Story: Words Unspoken
Story Summary: Nasir has lived most of his life in slavery. Now that freedom has been granted, meaning must be found in his new life. He has survived until this point, now he must live. Mostly a gap-filler, and is canon-compliant except for the addition of a little telepathic power.
Chapter: 1/10 (subject to change)
Word Count: 8,059
Chapter Summary: Spartacus has destroyed Tiberius' home and speaks of freedom and choice. The body slave makes a choice that will change the path of his life.
Disclaimer: I do not own these amazing characters.
A/N: So I got obsessed with Spartacus a few months ago and have lost count of how many times I have watched it by now. This little idea of giving Nasir some sort of ability randomly jumped into my head one day and just took off once I started writing. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I'm loving writing.
Beta: AkinaSky

Chapter 1: A Place in This World

In the moment shackle and collar had been placed upon him, Tiberius had recognized that to live as Roman slave was to survive. Having been born in the harsher climes of Assyria, survival was a thing familiar to him and even at the young age he had been when brought to this new land he held no doubt that he would adapt to this life. That first year of slavery had been discovering what he had to sacrifice for his survival and so he cast off many things to live.

His first sacrifice had been his language, the tongue understood by none around him and so he was made to learn new words quickly.

The next thing to be given was memory of his homeland, of the traditions and beliefs he had so deeply known. He had to learn of countless gods and what they meant to those who placed faith in them. He held no belief in these deities, yet he witnessed the different methods of using them against others.

The last thing he had been made to sacrifice, and he despaired over this loss, was his name. While he had never uttered his identity to any within these lands – his refusal to answer when asked was accepted with a shrug of indifference and it was his first master who had called him Tiberius, claiming that the beauty of his flowing hair deserved more attention than the rest of his inadequate stature – it was still difficult to part with even the thought of the name he had been given at birth. It had been his and now he had no use for such a thing if he truly intended to live.

In his hesitation to give up the one thing he held ownership of in his identity, Tiberius became more than the word the Romans called him. The word became the shield that the Syrian could hide his heart and soul behind while his mind became the guide in all his actions. Tiberius soon became an identity on its own, one of cold nonchalance to all around him. While he maintained fair treatment of other slaves – the one part of his nature that he could not completely conceal – he made no attempt to form bond of any manner with those who shared his fate.

There was only one who came into his life after years of slavery and few changes of master and would not accept that he truly did not desire friendship with any: Chadara. She was a favored slave to bed and she accepted this position and the protection it provided her. When the Syrian had been sold to their master, lustful fire in the Roman's eyes as he took in the smooth dark skin of the smaller youth was noticed and it was understood that only question of time remained in when he would be bedded. Chadara had possibly seen such looks and had made attempt to ensure her own position by forming friendship with him so he would take action to protect her as well when his position rose. Her first efforts had been ignored easily enough, and when she made no progress after many weeks of making attempt with no success in even gaining words from him, her reasons seemed to alter. It was only after another week of her simply speaking to him absently while they completed tasks within the villa that he finally began giving response and a truer friendship was built. Two years passed in service to Dominus, who had indeed began favoring his body when Chadara or other slaves were not his preference for the night, Tiberius had served him greatly in running the villa where others proved incompetent. When the Syrian reached the age of manhood in Roman eyes, he was elevated to position of body slave and ear was pierced with wooden stud to display status as branding was not preference to Dominus.

Taking Roman words and name had been important in his survival, yet they were not what earned him position of prominence with Dominus. Truth lay in skill he could not reveal to any, a thing that had only been known to his family long lost: the ability to know the intentions and unspoken words of those around him. It was a thing he had made attempt to banish from occurring yet had never succeeded. When he came to Rome, it had been his means to learn the language as he learned method of understanding what was desired of him and then making connection to the words broken to gain such actions. Once language was learned, he had tried again to strike words not of his mind from being heard, but success was never found until he came to Dominus. The man made intention known soon after purchasing Tiberius that he held no desire to part with him and it was then the Syrian understood his path: Dominus was now key to survival. He saw how value to Dominus meant protection – Chadara's favor was proof of such – and so gift became focused on knowing every need and desire of Dominus. Once skill was harnessed to purpose, it was brought to command and Tiberius heard no words or intentions of any but Dominus.

As months passed serving desire of Dominus alone, Tiberius was trained in duties that beyond that of a mere house slave – he was helped to understand numbers, finances, inventory, position of Roman names within society, and responsibilities of all within the villa – which his quick mind absorbed all instruction and his elevation of position was granted.

