Title: Gallia Divisa: I The Boys of Summer
Rating this chapter: PG
Warning: Nothing of note, just strap on your Antiquity Goggles and mind the gap.
Notes: Inspired by a piece from the Hetalia kink meme. Have fun picking who is who.
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Summer, Northern Gaul, Territory of the Belgae 100 BC
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Far below the clouds that painted occasional smears of white against the clear blue sky, a boy ran through the grasses that lined the water's edge. The sun kissed his skin and lighted his long, pale hair into a vivid gold. He was the only son of Argos, a young boy yet unnamed. He wondered perhaps if he would gain his soon. His mother had gained a second after all: Gaul.
Long ago, strange, violent men had come to their lands, swathed in red and the shine of metal, burbling in foreign tongue. They had given it to her.
They still came from time to time, led by a large, broad shouldered man who seemed to be built more like a horse than anything else, with his head crowned in dark and ugly curled hair. And unlike the taller, more graceful people the boy was familiar with, the foreign intruders were muscled and stocky and seemed bent only on conquering those that set foot in their path. Sadly stated, they were rather good at it.
That wasn't to say his own kinfolk were inept. Quite the contrary. The Gaul were warriors and the boy wore this distinction proudly. They were a mismatched people, divided off into tribes across their land, but they all held the way of the warrior.
Thinking of this, the youth smiled to himself, arms outstretched as he spun himself through the high grass, feeling is crumpled underfoot and brush against him through his breeches and belted tunic.
It was a beautiful day and though his mother had warned him to dress more warmly, he could not fully feel the chill in the air. *
'You are young.' His mother told him. 'You have not seen the summers and winters I have. There is a chill in the air.' It bothered her that he was not as in-tuned as she, but if concern had her heart, she did not let her son see it.
Dizzy from his spinning, the boy toppled back into the tall grass with a dull thump. He laughed until the world stopped turning around him, and lay spent, panting and giggling to himself as the sparse cloud cover passed over top him.
Laid out with the tall grass towers above his prone form, he wondered if today he would find someone to play with.
A girl lived in a nearby tribe he wished to see again. They had played a handful of times before and with each new meeting of theirs, his body grew warmer at the idea seeing her again.
Now it slowly returned to him, pinking his cheeks and tightening his chest. Perhaps one day they wold wed and help unite the land. He was certain that with the training his mother gave him, he would be a fine warrior as well, and what woman did not want a strong husband who could return from battle, bearing the heads of their enemies?
A low, deep sound woke him from his silent fantasy quickly.
His head shot up-only the crown on it visible in the swaying grasses.
Again, there it was. 'Plunk'.
Coming up onto hands and knees, he crawled forward and parted the last grasses on the bank and poked his head out.
"W-who goes there?" a small voice shrieked.
The boy blinked and scanned the opposite shoreline. It was hard to spot, but against the shorter grasses and larger rocks, there sat another person-far smaller than himself, wrapped in a big green cloak.
Again the voice called out. "Identify yourself!"
The boy just beamed and stepped out onto the shoreline. "-fellow Selt**?" he called, waving.
The cloaked lump jerked and waved a stick furiously in the boy's direction. "W-what do you know about the Celts?" it shouted back as it tossed a rock into the channel.
'Plunk'.
The question and gross accent were paid no heed. "They call us the Gaul. We're very strong! Who are you?" When he received no response, he paused and cocked his head to the side, as he watched the lump across the water and weighed his options. Against the lapping current of the water, half-beached on the pebbles of the shore, the boy had a small raft baking in the sun. Curious still, retrieved his raft and walked it out into the water. Breeches soaked to all the way to his thighs, he hopped aboard.
With his back turned to the lumpy cloak and back end sat squarely upon the raft, he kicked himself across the channel. "...perhaps you are ugly?" he chirped.
The lump jerked again and make a sound that the young boy could not fully make out.
He smiled all the wider, bemused with the reactions he received. "Are you a leper, then?"
The lump shrieked and hissed, "I am not!"
The boy laughed as he approached the opposite shore, "Then remove your hood! We are all brothers!"
Again, the cloak burst into a fit of noises, most of which, the boy noted, made its wearer sound more an animal than a man. "NO!" It shouted back, ruffled up.
The boy simply laughed.
"I-I can hear you over there! Stop laughing!" The cloak commanded. "I-I'll sic my big brothers on you! One of them paints himself blue and is really scary when he fights!"
Hearing not a single threat, as the raft ran aground, the boy climbed off and pulled it safely ashore. Further up, the cloak shook and murmured to itself as it backed up.
The cloak, obviously daunted, continued on, "H-he has hair like fire! And a temper like it too! He's really quick!"
"He sounds beautiful." The boy sauntered in, closing in on the lump, as shiver ran up his spine, mouth gone dry. Now technically in a foreign land, he wondered to himself if this was the sort of rush the men felt when they took new lands for themselves.
"And I would be honored to meet your brother." he continued. "I bet he would hold his ground and show his face instead of running away..."
