Author's Notes: Germania - Ansehelm, Rome - Aeneas, MamaGreece - Hypatia
Pairing this chapter: None
Ch. 1: Ansehelm
Consciousness ignited like a fire in his brain. It was a painful fire, and it seared through his entire being without mercy. It drew a cry from his throat, and even that act alone was agonizing.
Blue eyes opened and they gazed through a red haze at the grey sky. He could feel the rain splash against his skin. The cool droplets were a welcome alternative to the burning pain coursing through his body. The taste of iron lingered on his tongue, and filled his mouth.
It took a great deal of effort to roll to his side, as his body was still weak. He spat twice. Blood mixed with the mud and water that pooled next to him. He watched it swirl and ripple as he struggled to steady his breathing.
A glance downward betrayed the source of his hurt. It was an arrow, well crafted at that. And it had served its purpose well. If its fletcher knew that this creation was lodged in a man's chest, he or she might have experienced a moment of pride. However, it would have been one short lived, as it had not killed its target.
And for that, he thanked the god and goddess. Carefully, he took the protruding shaft in his hands, and with another exclamation, mixed with pain and effort, he snapped it.
His own voice joined what might have been a chorus. There were screams of pain, moans of the dying, and yells in a foreign yet unmistakable tongue. And then there was a name. It rang above all other sounds, over and over again. It was his name. "Ansehelm! Ansehelm!"
That voice. He knew that voice! A renewed surge of adrenaline surged through him. It dulled the pain, and gave him a newfound source of energy. His eyes darted back and forth, searching. He found feet moving past him. Some were sandaled, some booted, others bare, others furred. All of them were caked with mud and blood. They weaved in and out of the labyrinth of crumpled bodies. Though none of them belonged to whom he sought.
Again, his name floated over all else, "Ansehelm!" It was half shrieked.
Perhaps it was that very urgency that drew Ansehelm to his feet, and with surprising speed. Blonde hair fell in waterlogged clumps against his face as he whipped his head about searching desperately for the source of his name. His mind was frantic with the thought where is she… where is she…? She was alive, that was for certain. How else could she call his name?
Chaos, utter chaos; that was the only way to describe his village now. The dead and dying littered the ground, people, horses, dogs, and livestock. It seemed that nothing was spared in the bloodshed, men and women, his tribesmen, and Romans alike. So many Romans… Those Romans still standing were herding those surviving of his people toward the center of the decimated village like sheep. They were frightened and angry sheep, and the Romans were cruel, cruel shepherds.
Ansehelm spotted her in the flock. She was reaching for him when she was not slamming fist and foot against Roman face and chest. And she was calling for him when she was not snapping her teeth at exposed Roman flesh. Every step she made forward, she was forced two steps back. Her eyes locked on his, and in that instant, her struggling became more frenetic. She downed one. Another grappled her to the ground. She shrieked, the sound akin to the banshees in the night.
Ansehelm didn't remember moving. His rage clouded any recollection. However, his feet managed to carry him with a newborn strength, all pain forgotten. His hands were closing around a Roman throat, with his cracked fingernails digging into the skin like claws. He could feel the man's throat tighten as an outcry of shock caught there, beneath Ansehelm's hands. But he felt himself being pulled away. He raked his fingers against the man's neck as they lost their grasp. The ground was spiraling toward him once more, but he did not meet it. Somehow, by will of the goddess, he kept his footing, and swung to collide his hand with a Roman jaw. Again he swung, and again. Each blow connected with something, flesh and armor. He wouldn't let them take his lover. And he would not be herded.
That neglected pain ripped through his body again. It crippled him, and his legs gave out. Ansehelm fell forward, and slumped against the soldier who twisted the stubbed arrow still jutting from his rib cage. The Roman murmured something. He couldn't understand it, but the smug grin on the man's face made Ansehelm want to tear it from his skull. Ad he would have, if he could muster the strength again.
The soldier released the arrow. Ansehelm fell to his knees, his hand moving instinctively to his injury. Blood seeped from the agitated wound, coating his already dirty fingers.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched the soldier raise something, club or sword, he wasn't sure. But someone stopped him. The word uttered was harsh, and commanding. The soldier obeyed, whatever was said, and let his weapon return to his side.
A third Roman stepped forward. His armor was more ornate, signifying a higher rank within the Lines. His cape draped over one shoulder, tattered and soaked with rain, mud, blood, and probably other things. He fixed his gaze on Ansehelm as he sat there hunched and panting. And this man spoke. He spoke in Ansehelm's language. His accent was thick, but he was understood. "He wants to live badly enough he'll fight for it. We reward that, not punish it." The Roman allowed a glance at his subordinate, a sort of smile on his full lips. He then said something else, something that Ansehelm couldn't understand, and walked away. That soiled red cape fluttered in his wake.
The soldier dragged Ansehelm upward, and resumed his herding.
Ansehelm could not protest further, despite how much he yearned to. He knew it would be in vain. His wrists were bound tightly. He was shoved in makeshift cages with his people, and surviving animals. Hardened blue eyes found that commander again, crimson cloak and all. And they burned the image of the man's face in his mind, so he would not forget the man who took everything from him. Everything but his life.