RoGer, Human AU, Time period?
Warnings: Blood, Language
Enjoy.
Sharp blue eyes looked over the snowy valley. The mountains and hills surrounding were flecked with brown, where there was no snow to be seen. Below, rocks and boulders littered the ground around the banks of the frozen river that coursed through the land during the other seasons at the base of the mountain. It was never particularly warm here. Up north, it was always chilly. Evergreens, coniferous, maple, oak, pine, birch, beech and a handful of other trees dotted the landscape leaving green or brown areas within the sea of white. The vast miles of forest and deep, steep hills, rolling along lazily could barely be seen through the foggy white mist. A few snowflakes came into view, as if some godly hand had cast them out from the heavens.
They glittered in the air like diamonds, yet went ignored. Those blue eyes, startlingly blue in contrast to the bleached sky, were looking for something. Andreus was scanning for any signs of the enemy— this one in particular. Romans. Only snow, trees, rocks... To the untrained eye these lands, the tangled wilderness within them, were uninhabitable. To those not native, those who didn't belong, these lands were inhabited by savages. Luckily, Andreus was well trained. He was no fool. He was no outsider. This was home.
The man still felt small somehow, looking over the mountains longingly. His eyes searched for something else but he didn't know what. The animal below him shook snow off its coat as if shivering from the cold. It staked the man back into reality. Turning his horse, Sage, Andreus urged him to a trot, heading back to the village. He gently pulled the reigns and led the horse down the worn path from which they'd come. Sage's hooves plodded down along the trail heavily as the pair meandered downhill. It was unwise to stay out in the cold when there was no need. The man had seen the smoke ascending from the tree line. He had the information he'd come for. The Romans were here.
It was high time to attack.
Until the dark.
. . .
Romulus shivered involuntarily as he looked out into the vast snow-covered field. Not much was to be seen; only the blank canvas that winter had left behind. The moon lit the ground in a pale light, exposing the flat expanse of land, barren and dead, much like the camp behind him. He cocked his head to the sound of clinking armor and footsteps approaching. Turning to one of his guards, he raised a brow expectantly.
"It's too damn cold to be standing watch." Marcus murmured miserably, nodding towards Romulus.
"I'm not standing watch," Romulus replied, turning back to the field "just wondering what's out there." he gestured towards it.
"The patrol returns at dawn. You should get some sleep." the soldier, no more than a boy, reasoned with a frown.
"The patrol," the elder spat, "won't survive until dawn. Not when everything out there wants you dead. The damn barbarians, the animals, even the weather… What the hell was the emperor thinking when he sent us out here?"
Marcus shifted uneasily, his eyes shifting nervously "Don't speak ill of him," he whispered urgently, "he could have spies."
Romulus stared for a long moment before a wry smile touched his lips. So young and still afraid of the wrong things.
"Captain, you really should sleep if we're to meet with Thain's legion come morning."
Romulus cast one last look towards the field before heaving a soft sigh, the white of fog furling around his mouth as he gave into the pleading voice.
He nodded and waved the guard off, heading down the wooden steps from the post. All around him there were wooden posts that made their camp. Trees cut and shaven to make walls around them to create a sanctuary that kept out wind, wolves... Barbarians. There were platforms around the inside of the camp, giving his men a look over the camp. Guards patrolled them day and night, armed and ready to defend.
It was all they could do in this unknown country. They couldn't attack. As he made his way down the steps bowed, frozen wood creaking feebly under his feet, as if drowsily protesting bring awakened on such a chilled night. 'Each day we stay, the colder it gets. Our provisions run low and I haven't heard from Thain's legion in weeks. The runner I sent was supposed to be back by now...' he thought to himself solemnly. 'We lose brave men to sickness or cold. That's not how a man should die. We should be in battle... Not freezing from winter. How many more must die for us to go home?'
He found himself asking that more and more everyday.
Around the camp, quiet mumblings of the other men could be heard, most huddling around the fires and torches lit throughout the area, hugging clothing to their freezing bodies in a desperate attempt to get warm. Half starved and grim, they did their best not to let it show. They were all just as miserable as Romulus himself. Shaking his head, he entered his tent and lay down, having taken off his armor earlier in the day.
