to be as far away from them as possible.
Agron anticipates the upcoming battle, wishing it were his last. He has been absent too long of Nasir's warmth. He longs for life to cease and take joy in fucking reunion. It was with this state upon mind that Agron lunges upon Roman soldiers, knowing not that soon, as the very last breath leaves mangled body from grievous injury, after saving life of young male child, that his life shall take the strangest of turns.
Agron wakes with hand upon searing chest, aching all over and a pained moan erupting from throat. Head throbs severely that first thought was to check if it gushed blood. He has a hazy memory of a fight with the Roman soldiers in the woods. Death had been so close then. But he lives. Anger lit his bleak heart aflame. Yet another day of torture spent in solitude. Another day without Duro and Nasir.
"Jupiter's cock. Haven't the gods had their fill yet of my suffering?"
Fingers rests upon cloth wrapped around temple, quick wonder dawning in as to whom tended to wounds, pulling him from edge. And where was the boy? Hand comes away without blood, though, dead heart began to pound at the sight meeting shocked gaze. Agron sat stock-still, wide-eyed. The forearm where the brotherhood's mark should have been stark contrast to golden skin stands missing. Equal dread and confusion creeps upon mind as Agron took stock of self and surroundings.
Whole torso is wrapped in clean bandages, the bed currently of use too soft to the touch. Silken sheets without a doubt. Lavish. Worth more coin than a hundred gladiator slaves combined. He looks down at self and is appalled at the presence of worn garments. Who placed upon him such expensive clothing? He struggles to get out of bed but fresh wounds prove to be worthy adversary. No matter. He isn't deterred from task. Agron manages to stand wobbly on both feet, hand gently pressing against chest. The room he is in, too fucking spacious for liking. It is almost like a Roman shit's–
"Dominus. You are awake."
Agron looks to the young slave boy by what he supposes was the entrance, alarmed gaze darting through corners, hoping to catch sight of said Dominus and end fucking life. He lays gaze of a small knife used for peeling fruit skins atop low table beside bed. He lunges for it, wild green eyes flickering from one corner to the other. Agron expects Roman soldiers to come bursting through doors. He will go down fighting, he thinks, bringing as many Romans as is possible to gates of Hades.
"I will have blood you fucking Roman cunts!"
He waits for the soldiers, gaze still searching for the resident Dominus. Yet nothing came. Agron feels winded from wounds while body is locked in tense fighting stance.
"You!"The German points at the now two slaves watching him in both confusion and fear, though the other was quickly instructing words to the slave girl.
"Fetch for the Medicus and Domina. I fear Dominus suffers worse head injury than anticipated."
The beginnings of exhaustion stirs within Agron as he becomes short of breath. He has yet to find this apparently injured Dominus.
The girl nods and removes self from sight in a heartbeat. Slave boy, possessing much courage despite threat of weapon in Agron's hand, steps forward and gently breaks words, likened to placating wild beast.
"Dominus, please. Be calm. You are not well. Place knife down and avoid causing further harm to self."
It is then that thought presents self to Agron. It is he the boy calls Dominus.
What? It does not hold fucking sense.
Mind unceremoniously makes different observation as Agron watches the boy's lithe grace. Dark skin, dark eyes and long inky black locks. Agron's breath catches harshly, leg threatening to give out at boy's familiar appearance and lilt of voice.
Syrian. So much like his little man. The pain of loss momentarily blindsides him from fucking vigilance. He crumples into self, tears spilling from grief-stricken eyes as broken sobs escape throat. Knees and weapon touches cold floor, clattering in its wake. Gentle hands rest upon shoulder, smooth fingers cradling face as chin is tilted. What little control Agron holds over excruciating emotions shatters with boy's visage so up close. The striking resemblance to lost love is a knife repeatedly lodged into heart and throat.
"Dominus, what ails heart that you are moved to immense tears?"
The name flows from mouth in a strangled whisper, causing for boy's eyes to widen and tense within hold.
"Nasir..."
Hands upon his body shook. A desperation so suddenly making appearance on the boy's features has Agron pulling back in the slightest wonder as voice nearly breaks in query.
"Dominus, please, I beg of you. How did you come upon this name?"
A conversation seemingly from a lifetime ago comes unbidden to Agron causing for own eyes to widen in remembrance. It makes a clear picture. The heritage, the resemblance, the boy would be the same age. Nasir's older brother of three years. Yet is it even a possibility?
"Amir?"
The thrusting of doors open causes conversation to an abrupt stop. The slave boy stands at once, though eyes betrays much needed words with Agron, an answer to desired question fulfilled, bowing to the Domina of the house, along with the Medicus trailing after her hurried strides.