Recognizing that other slaves might hold dark feelings for one so young to be granted coveted position, the Syrian made effort to keep all from the fate of the mines and assigned tasks that were well suited to each person. Desire to assist others was recognized and respect was earned. Efforts were of great success, only seeing one to the mines since the Syrian had become body slave.

Memory of that day haunted Tiberius and he was forever determined to never fail again in protecting those he stood responsible for.

Such desires seemed fated for failure as Spartacus and his rebels laid waste to villa. Tiberius and Chadara were spared sight of the attack as she provided pleasure for Dominus and he remained nearby to be of use if called upon. When the commotion was heard and order was given to retrieve Dominus' robes, Tiberius was distracted by a thing he had never felt from the man who had kept him alive for many years now: fear. The Roman was uncertain of his life and that feeling birthed the same uncertainty in the Syrian even as he moved to follow command. Chadara moved to replace her own clothing as room was invaded by men towering over Nasir in height and muscle. Hands reached out to him and clamped around his arm to push him from the room with Chadara following behind to steady him before they were given command to go to the villa entrance to hear instruction from Spartacus. The name caused further panic in Dominus and Tiberius struggled to maintain control of his own reaction.

When they came upon the entrance, blood staining the walls around the gathered people – ones unknown stood throughout the villa and fellow slaves were gathered in a small clutch in center of courtyard – Tiberius was separated from Dominus and lost all that gave him meaning in the world he had adapted to. He did feel relief at realizing that all house slaves he had worked to protect were all yet living and he moved to stand among them. He allowed his small stature to shield him from gaze of most unfamiliar men and women surrounding him as he finally became aware of a voice speaking words of freedom and choice. Dominus' voice shouting command to all slaves aided in bringing Tiberius' mind to task and control lost from confusion was regained.

Control did not remain though as Dominus was pulled from courtyard and Tiberius could do naught but listen to the Roman's increasing panic and need for help. The constant calling for help brought pain to the Syrian's head and he touched fingers to his head in an attempt to relieve sting until many minutes passed and his mind went silent.

His hand fell back to his side as he realized his mind had never been without words of others within it and years of training had left his own mind absent unbidden thoughts. The silence was suffocating and unwelcome and brought about an unavoidable understanding: his means for survival was now dead.

He no longer knew what he had to do in order to survive.

"Your mind wanders," Chadars's whispered words called his attention and his eyes focused on the woman before him. While his fellow house slaves were still mostly gathered in the same area, they had spread out to sit and reflect on what had just happened to their home. Tiberius had not moved and was now even further separated from those he knew except for Chadara who remained at his side. She looked toward the villa and followed the retreating form of the one Tiberius guessed to be Spartacus. The man stood with such authority that all responded to, but Tiberius could see how they looked upon the man with respect instead of the fear and submission he was accustomed to seeing. "The Bringer of Rain releases us from life as slave." His friend seemed to not be speaking for sake of gaining a response, but was merely giving words to thoughts.

That he did give response caused her to startle and look to him in shock, "He releases us from all we have," he spoke quietly, his voice reflecting his unsettled mind which caused greater concern in Chadara as she had never heard such a tone from him in the many years she had known him. It also revealed to one already well versed in conversing with him his discontent in the night's events.

"Then new position must be found before opportunity passes." Chadara walked away, her intentions to find one among the gladiators to offer protection clear to Tiberius. The option did not appeal to the Syrian – hands of others upon his skin had never been favored, only tolerated by Romans for survival – and so he dismissed it as means of adapting to new situation.

Hearing crashes and calls of excitement from within villa, he assumed that the gladiators were going through their supplies to celebrate their victory this night. Also assuming that the strong fighters would claim the comfort of the villa to take rest this night, he moved to gather blankets from stores for his fellow house slaves – freed men – to use that night. He took the opportunity to observe those around him and what they did, utilizing his many years of servitude to notice mannerisms that separated the gladiators from other slaves. The sheer volume of activity surrounding him exceeded all he had ever experienced and it was only through years of training that allowed him to focus enough to take in names and positions of those within the rebellion.

He had yet to reveal his position as body slave to any within the rebellion and that allowed him opportunity to move about as another newly freed slave. He had already requested that Chadara to allow him to remain unknown, to which she agree without question. Tiberius had noted how liberated slaves turned to one called Mira, who appeared to have mind well attuned to keeping track of supplies and assigning tasks. She had already given task to Chadara that would have normally been something Tiberius would be better assigned to, but his friend had nodded her acceptance without delay and had ensured he remained absent from Mira's attention as he desired.