Again he was lost in his thoughts. 'To defeat the enemy... You must know the enemy. I know this enemy well. These cowardice barbarians… They elude open combat because they lack discipline. Proper training. Unity. They spend more time fighting amongst themselves than us. They won't face us in the open. Instead they hide in the shadows like animals. Striking hard and fast before falling back into the night. Come the dawn we count our losses and litter the earth with our dead. This is a new kind of war. I've never seen anything like it.'
His thoughts ceased as his eyes closed, leaving him in the silence of his tent. Occasionally, a fit of laughter, a cough, a woeful song would drift its way through the tent from the fire pits where the men were gathered. The soft glow of warmth from the crackling fire was inviting but sleep was what Romulus desired. His bones were tired and weary. So he slept.
Only mere hours later-it could very well have been mere minutes, it was impossible to tell-he shot up from his cot, muscles tense. He turned an ear towards the outside of the tent where the alarm bell echoed throughout the camp. They were being attacked. He got up and fumbled for his weapon.
Outside the tent, the sounds of screaming men and clashing weapons were the cause if the din. A battle surely ensued. It was the enemy, in the dead of the night as always. Instantly he scrambled to put his armor on, cursing under his breath as he clumsily fit the straps. He barely had his helmet over a mess of tangled hair before he unceremoniously stumbled out of his tent. An arrow flew by so close her felt the feathers brush against his cheek, causing the Roman to jump back several feet. He caught his breath as his eyes followed the path of the arrow. The bell-ringer had been shot in the back and was dead before he hit the ground.
The ringing of the bell had stopped but made no difference in the amount of noise in the night. The men still screamed. The weapons still clashed. He snapped out of his stupor when one of the barbarians had come too close for comfort, wielding an axe. So they'd already breached the wall. It had only been a matter of time. Romulus' sword went through the man's stomach without hesitation, leaving the enemy soldier dead and on the frozen ground.
He didn't linger there for long, moving to help his men. He moved out of the way as an armored man on horseback went out the gates, probably to send help to the other forts stained nearby. Romulus gave a sigh of relief until his eyes caught sight of a thin sliver of silver following the soldier. The Roman shook his head, pleading for the rider to move out of the way in time. His pleads fell on deaf ears as the arrow struck the man in the neck where armor was scarce.
With impeccable accuracy... He turned to the area where the arrow had come from and found himself staring at a figure covered in furs, standing atop one of the platforms around the camp. He growled and cut through the belly of an enemy soldier coming too close as he made his way towards the figure.
Arrows whizzed by everywhere, every one of then signaling the end of a life. Romulus had a new goal in mind. To kill that warrior, the one with impeccable accuracy. He had been covered in enemy blood by the time he reached the platform. The figure however had already moved on, now in a heated battle with Marcus, the man who had spoken to Romulus earlier.
Marcus was quickly overpowered by the much larger figure, the inexperienced soldier's arms shaking in fear, cold or fatigue. Perhaps all three. The enemy threw him over the platform and tensed to jump down and finish him when Romulus had thrust his sword towards the man in challenge. With incredible speed the thrust was blocked by the enemy's own sword. This one was experienced then.
In the limited light, Romulus locked eyes with the slightly shorter figure, noting the long blonde hair. A woman? No the figure was too heavily built to be a woman. These people didn't let their womenfolk fight, did they? He shrugged off his thoughts concerning the enemy's gender and pushed back on the weapon, the silhouette falling back into the wall that made up the watch area. An animalistic snarl was heard from the enemy as it- yes, it. The enemy were barbarians after all-Pushed forward again. The figure's moves were clumsy and rash, making up for in power what they lacked in speed.
As their blades danced, both aiming to disarm the other, Romulus found himself dangerously close to the edge of the platform. He balanced on the edge for a moment, then leaned far enough to reach for a fistful of the man's—it was clear it was a male now—hair as he fell. The pair fell together, both landing on their sides. Whereas Romulus' armor merely dented, a sickening crunch and pained cry was heard from the other.