"Julius, why is dear brother upon floor and appears as grieving widow? Did I not order to make certain he stays in bed and rested?"
"Apologies, Domina. Dominus..."
"I have not the time nor ear for excuses. Leave us. You are not needed."
"Yes, Domina."
The slave boy bows and scurries away. Before Agron has time to form words, the woman which he never expected to set eyes upon again cries out and opens arms wide in invitation.
"Father will be very pleased of your recovery. The gods truly smile upon you. I had thought you for the afterlife, brother."
Agron finds self engulfed in sickening embrace, of a body that should have lain dead a long, long time past. Bizarre experience causes fury to ignite within veins. How dare Roman bitch call him brother and embrace him as if they really were of same blood? And what of this place? This lavish clothing, the slaves, the very fact that the mark of the brotherhood is absent from fucking arm?
He was for dead, longing for sweet reunion with family and heart and yet here he is, in enemy territory, in enemy arms. What in fucking Mt. Olympus has happened to the world he's known? This is not his life. More so, he would rather die a thousand deaths than call cursed woman sister. Rage flames anew, an incensed tempest, cruel and unforgiving born of hateful emotions too fresh to be forgotten.
Fingers instantly curl around slender throat before anyone could so much as blink. Agron growls menacingly, taking pleasure in seeing fear flash across disgustingly fair face as helpless fingers tries to pry off own ones from crushing windpipe. Glaber's woman. Ilithyia.
"You were for the afterlife. What is your right to go about walking with air in lungs while people I hold close to heart lies fucking dead?!" Agron hisses, voice filled with venom as he squeezes tighter, the Medicus' pleas for him to let Roman wench go falling on deaf ears. Teeth bared, Agron's eyes glints, dark and dangerous like that of predator ready to pounce unsuspecting prey. "I am not your brother."
"Agronius. By the gods, has sense taken leave from fucking mind?!"
Agron much too suddenly finds cheek stinging from blow as he is forcibly thrown off Ilithyia's choking frame back to the confines of the bed. He feels presence hover from above yet couldn't find energy to so much as lift gaze. Head is ringing painfully from the unforeseen attack. He kneads heel of palm against eyes in hopes to fight off continuous spiral that is his sight. He feels fucking faint again, could feel wounds reopening from strain.
"My brother is not well. I... I do not think he is aware of actions being done."
"If Medicus had not called for aid and I had not intervened, you would be absent fucking life!"
The man's voice is familiar, yet mind is too ragged and pain clouds senses too much in finding name to fucking voice. Agron groans, sharp breathy gasps spilling from pale lips as unconsciousness tries to trap him within grasp. He feels betrayed, the one time he wishes to stay awake long enough to exact revenge, body deems it high time to not listen to power of thoughts.
"He is still beloved brother. It will break Father's heart to know further harm has fallen on only son. Spartacus continues to live and he is of enough stress as it is. Please, Agronius within right mind would never turn against dearest sister. You know of this."
Having the bitch plead for his life was making stomach turn despite darkness welcoming senses. What has happened to fucking world? And what of this name that keeps falling from cursed Roman lips? He does not understand.
"Did I not say that coming along to search in the mines is foolish task? Yet words were not heeded. Not from father born of blood nor from man considered second father-figure. He is not properly trained as soldier nor gladiator; pampered from time when he was but suckling babe, with nothing but wine and body slaves for company. What business does child have to come after Rebel leader?" A tired sigh escapes from unknown intruder, giving pause to reprimand. "It pains heart to see much similarities between Agronius and Tiberius. Children need learn to listen to orders and not defy fathers' wishes."
"Enough berating please," the woman pleads, displeasure evident in slight rise of voice. "Younger brother needs to rest. Go back to the party and I will tend to him."
"I do not think it wise..."
"Gratitude for concern. But we will be fine Crassus, really."
Hearing loathsome name swiftly causes for straining eyes to snap open, pulling awareness from darkness' embrace and back to malevolent pain of the living. Flashes of Nasir's death races through Agron's thoughts, last moments within loving arms replaying in vivid detail as deserted strength comes crashing back born of blustering emotions.
Marcus Crassus.
The man is fucking dead. Death delivered by very own hands. Yet he now finds self with man alive and still drawing breath?! Unfathomable rage swirls like fucking tempest from fucking core. He turns head and promptly feels as if fire is released from very pores as gaze sets upon cursed face. Agron's crazed-emerald eyes finds forgotten weapon upon cold floor. Nasir's voice comes unbidden in heart and mind. Promise me. Something in him snaps.
Agron sees nothing but red.
TBC
So, uhhh what did you guys think? Comments? Feedbacks? Violent reactions? O_O I'm in need of a serious beta reader.