It seemed that he could not escape attention off all though, as he was approached while he was assisting familiar faces in finding place to sleep by a gladiator he had identified as Tychos. The man looked over the group just freed and called out to Tiberius and three of the other men in healthier shape to follow behind him as he led them toward the villa. He indicated for them to step upon wooden planks bordering the building and they were lined up, reminding Tiberius of times where slaves were put on display for purchase. He was positioned at one end and he noticed Spartacus approach with another of the gladiators that Tiberius had seen always near rebel leader, though he did not know the man's name.

Not knowing what was expected of him, he held his posture rigid and fixed his gaze straight ahead in position of one waiting instruction. The other men beside him assumed similar position, obviously as unsure of what to do as he was. He could hear discussion between the two approaching gladiators and noted how the unknown man was obviously in disagreement with Spartacus. That he was voicing such opinion so openly with rebel leader was a thing Tiberius could not understand. His face was made a blank mask as he allowed his mind to pull from surroundings to work through confusion.

Did Spartacus not stand as master of this rebellion that had struck fear into Capua and its surrounding land? It was his name that was spoken in shaking voice by Romans after destruction of Batiatus' ludus. Even in the short time since Tiberius had first gazed upon the man, he had commanded the people around him. What did it mean that those he commanded spoke against him so brazenly? Was this something to do with the freedom he spoke of? It was a simple word, yet Spartacus said it with such emotion behind it that response from deep within the Syrian was provoked.

A sudden pull at his neck caused Tiberius to come off balance, a quick shift in his weight keeping him from falling into Spartacus who now stood before him. Bringing his full attention to his surroundings, Tiberius realized that Spartacus now held his collar within his hands, having pulled the worn leather from neck. Realization evoked the thought that rebellion had taken yet another familiar thing from him, and Tiberius lifted his hand from his side to brush against the sensitive skin that was now exposed without cover of slave collar. Such sensitivity was unfamiliar to the body slave and his discontent grew ever stronger to this man who sought to lay claim to him under guise of granting freedom.

"Join your brothers and take up just cause," Spartacus' words reached the Syrian and he knew what was being commanded of him. Spartacus confirmed his thoughts with his next words, "We will see the Romans bleed for taking us as dogs, to be yanked by the leash at their command." He then called to two nearby gladiators and ordered them to place weapons in hand of the four standing before him. Tiberius noticed the displeasure of the gladiator standing behind Spartacus as gladius was held out to him to take.

As he looked down to the weapon being given to him, an unexpected notion rose within him: refuse command.

When the grip of the gladius was pressed into the skin of his stomach, his hand rose to take it on reflex and he held the unfamiliar thing in his hand. This was not a thing that should be touched by slave hands, he realized. Even his Syrian mind cried out that had he not been taken from his land, he was never born to be a warrior as his size and quick mind dictated. Yet this man, Spartacus, was placing weapon into such hands with orders to raise opposition against Rome without consideration that doing so meant death.

The Syrian was a survivor, though, and so his mind was already working to search out the path that would allow him to continue living. To accept blade and battle would bring about his death as he knew not how to fight. To refuse would also bring about his death, either for refusing command given or by Roman hands for being slave to Dominus who had been struck down. Other skills he had gained through his life would not hold value with others such as Mira already within rebellion with such talent. Finally, the talent he had never told another about had remained silent since Dominus fell and would therefore not benefit him in gaining value with other masters.

So there was no path before him that didn't end in death, Tiberius concluded. The realization did not cause him despair as he expected, but instead he was filled with a somber acceptance that not all things could be survived and he had simply found his limits. However, the survivor in him retreated enough for him to decide that if death was all that stood before him, he would not waste away under command of Spartacus. He would embrace the one thought he could call his own in many years: he would refuse to raise sword for rebellion. He would defy them and in doing so force Spartacus to distrust allowing him to live. He would strike out and see Spartacus subject him to Roman law.

This was his freedom: choosing his death.

He would embrace it just as rebel leader had asked of him.

Agron could not understand this fucking little man, regardless of attempt made to do so. When Mira had first called on him the previous night with news that a freed slave had made attempt on Spartacus' life, Agron had not expected to be faced with the dark-skinned figure he now watched. He had noticed the slave when he had been presented as one among newly freed slaves able to bear sword, the man standing closest to him and his height and stature bringing question to mind as to why he was considered able to take up sword. He was well groomed, his ebony hair flowing down over his dark-skinned shoulders, some pulled back in a twist at the back of his head and the cloth that covered him at the hips was of better quality than those standing beside him. Such difference indicated favor from the Dominus, which Agron suspected was attributed to the boy's obvious youth. He had probably seen no more than twenty years and to see one so young already so affected by Rome was cause for anger to rise.

