Trigger warnings: mild violence towards a minor, implied non-con
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She stared down at the map in silence, eyes traveling over their positions, and Rome's.
Vercingetorix stood off to the side, his face a mask of stoicism. "It's the only thing to be done," he said grimly.
Gaul said nothing for a long time, before giving the smallest of nods.
-o-
Maponos and his escort rode in silence through the red and orange forest, the leaves a bright burning colour in the sunset. The chill September snuck into his clothes and he nestled back further against Lugurix, tugging his cloak around him. They would stop and make camp soon, and then he could curl up properly. There had been a lively debate when they first set out, whether it was better to travel during the day and camp at night, or camp during the day and travel at night. Night travel would make them harder to detect, provided they were careful during the day, but would cut their speed considerably, since neither they nor the horses could see very well at night. A single misstep could cost them a horse, possibly its rider, and force them to abandon the supplies the horse carried. In the end they chose to go by day, rest at night, as was customary. Doing so increased the chances that they would run into a Roman scouting party, but allowed them to travel at full speed, something their orders had insisted.
Secretly, Maponos hoped they would encounter a scouting party. Then he could fight the Romans, and when Lugurix saw how strong and brave he was, he could convince the commander to bring him back to Mama to help fight. She'd be so proud of him, her little warrior, already beating Romans. He smiled to himself at the thought, resting a hand on the tiny dagger at his waist, before twisting in the saddle to look at the rider.
"Lugurix, are you absolutely sure we can't go back and fight?"
The warrior exhaled heavily, eyes flicking down to the small boy. "Yes, absolutely," he replied wearily.
"It's important that all strong warriors fight the Romans," Maponos added in his most chief-like voice. "We should be there."
"Sometimes there are more important things than fighting." Lugurix looked down at him. "Like getting you to safety. Your mother insists upon it."
Maponos scowled. "This is because Mama thinks I am too young to fight, but really, I'm probably older even than you, Lugurix! And if we defeated the Romans, then we wouldn't have to worry about keeping me safe, because there'd be no one trying to attack us."
Lugurix hummed absently, in that way grown-ups always did when they thought a kid was saying ridiculous things but didn't want to tell them so in the hopes that the kid would be quiet. Maponos hugged his cloak tighter around him and sunk down into the saddle, frowning. Quiet fell over the small party for a few minutes.
"Are you really absolutely sure we can't?" Maponos whined loudly, tilting his head back to look at the warrior.
"Maponos, your mother charged us with getting you to your aunt safely," he said in exasperation. "We are not going back to f—" and his eyes went wide in glassy surprise as the arrow punched neatly through his armour.
Suddenly everything was shouting, the other warriors scrambling for their weapons as more arrows rained down from the cover of the trees. Maponos stared in horror as Lugurix slid off the saddle, crumpling to the ground, another of his escorts managing to fire off a shot into the trees before he was killed as well. One of the two remaining warriors wheeled around on his horse, galloping up to Maponos and dragging him sideways across the saddle, thundering away from the engagement. The boy struggled to breath, the pounding of the hooves jarring him as he tried to sit up. The warrior, Lugurix's brother Liborus, was yelling something, ducking under branches as they crashed through the undergrowth, thorns and briars tearing at their cloaks and the poor horse, but Maponos could hardly hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears. Then the horse screamed and reared back, throwing both riders to the ground.
Maponos scrambled to his feet, winded, spitting dirt and blood, Liborus shouting for him to run, drawing his sword as two Romans emerged from the woods. The boy stumbled backwards, tripped and nearly fell before bolting into the underbrush. He angled himself north, the blood-red sun on his left, but then there was a Roman ahead and he abandoned all attempts at direction, running blindly away from the sounds of battle and dying men. Someone was chasing him, he could hear them blundering through the autumn leaves, but frantic glance over his shoulder showed him nothing—and then he stepped into a sunken bit of ground, pain lancing through his ankle as he toppled to the ground with a shriek. He tried to get up, sheer desperation alone giving him two steps before the pain drove him back to the forest floor. He spied the hollow of a tree and crawled over, tucking himself inside, back to the tree, knees against his chest, fumbling his dagger from its sheath to clutch it against his breast with shaking hands as he choked back agonized, terrified whimpers, tears streaming down his cheeks, heart racing.
The forest was settling back to silence, the sounds of battle passed, but Maponos could hear every tiny sound: a bird in the branches overhead, a leaf drifting to the autumnal carpet, his own trembling breath, his pounding heart. Quickly, he checked his ankle, tried to move his foot—instant agony, and he bit back a scream. He covered his light blue tunic with his darker green cloak, and hoped it would let him blend in better. Oh Luge, let no one find him-
There! Leaves under foot. Maponos went perfectly still, hardly breathing, straining to hear, eyes wide as he waited. Again, footsteps, two- no, three others. A bead of sweat rolled down his spine despite the approaching night, and slowly, slowly he leaned forward just a touch, to glimpse around the edge of the tree's hollow.
Three Roman legionaries.
He sat back quickly, a hand covering his mouth, dagger still at his chest. He could hear them talking, their language totally unintelligible, but he listened, eyes fixed on the forest floor as he prayed for them to move on—
His breath escaped him in a quiet, barely audible exhale.
He left a trail. When he crawled to the tree, he turned up a path through the fallen leaves. It was obvious to anyone with eyes, anyone who might have reason to search the area.