Probably a few ribs. This pleased the Roman. He gasped and withered on the ground for a moment while Romulus scrambled to locate his fallen sword. He glimpsed a silver bar of light on the ground near his feet and lunged towards the gleaming weapon. Behind him, a man snarled. He turned to see the barbarian kneeling in a defensive position, clutching a knife to his having chest. He hissed, low and threatening.
Romulus thought of the wild cats he'd seen in Rome and once in Pompeii as a boy. They'd been brought in from different parts of the empire. His father had taken him to the colosseum once. The man before him wasn't much different than those lions and tigers... Wounded, hissing like the feral things they were.
And still refusing to yield.
The man the himself at the Roman, who retreated a few steps back as the thin blade of the knife pressed against his throat. Instead of fear, he was amused. His own blade was prodding the blonde in the chest, lightly, just enough to cause discomfort but not break the skin. They both panted, rugged breaths visible in the frigid air. Sweat plastered the Roman's hair to his head, matted to his scalp by the helmet he wore.
The pair was tense, both waiting for the other to move.
Footsteps approached but neither dared take their eyes off each other. That is, until Romulus felt the familiar chill of another blade biting into his shoulder. His eyes glanced back and his head slowly turned. That was his mistake. He felt a hot wetness on his cheek and a stinging pain a moment after the man in front of him nimbly moved out of reach.
He knew he'd been defeated. Gritting his teeth, the brunette lowered his sword. The cut on his cheek didn't hurt half as much as his pride. The barbarian in front of him stood carefully, hand on his chest with a look of pain. So he had broken ribs. Good.
"I hope it hurts." Romulus muttered.
The blonde blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected the Roman to speak with him. His look quickly turned to one of anger. His hand gripped the knife until his knuckles turned white.
His companion, the one with the sword at Romulus' shoulder spoke to him, briefly in that ugly, guttural language that Romulus hadn't the slightest idea how to translate.
The other irritably snatched the helm off the Roman's head. He examined the plume before bringing it back and striking him with it. Pain exploded on one side of the Roman's face, his ears ringing and teeth clenched from the impact. He limply leaned forward before collapsing on his side.
He looked up as his vision swam, colors blurring together. He vaguely registered more footsteps approaching. The long haired barbarian tossed the helmet to the side carelessly. His hands gripped Romulus' hair and pulled the Roman upright for moment.
"I hope it hurts."
He let go of his hair, letting his head hit the ground and stepped around him.
Romulus strained to figure out how he'd been able to understand the man even as his vision flickered slowly in and out of black. Hits thoughts were muddled. The last thing he was able to see were his fallen men scattered still and lifeless across the camp, their slaughtered bodies staining the ground with blood. He thought of Marcus and the look of terror on the boy's face.
He was thankful for the darkness.
Chapter two will be up soon I guess? I'd kind of like to let this sit for a while to see what you guys think of it first.
I've had this lying around for about a year and a half now and I've been meaning to post it but whenever I type it out it doesn't seen right. I based part of the opening off Centurion (If you haven't seen this, it's one I'd recommend) so if you've seen it you probably have a better picture of what I'm trying (and probably failing) to describe.
Ah... I'm trying to make this as historically accurate as possible but I find it difficult because I can't really seen to find a date(s) that correspond to the plot. (if any of you have timeframe suggestions I would highly appreciate if you would PM me.) I also know that Roman upper class had more than one title, like two to three names but I'm not really going to bother with that because it just makes everything more confusing.
I chose Romulus because it seemed to be a popular RP name and most of the stories I've read here use it so I assume most of you are familiar with it. As for Andreus being Germania... I'm not quite sure why. It's just a name I plucked out of air.
I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors, I'm a horrible self editor.
Thank you for your continued support. Every follow, favorite, review and PM are very much appreciated. I cannot stress enough how happy reviews make me.
On another note: If you happen to follow/review/favorite myself or my stories, I do so feel inclined to visit your profile, poke around with your stories and read other favorites of yours to get a feel of what my reader likes and dislikes.
Christ it's 5:00 am right now. I'll get around to posting this Monday.
With that, I bid you farewell
- BlackWolfOfBlueMoon