Now as he looked upon the boy, each arm held by gladiator who towered above him, he was finding it difficult to match the slave he had seen earlier and the little man standing before him now with such fire in eyes and fight in body against those holding him. His dark eyes burned with hatred as he silently watched Spartacus, Crixus, and Agron discussing his fate in response to his assault.

A small amount of respect rose in Agron as the little man responded to being struck by Crixus by looking right into the Gaul's eyes with unrestrained hatred for spilling his blood.

It was the next morning when they were to begin training the newly freed slaves that Agron, still uncertain of Spartacus' decision toward the dark-skinned man, decided to better understand his brother's choice. He approached Spartacus as the man watched the group talking quietly as they prepared to train and stood beside him, his eyes seeking out the little man and finding him speaking to another of the newly freed slaves, a woman with long flaxen hair who appeared upset at what he was telling her.

"I question intent to train one who has already taken sword against cause," Agron spoke quietly.

Spartacus' eyes turned to him briefly before laying on the boy in discussion. "I hold doubt he believed he would succeed in taking my life. When attempt failed, he told me I should kill him for his actions." Spartacus paused as he turned back to face Agron, who waited for his brother to continue. "He does not realize he had already stepped from beneath control of Rome. Others hold sword because we gave them task, yet he denied rule of another master and made first choice."

Agron sneered at the revelation. "His choice was to die."

"Not all men hold strength enough to choose the path to their death. Even we fight so that our lives may continue toward greater end. I would see what other choices we may invoke in this one." He paused again as he turned once more toward the little man, who now stood alone, his eyes keenly observing all activity around him. "I would also know how one so young gained position he held as body slave."

That revelation brought Agron to pause. His belief that the boy had been merely favored by his master was an acknowledgement that he held beauty and his smaller size would have appealed to many, yet to be body slave meant he held intellect. His mind also turned to their search for Naevia and what she had been made to endure because of her position and he wondered if Spartacus was also searching for such pains inflicted upon this one.

Now Spartacus trained with the boy and it was proving difficult task for Agron to keep his eyes from the pair. Before training had begun and instruction was being given to all, Agron found it difficult to believe the blank expression and cold eyes he saw now belonged to the same person as the wild dog he had faced the previous night. While being addressed, the boy's posture remained rigid though shoulders dropped in manner that made him appear even smaller and his eyes remained fixed straight ahead.

It was the gaze and position of submission, Agron realized. As gladiator, he had never been instructed to lower eyes in such manner except to Dominus as his purpose was to be likened to a god of battle, yet he had witnessed similar posture from Mira and Naevia while still enslaved. This boy seemed to embrace the vacant gaze in its entirety though and in doing so kept all at a distance. Even those from the same villa kept from approaching him for more than brief exchange of words.

Yet when he was called to begin training and Spartacus took position across from him, the little man gave evidence that such distant appearance held no meaning to actual state of mind. He had obviously absorbed all instruction given and responded to attack with constant adjustment to accuracy. As training progressed and Spartacus continued to give instruction to the boy, Agron noticed increasing moments of the fire he had witnessed the previous night emerge.

There was a particular moment of frustration from the boy when strike was evaded and followed by the sting of Spartacus' blade across his back that caught Agron's attention and he looked over to witness the resentful gaze that had been directed at Crixus the previous night now being set upon Spartacus himself, though words the Thracian spoke next caused such expression to fade and Agron witnessed the intelligence of the boy take hold of his actions. Spartacus continued instruction through much of the day, the boy never calling for rest or water. Correction to form was given often – as the boy's own words claimed his complete inexperience with holding weapon – yet the same advice was never required more than once and by training's end he gripped sword with more confidence.

The boy did indeed learn quickly and it was easier to believe that one of such young age became body slave.

However, once blade was removed from hand and breathing was calmed, fire was suppressed and blank gaze once again stared upon them. Spartacus passed Agron closely, indicating him to follow so that next move for rebellion could be discussed. As they sought out Crixus, Spartacus spoke his new opinion of the boy, "He fights war of his own. Slave mind battles to remain in control while fire of heart burns to be released from shackle."

It was such observation that brought in Agron the urge to learn something of this boy by his own words and it was that urge he answered later that night with drink in hand.