The cloak bristled and stamped its small feet, still hidden by the long folds of its cover. "I'm not grown yet, so I'm not suppose to fight. I'm still small a-and I'm not running away-!" it snapped.
"Then show me your face."
"It's not something you need to know! Why do you care?" Caught in a backpedal, the lump tripped over the tail of his cloak and tumbled backward onto the rise of dirt from pebbled shore to earthen land.
On his back and cloak slightly displaced, it was easier to see more of the foreigner. They were certainly short-the boy knew that, but instead of an imp or even a sprite, he at least knew they were human now. Perhaps it was even one like himself or his mother.
"I want to see." he pressed as he lowered himself and crawled after the other-a certain slinkiness to his movement that was almost cat-like. "I am nearly a man, you know. Show me or I will take it myself."
"I know men, and you are barely one." The foreigner hissed, hackles raised. It began to scoot back against the grass, trying to put some space between the two of them.
The boy's grin just widened, the expression both playful and predatory. "My mother is teaching me to fight. I am going to become a brave warrior and bring home the heads of -all- my enemies." he said, licking his lips. "I will be an incredible man."
The cloaked foreigner trembled and stumbled over its cloak again, fallen back against the hard ground. "L-leave me alone!"
He could not, though. It was all a huge tease. The foreigner was too easy and too much fun to bait to consider stopping now.
"For a cloak that heavy, you must be cold. I am plenty warm. Hold yourself against me and let me see your face." The young boy had seen his fair share of seduction, though aptly, from the sidelines. Perhaps if he applied his own charms, the foreigner would see the appeal in listening. "I won't hurt you." he swore. "I promise it. Are you cold? Tell me."
Not completely sold, with the safety of a few arm lengths between them, the foreigner crossed its arms under the folds of the fabric and nodded slowly. "M-maybe a little."
"As a Selt, you should know we keep our promises..." the boy continued, voice smooth as honey.
It took a good deal of deliberation from the foreigner, but in the end, part of his will gave out. It was a slow movement, inch-by-inch and very wary, but at the promise of body heat from another who's people swore by their word brought the foreigner to the boy's side. "Just...because you promised." it stated, hands gripped at the sides of the hood, hesitating for a moment before he finally tipped it back.
As the boy had thought, the foreigner was another boy, though without a doubt, was younger than himself. The other had dreadfully short hair, but it was blond, and thus excusable...even if it was a horrible dirty shade of it.
Big green eyes blinked at the boy, lips turned downward into a worried frown "Happy now?"
There was only a brief respite after the ending of the foreigner's works as the boy looked him over, before he immediately keeled backward and burst into loud, squealing laughter.
"-y-your EYEBROWS! What happened to them to make them so overrun? They're s-so big!" Arms clasped around his middle, he was helpless to his own amusement. "You look so funny!"
The boy received a low warning growl in return as the foreigner bristled up again, hands clenched. "Shut up!" The foreigner brushed his bangs to try and cover them, and finally resorted to covering his head again with the hood. "They've always been like that. " the foreigner huffed, his severe frown nearly hidden by the overhang and shadow of his hood.
The boy just sputtered and cackled louder, rolling in the grass. "Y-you look like you have caterpillars on your face! They don't even move when you're angry! I saw! They just wiggle uselessly!"
Even if the thought hadn't crossed the foreigner's mind, there was no way the two of them were going to be friends now. Shuffled back into his cloak, he gave a swift kick to the boy's the side and growled, "Stop laughing at me! It's not that funny!"
The boy made a choked sound as he was struck and stilled some, but snorted and would up laughing all the same and he struggled to stand again.
"O-of course! It's no laughing matter at all! Some people enjoy lots of hair! Perhaps your male lovers will overlook it someday or m-maybe-" he keened, ready to burst again, "-your wife will be blind!" And there he went, once again bursting into laughter.
The tiny ball of blond hair snarled and tackled the boy, going to bite, kick and claw like a dog who had been poked too many times with a sick. The bushy-brows ran in his family, doubling the humiliation as he took it as an insult to his family as well.
On the other side, though Argos's son had yet to introduce him to weapons proper, the boy had been given enough martial training to guarantee his safety when out wandering. Thus, when attacked, though he could not help but struggle through the smaller boy's flurry of blows. However, he quickly regained his control and overpowered the stranger. Straddled over the foreigner's chest, he pinned their wrists down in the dirt.
Dusty and even a bit bloody, the boy grinned and tried his hardest to keep the other down. "You're pretty good. But not good enough. Maybe someday-" he leaned in and licked up the curve of the other's ear. "-I'll invade you properly."
The foreigner howled in displeasure, a noise more feral than human. "You'll never invade. My family is far too strong! G-get off of me!" His struggle now seemed more an attempt to get anyway more then fight back. Panicked and red to his ears, he bucked and hissed, "I'll curse you if you don't get off of me!"
"So I'll just curse you back!" The boy beamed, finally allowing the other some slack as he rolled off of him. "Seltic druids are some of the strongest! You can't beat us."