Maponos swallowed thickly. What were his options? If he stayed where he was, he would almost certainly be found. But what would running do, not that he could even put weight on his injured ankle? He gripped his dagger tighter. He'd have to wait—when they came close enough he would attack. He took a shaky breath, let it out silently.
An exclamation, footsteps, coming closer. Maponos bit back a whimper, watching, every nerve in his body coiled taunt. They came into view, one of them pointing at the trail, and as one their eyes followed it to the tree's hollow. The one in front, an ugly man with a crooked nose, met Maponos's eyes; he grinned, not kindly, and Maponos hunched further back into the hollow.
The Romans spoke again, tone shifting to mockery, arrogance and pride and something else, a low, smooth undertone that set his teeth on edge, made his skin crawl. They drew closer, and still Maponos waited. Closer, and one crouched down in front of the hollow, and reached out—
Maponos lunged, aiming for the heart. But his blade struck steel armour and skittered off the side to bite deep into the man's arm. He howled and Maponos wrenched the dagger loose, pulling back for another strike, fixed on the unprotected throat but the man pitched to the side, throwing the boy. He managed to hold onto the dagger, pushing himself up on his hands and knees, but a boot collided solidly with his ribs and he crumpled, wheezing, curling in on himself as someone kicked the dagger away. The injured soldier was shouting, furious, and strong hands seized his arms, hauled him to his feet where he winced, favouring his good ankle, trying and failing to wrench himself free.
A sharp slap across the face and he stilled, glaring up at the legionary, a smug sense of pride at the blood dribbling down the man's arm. When the man bent down, reaching for the edge of Maponos's cloak, he kicked at him fiercely, but the soldier's reflexes saved him from any damage as he landed a short, sharp punch to the boy's stomach. The air rushed out of him, left him gasping and coughing for breath, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, and while he was briefly incapacitated, the injured legionary cut off a chunk of his cloak and wrapped the wound with it.
Still wheezing painfully, Maponos watched them warily as they spoke, occasionally glancing and gesturing in his direction, clearly trying to figure out what to do with him. Everything bad Maponos had ever heard about the Romans came back to him—maybe they'd sell him as a slave, or watch him be torn apart by fearsome beasts in the gladiatorial ring. Or maybe, his slowly panicking mind suggested, maybe they'll torture slowly him until he told them everything he knew about his mother, her warriors, the locations and provisioning of fortified towns, and when he had betrayed everything he knew, kill him. And their discussion was tapering off…
He lunged again, but the grip on his arms tightened instantly, painfully. "Let me go!" he shouted furiously, and the legionaries laughed. The one with the crooked nose came closer again, a cruel, lopsided smirk on his face as he caught Maponos by the chin and forced their eyes to meet. He said something, low and smooth and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, made him pull away as much as he could. And then the soldier released him, his hands going to the belt at his waist and Maponos was momentarily baffled, before his head snapped everything together with a sudden, terrifying clarity.
"No! Let me go! Let me go!" He twisted in their grip, gritting his teeth as their nails dug in to hold him steady, and no amount of writhing got him free as they dragged him down backwards onto the leaf littered ground, pinning him in the dirt and he screamed in desperate panic for Lugurix, for Liborus, his warriors, anyone, please! But his cries vanished into the woods like he wished he could, and no rescue came.
-o-
Two splendid white horses rode solemnly through the Roman camp, their riders sitting tall and proud, their regalia glinting in the blood red sunset. The legionaries parted before them and reformed as they passed like an enormous flock of sheep, and the two rode straight to the center of the camp, where the Roman commander, Gaius Iulius, sat in a backed chair on a small wooden platform. Behind him stood a handsome young man in a general's garb, doing his utmost to appear unaffected by the events.
The riders halted before them and dismounted, stepping up to the wooden platform. Without a word, Vercingetorix threw down his sword, removed his armour, and sat on the ground, expression impassive.
The remaining rider didn't move. She looked to the commander briefly, before her gaze flicked back to the young general. Their eyes met, Gaul's pale blue and Rome's deep brown.
Do not think I do this for your glory, for that would be the height of folly. The fates may yet change and provide for your downfall, the gods bless me that I should see it.
Gather your pride one last time, knowing that I've defeated you. Lay down your arms and surrender yourself to me—submit to my will, and the will of your new leader.
Gaul broke the contact as she dismounted, stepping up to throw her sword down, defiant eyes once again on the other nation as she stripped of her armour, dignity in her movements as she dropped it to the ground and sat beside Vercingetorix.
Rome couldn't help it—the excited grin that had been threatening to show ever since he had received the messengers offering surrender, finally broke free. He stepped forward and turned to his brilliant commander Iulius, sole architect of his glory.
"My most excellent commander and general, Gaius Iulius, may I present to you the surrendered leader of the Gaulish tribes and their fitful rebellion, Vercingetorix, and the embodiment of the Gaulish people, my counterpart among those tribes, Gallia. From this day forth, the lands of Gaullia and its people are yours to govern in accordance to the laws of the Roman Republic. Give glory and honour to the gods, for today the conquest of Gaullia is complete."
Gaul said nothing, head held high, as the commander gave the order for them to be bound in iron. Rome caught her eye as she was led away, and grinned.
Gaul looked away disdainfully. Rome could celebrate his victory all he liked, the true victory was hers. Far and away the future of her people was safe from Rome's power-hungry hands.
"And that is all that matters," she whispered, as the iron shackles closed around her wrists.
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This fic will be updated on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule, so check back Friday for the next chapter, or add this fic to your Alerts. Feel free to ask a question, make a comment, or offer a thoughtful critique in the reviews.