He had not expected to see the boy's expression alive with anger aimed toward Spartacus and held hope that it meant that something was breaking down such strong defenses. "You press fortune, glaring so at the Slayer of Theokoles," Agron spoke to announce his approach, the habit deeply ingrained as a gladiator who did not handle any coming upon back.

The response was quick and cold, "His victory but proving even giants fall." It was a harsh observation to make, yet it spoke of a truth not many within rebellion seemed able to consider. Even Agron found the thought of Spartacus falling in battle amusing and he did not make attempt to keep the chuckle from sounding. After all, it had been many weeks since anything had truly brought him amusement and he felt no desire to keep it from showing. He reached out with one hand, presenting the cup he held to the little man, and dark eyes looked between his face and the offering quickly before reaching up and taking it. His mind indeed worked swiftly and Agron realized how careful in his approach he would have to be or opportunity would be lost.

He moved forward another step forward and dropped down to a crouch beside the other man, making attempt to minimize the height difference between them. "What name do you go by, little man," There was a flash of annoyance in the boy's eyes as he turned to face Agron, but control was regained swiftly as he seemed to search for reason behind the gladiator asking for such. "So I may properly mourn your passing." He was aware that none within the rebellion had asked for the boy's name and hoped that gesture of doing so would give the former slave reason to relax his guard.

"I am called Tiberius," the response came quickly enough, yet Agron found himself disappointed that answer given was that of a Roman name.

"Tiberius? You are far too dark to have such a fair Roman name." He played the fool, as he knew how common it was for slaves to be given names by their masters to better suit their position, but he followed opportunity to learn more of this young man.

"I am more Roman than Syrian." This new revelation was even more disappointing to Agron as his mind turned to Ashur and all that fucking Syrian had done to bring pain and death to the ludus. It made him even less certain of Spartacus' choice to train the boy to fight.

Certain that his deep hatred of Ashur was now reflected in his gaze, he turned away from Tiberius and looked to where Spartacus still stood with his eyes upon the pair. Agron noted the satisfaction in his friend's eyes and that gave him encouragement to continue the conversation. He was, however, unsure of how to proceed with what he had just learned and held no expectation that the other would give him more without question being voiced. Feeling that his reaction should be explained, he spoke, "There was a Syrian at our ludus. A treacherous fuck if ever there breathed." At the edge of his sight, he saw anger once again cross the expression of this Syrian as his jaw tightened briefly before control was once again recovered. "You had family there?" He watched as eyes became distant, yet in a different manner than he had witnessed to this point in the young man and a new emotion to dark eyes appeared: sadness.

"I only recall a brother."

Agron nodded as his thoughts turned to Duro and the loss he had yet learned to bear. Trying to keep his grief from taking control, he pushed forward with remembering that his intention was to make some manner of connection with the little man and now it was presented as he had not anticipated. Yet he admitted that he had never experienced a thing as strong as loss of blood kin and he yearned to hear of another having to endure such a thing. "I too had a brother."

Dark eyes turned to him once again at the revelation. "No longer?" the question was voiced softly with solemn inflection. The emotion displayed caused small amount of hope for this conversation bearing results despite the pain he was now trying to push through.

Agron shook his head, the act as much to answer as to shake memory from taking hold. "He was struck down by the Romans."

Tiberius' eyes darted downward quickly, and it seemed as if the reminder of the Romans also reminded the former slave of his own position and all emotion was quickly wiped from sight and when dark eyes met Agron's again, there was no hint that there had been anything but a slave. "When you turned sword against them?"

Agron's temper – always easy to rise and even more so since the death of his brother – came to the surface as he turned to look upon the fucking Syrian. Something held him back from striking out as he desired to for the insult of Duro's sacrifice and he managed to consider his response, hoping to salvage some of the progress he had thought to have made. He was even able to smile, though it was without humor and pained him to do so. "As you shall one day, if you hold any fucking sense."

His control would only last for so long though, so he stood without waiting to see the response to his final words and walked away.

Deceiving the guards was of no concern to Tiberius. He had realized that morning when blade had once again been placed in hand and instruction of its use had begun that his desires still did not matter to any. Command was given and he would follow, as he had done for most of his life. He settled into familiar pattern as the day continued and when Spartacus called him and gave order to not give guards reason to suspect presence of rebels he nodded his understanding and prepared reason for Dominus' absence. Tiberius was keenly aware of Crixus' disapproval of him being given such task, the man's distrust of him still strong. The German – whose name Tiberius had learned to be Agron – did not reveal his thoughts on the matter, simply nodding and moving to take defensible position in stores. As for Spartacus himself, Tiberius could not determine if task was appointed to him to test his loyalty or for more practical reason.