"My brothers have those too." The tiny one huffed as he stood up and dusted off his clothes. "My family's magic is the strongest in the world!" It was a fact true only to the foreigner. Though perhaps in the future-
"If you're all Selts-" The boy straightened up as well, but didn't bother to dust himself off. "-then we all have the same magic." The strange little boy from the islands...he was so...
"You're cute." He decided as patted the foreigner's head. "I think I'd like to try my hand at you when I'm older. Even if you do have funny eyebrows and dumb short hair."
The foreigner wrinkled his nose and scoffed as he took a swipe at the other's head for petting him. "Yes, we're all Celtic, just different tribes. Well, except me and the brother who I keep losing..." He stumbled for a moment in thought, but was fast to right himself again, fighting to keep on subject, "But you're never going to touch me like that ever. I won't allow it."
"Well that's the thing about invading." The boy said matter-of-factly, hands set low on his hips. "If I win, you have to listen. But don't worry. I plan to get plenty of practice before then! I want to be an amazing warrior and to wonderful lover. When I'm a man, I'll be able to do it with almost anyone I want to!"
His words received a very unimpressed look. "We've been invaded before. We fought them off. You won't win and you'll never have any of us."
Now, the boy knew quiet well that the foreigner was lying through his crooked little teeth. The little girl from the North told him once of her own jaunt over to the island and of her easy victory there. He only stored the thought away instead, and opted to keep the ammo to himself for a later date.
"I don't know them." The boy conceded easily. "But I know you." Bad logic. "Why would I want to invade them? I just want you. Surely they won't miss one brother. Even one as shrimply as you. Perhaps they'll even thank me! We're very strong and I could take care of you!"
"You don't know me!" The foreigner stamped his feet again, hollering. "I'm a Briton! And my family is strong and would never allow anything to happen to me. -and they take care of me just fine!"
Which was precisely why, the boy noted to himself again, the little Northern girl had such an easy time pressing in. Of course.
"You're stubborn." the boy smiled warmly, continuing on despite the other's tirade. "Headstrong. I like it. I really want to rule over you some day. I'll be kind and do it well, okay? Just wait for me."
A tiny fist balled up and struck fast, sucker-punching the boy in the gut. "You will never rule over me!" Such a stubborn thing...he was going to get in trouble of of these days if he wasn't careful.
But while the punch took the boy down and splashing back into the water of the channel, it only started him laughing again through the pain. That sealed it really. As the little foreigner dashed off into the brush, the boy returned to his raft and hurried home to his mother to announce to her that while he found the little Northern girl charming, she did not excite him like this. In a foreign land across the water, he'd found his future bride.
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"Mother?"
His voice called out flatly, void of any resonance or echo. The world was neither light nor dark, cast instead in shades of dulled gray. The boy felt heavy-headed through the fog, but trudged forward despite the fear rising up in his stomach.
The air felt thick around him, like he'd fallen into a bog, struggling to slog his way out. His limbs felt like lead, body stiff and slow moving.
"Mother-?" he called out again, the barest of inflections steeped into his voice. He could muster no more, though he tried desperately.
"Mother, where are y-!" The ground, gray and cold, caught against his feet and the boy toppled, the world cast to black as he fought to catch the breath knocked from his chest.
"M-moth-"
His chest seized and his back splintered in pain as the world spun in an agonizingly slow twist. Somewhere above him, male voices thundered and a deep, alien laugh shook the boy to his bones.
"Here," the voice said, so frightfully familiar and yet so far away. It was like drowning and hearing someone call from a far-away shore. The constriction in his chest multiplied tenfold and the boy gasped for air, hands clawing for purchase against anything he could grip onto. The floor held no hold for him, so he wretched his arms around, trying to seek out what hurt him so.
When his small hands grasped and pulled hard against worn leather and warm skin, he craned his head back as far as it would go. And while his long hair fell in his eyes, the silhouette about him was unmistakable. The crushing weight to belong to none other than the Southern Republic himself, hideous curled hair and all.
"S-stop-" the boy keened as he twisted under the heel of the man's foot, his back singing out in pain. The Republic continued unhindered.
"Here is where we shall build our empire." Rome explained, his smile booming and sounding for miles, whereas the boy could barely crack over a whisper as he sobbed under the duress of the man's weight.
There was another though-one Rome spoke to whom the boy could not place...
The stranger nodded in silence, leaving the boy to squint and stare. The newcomer was devilishly handsome and the boy felt his cheeks redden and he sobbed in shame over the heat he felt flood his body.
Rome laughed, "What do you think, general? Will this do?"
"It will."
The boy woke up with a jerk, wailing and could not find sleep for the rest of the night.
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* Around 100 BC, the world was coming off of a years-long peak heatwave, and dipping into the chilly. Also, protective mum is protective.
** I felt like taking a small jab here toward the future of pronunciation, and the British kelt-Celt vs selt-Celt argument. In any case, I was amused. From here on out, this phonetic argument will be used between characters. It this is too off-kilter, feel free to lynch me. History in fanfiction is serious business.