Regardless of reason, he was to make attempt to keep rebels from engaging guards if not necessary and he had every intent to see task to successful completion. It was not to be so, as missing collar was noticed just as guard turned to depart. Realizing his error immediately, Tiberius' mind searched for explanation to cover his mistake but was unable to come to any solution except to speak words that would bring rebels out of hiding to strike down the threat. Knowing there was no way for rebels to realize his actions had not been in betrayal, he expected first blood drawn to be his own. He was unprepared for hand to latch onto his shoulder and pull him away from the guard and toward villa so he had no chance to catch his balance and fell backward as battle erupted around him.

Tiberius recovered position enough to support weight on the balls of his feet and hands, crouched low in attempt to remain from notice while allowing him to move quickly should the need arise. His eyes swept over the fight taking place – one he had caused – before coming to rest on the ground before him.

A gladius from fallen guard lay within reach.

Spartacus' words from previous night came to mind: he was presented choice of submitting to Rome or bearing arms against them. His first response to such choice had been a reflection of his belief that one such as him held no more value in this new world. He had cowered in the face of choice in attempt to cling to the familiar, dictated by Dominus. A man now gone to the afterlife and his voice forever silent in Tiberius' mind…

A silence that had yet to be filled by another, leaving only the thoughts that had been suppressed through the years: those of a Syrian who had done all to preserve self behind mask of Roman name. Mask that was no longer needed if Spartacus and those who followed him were to be believed.

Eyes rose from the beckon of the blade to take in the fight once again, coming to rest on the aggressive form of Agron. The gladiator had been the only one – with exception of Chadara long ago – who would not accept his silence. He had been the only one to ask his name. He had made attempt to learn more of the body slave than any others that had come to the villa…ever.

Punch landing upon Agron's face and bringing blood from his mouth brought Tiberius' attention to full focus as he realized that such strike was enough to knock Agron off balance and guard gained opportunity to end his life. Looking beyond the German, Tiberius realized that another target was revealed: Spartacus' back was turned as he disposed of his own opponent. The guard – Tiberius recognized him as the one he had spoken to – moved to strike fatal blow.

Was Tiberius worth keeping alive? Did his life truly matter now that Dominus was dead? Did he deserve to draw breath while one who had spared him fell?

Hands moved to purpose, decision made from beyond Tiberius' control. Legs pushed him to action and gripping sword as Spartacus had instructed, he thrust blade through back of Roman guard before strike against rebel leader could land. Body fell to death, revealing Spartacus' shocked expression as he looked between the fallen guard and the former body slave. The Syrian's face remained blank as he considered what to do next.

One side of Spartacus' mouth turned upward and an expression of pride – a look unfamiliar to the Syrian – came over his gaze. Before response could form, hand closed tightly around the Syrian's throat and the sensitivity of the skin caused panic to rise. His back was forced against pillar of the villa and dark eyes looked to face Crixus' rage.

The Syrian struggled to regain control of his panic as Crixus argued with Spartacus over the purpose of his actions and yet another choice was presented: allow Crixus to take his life as he had desired the night before or reveal truth that would shore commitment to freedom.

Choice was made as quickly as it had been presented: "His eyes fell to my neck. He saw the absence of my collar. If I had not invited him in, he would have returned with more men." Had that happened, the rebellion would have fallen and the Syrian did not desire for that to happen, even if it was only now clear that his feeling were so.

Crixus' grip on his neck loosened at his words then released him, relief flooding the Syrian as the threat – as well as the undesired touch – passed. He had never found satisfaction at touch upon him and would never again allow such a thing. His eyes burned with his displeasure as he locked gaze with the Gaul, who had stepped away yet seemed baffled at such expression from one so recently absent emotion.

Spartacus approached and reached out to gain his attention, but dark eyes turned to him before contact was made and the Syrian moved his arm away to further ensure touch did not land. "You did well, Tiberius," he complimented many different actions in those few words, but the Syrian only heard Roman name.

Tiberius had been born of the Syrian's desire to survive and had taken form beneath the rule of his masters. He had lived to serve desires of men who held no concern for his fate past how it gave them benefit. They held no thought to the man behind name inflicted upon him. Name had become the Syrian's identity, yet true purpose was that of a shield of one no longer in need of protection.

It was the one protected who had chosen death the previous night, who could now come forward and reclaim life, allowing Tiberius to pass from this world with the Roman master he had dedicated all to.

"Nasir," the name held no familiarity, having not been spoken or deeply considered for countless years, yet the Syrian could not avoid speaking it in the accent of language he had turned from. Spartacus looked back to him in confusion, but the Syrian focused past the man to lock gaze with Agron – the one who had reached out to him and reminded him that Tiberius had not been the only one to protect him. There had been one who had given life upon distant lands to keep the Syrian alive many years ago. "My brother called me Nasir." Agron remained silent yet nodded in acceptance of what the Syrian was offering: a gesture of friendship.

He could not yet claim the name to be his – Nasir had only just been given life again and the Syrian did not know what form of a man would take shape – but he could not deny anticipation beating along with his heart for the first time since collar had taken hold upon his life.

The villa had fallen to silence once Roman bodies had been stripped and disposed of. The day had been long and eventful for many – especially the newly freed slaves who were unaccustomed to such activity – and rest had been the only desire upon mind. Even a great number of the gladiators took to bed to prepare for the next day, where they were to depart for the next villa in search of missing woman, Naevia.

The Syrian former body slave was tired as well, yet mind could not find peace enough to take to sleep. Once many had settled within the villa, he had moved to the entry where he had conversed with the guard he had struck down and found his thoughts churning in question of what he was to do now. While he had taken life of the guard quickly and easily enough, he was not certain he was capable of such a thing again or in different circumstances. Was he truly best used as warrior when his mind had been so strongly honed to use in other matters? His mind had also remained quiet of unspoken words and while he held confidence in the strength of his awareness and observation, he had come to rely on what he alone heard and would struggle for some time to adapt to action without such aid.

The silence within mind was unsettling alone, as it was a thing that had been with him since birth. Such gift had been of great assistance to him in proving worth to Dominus, yet now that his position was unknown he was abandoned by the one thing he had always claimed as his own.

Thoughts brought a sigh of frustration as he made attempt to calm racing mind: Nasir was proving to be a confused man with a lack of control which paled in comparison to one who had earned position of body slave at the age of fifteen. Perhaps Tiberius had been discarded too swiftly and should remain as shield until Nasir had opportunity to take shape in such dangerous life.

"Do you take guard of us so soon, little man?" a familiar voice called out to him from within the villa. Steps approached him and his body tensed slightly as the warmth of Agron's body settled in beside him. It was from habit that he straightened his back slightly and his hands clasped together in front of him now that another's eyes were upon him.

"Sleep would not come," he answered simply. "What of you?"

Agron leaned back slightly, bracing his weight on his hands resting behind him. The Syrian noticed that he had cleansed all blood from fight from his body, leaving his tanned skin clean. Nasir took opportunity to take in the details of the German and he found himself in admiration of the man's appearance. His body was solidly built, shoulders broad and strong and towering over Nasir even while seated. His hair was roughly cut short and piercing green eyes scanned their surroundings regularly to ensure safety. It was in his eyes that Nasir saw the pain he had spoken of with his brother's death and it became obvious that the man struggled with living while kin had fallen.

Beyond the pain was a myriad of emotion, the man was apparently an expressive individual not accustomed to restraining his actions. The contrast to Nasir's withdrawn nature was interesting to the Syrian and he wondered what they could possibly build this new friendship upon with such difference between them.

"Painful memories come to me in sleep. Once upon me, it is difficult to remove from fucking mind."

Hearing the pain and frustration in Agron's voice brought regret to Nasir's mind as he recalled how he had responded to learning of the gladiator's loss. "Apologies for words spoken against memory of brother," the words were spoken before he could consider why it was of such sudden importance to make amends with Agron. The German seemed to have not expected such a response either as he simply stared back at the smaller man for a few moments. When response was made, it was the spread of a grin across his face, the expression bringing such life to the man's demeanor.

"Posture and folded hands implied regret of actions against the fucking Romans, yet you speak of guilt for harsh words broken to a stranger. You are certainly not the man one expects, Nasir." It was as strange to hear another speak the name as it had been for him to speak it, yet the Syrian was satisfied all the same. To hear name given to him by loving family instead of commanding master helped his struggling mind to calm and such satisfaction brought confidence in his decision to lay Tiberius to rest to be the correct choice.

"Pain from words may yet remain while Roman lays dead. Apology to him would be wasted effort," Nasir replied, his lips lifting slightly in response to Agron's amusement, which had erupted into a laugh at Nasir's words. The man's open emotions were difficult to ignore, though he was certain he did not desire to keep from embracing humor as he never had before. He became aware of Agron's attention on him increase but the man did not give response and Nasir felt that further explanation may be needed. "I understand now what your brother gave his life for and would not have memory shattered by words absent concern."

Agron continued his observation of the Syrian, though it was unclear what he was looking for. Uncertainty brought out yet another habit and Nasir's expression fell into a blank stare. "How do you manage such a thing?" the gladiator questioned mere seconds later, his tone somewhat bewildered.

"What do you speak of?" the Syrian's tone was as blank as his expression, betraying nothing of his emotions until he held better understanding of what Agron found so curious.

"Eyes as dull as the ground we stand upon and voice so empty of emotion words may have been spoken by the dead." The manner of the description disturbed Nasir. "I have never before encountered another who keeps such guard raised while among allies."

Dark eyes turned to Agron and gazes locked briefly, only for Nasir to quickly turn again toward the villa entrance. "Tiberius called none his ally," Nasir revealed quietly. He could feel Agron's confusion at his words but the gladiator again remained silent, possibly in attempt to give the Syrian opportunity to reveal more without being questioned. "Life lived under Roman name was one of survival. Such a thing is easier accomplished if attention is not distracted by unnecessary attachment."

"You consider bonds with others to be unnecessary?" Agron requested clarity.

"Tiberius believed it to be so. I stand uncertain."

"Your words hold less sense with each passing moment."

Nasir considered dismissing the conversation at Agron's lack of understanding, yet he still felt the urge to hold bond with this man and so continued explanation of how he had survived to this day. "You carry shield made of steel and wield it with greatest accuracy to stave off harm. Shield I carry is one of my own creation, given form in Tiberius. Protection provided was defense of Syrian mind and heart by taking all harm inflicted upon flesh." Nasir glanced back to Agron once again as the man shifted his position to straighten posture. His expression was drawn and jaw was clenched in obvious struggle to suppress angry reaction, though Nasir did not understand what had caused such a response.

"You made choice to discard such protection for freedom. What shall guard you now?" It was now Nasir who responded in anger. Tiberius only survived and existed as he had because of foundation of skills possessed and learned by Nasir. The Syrian was not one without fucking strength and would not be treated so. "I would not see you fall before new shield is found." Anger faded as Nasir was again uncertain of what Agron meant. The man was proving difficult to hold conversation with. "I would see fire in eyes burn all who oppose you. Yet path to such strength is long and I would lend aid."

Nasir hesitated before giving in to his curiosity toward Agron's desire. "I heard words broken to Spartacus. You hold belief that house slaves would not be of value with sword in hand."

Agron raised his hand and touched the side of Nasir's neck where skin was yet discolored and sensitive from years of collar pressing into flesh. Feeling the initial displeasure at being touched, Nasir started to pull away but managed to halt the action. Such contact seemed to come naturally to Agron – and many of the gladiators – and the malice in such action when taken by Roman was absent.

"Perhaps you may prove me wrong, little man." The hand withdrew and lowered to rest in Agron's lap as the two fell to silence for many moments.

The silence gave Nasir opportunity to consider what had just been offered to him. Agron wanted to see the Syrian continue to train with weapon. He desired for him to fight back against Rome by harnessing what strength in him had emerged when he had made attempt on Spartacus. And he was willing to act in Nasir's defense if needed. Agron chose to offer these things to him and Nasir would not deny the man such action as long as more than the Syrian was willing to give was not desired.

Relaxing his rigid posture, Nasir's hands touched the ground behind him and he leaned his weight back – similar to how Agron had been positioned earlier – allowing his spine to curve in relaxation. His gaze rose to look upon the sky and he breathed deeply. "To speak name given to me at birth stands as the first time since coming to this land and you are the first to call me such. I admit it does not yet seem to be my own." Agron was watching him closely now, his green eyes soft with many emotions. "I would hear it again until time comes when I may claim the name as my own and know of whom I have given introduction."

A wide smile spread across Agron's face at the Syrian's words. "And I shall be there to give such a man proper fucking greeting."

Nasir's face relaxed into a small smile.

And there is chapter 1 to cover the events of Vengeance Episode 2, one of my favorite episodes of the show as it introduced a very dynamic character in Nasir who is always interesting to watch and try to decipher.

Please review and know that I accept all constructive criticism and questions. One cool thing about canon-compliant is there is some relief of spoilers, but I will still answer any questions spoiler - but not teaser - free.

Thank you for reading and see you next chapter!

Kira Dattei