Crystal's Notes: HOLY CARP I'M ALIVE.
Indeed. xD
…is there really much more to say? ;.; I don't want to bore you guys with the usual apologies—do understand, however, my apologies are sincere. Life…well, okay, life hasn't been nice. We'll put it that way.
But you guys know how that is. : ) So shall we get to the important stuff?
Oh, and due to a slight change of plans…there WILL be one more chapter. xD Because…I can do that. Rawr.
Things were not turning out as little Britannia was expecting them to.
For starters, it was a miracle that he and Gaul were even able to work together at all to come up with a plan of escape, even if it was, ironically, 6 years later that they finally were able to sit down and do so in as-companionably-a-manner-as-possible. What was even more amazing was that so far, unlike their previous plans, it was turning out pretty well. No one had seen them, no one had heard them so far. They were invisible, tiny figures slinking in the shadows, sliding against the walls and feet just barely brushing against the floor.
No, the much-perfected midnight escape was working pretty well. That much was fine, wonderful, for finally a plan was working! It was just that once they got to the room which had the window of planned exit, there were already two someone else's there. And normally, they would just wait until the two had left and then sneak in and by on their way. No problem.
Except when person 1 suddenly drew his sword and then killed person 2—who just so happened to be Carasius, self-proclaimed emperor of Gaul and Britannia, well…
…talk about a change of plans.
Surprised and suddenly filled with strange affection for this stranger (those 6 years spent in imprisonment did not help his liking of Carasius at all), Britannia wanted to jump out of the shadows and hug the man—if only Gaul didn't suddenly pull him back with his bigger and stronger arms, clamping a dirtied hand firmly over his mouth. But as much as he wriggled and tried to get out, Gaul's grip didn't relent.
And for good reason, as Britannia soon saw.
The murderer, after a pause, turned from the dead body and wiped his sword clean on a spare rag, a triumphant smirk on his face. He moved languidly, now, with all the luxury of someone who had finally won what they wanted.
"And so begins the reign of Allectus…the new emperor of Britannia and Gaul."
And apparently, this person had very much gotten what he wanted.
Drat.
So there went the affection for the stranger.
After the man—Allectus—passed by them and down the hall, out of sight, Britannia and Gaul finally decided to move. Escape first—talk later was the unanimous decision. Not that that was hard to decide. It wouldn't be long before Allectus would want to see his new charges, and when he was going to find that no one was there in their cell as they should be and that the guard was conspicuously missing…
…well, no emperor would be too happy at that revelation.
So they fled, pushing their legs as fast as they could. In a moment they had reached the forest, and without falter they then plunged into the leaves, protected by fauna.
Britannia led the way, agile and nimble, knowing this forest—his home—like the back of his hand. Every tree he passed he touched gently, fleetingly with his hand, feeling the familiar rough bark against his palm, yet also feeling so very sentimental. It was like greeting an old friend, reuniting with family—with the very surroundings he was part of.
It wasn't until after they had been running for a good ten minutes that they slowed down to a quick walk, jumping over roots and pushing aside stray branches as they continued to pave their way through the underbrush and foliage.
It was also then that Gaul decided to speak.
"Can you believe what we have just witnessed?"
Looking over his shoulder at the older nation, Britannia shrugged briefly before turning his attention back to the trail he was leading. "Actually, I can. It is not like humans have not murdered one another before—"
"—but that does not make it right," Gaul's voice was resolute like a plank of wood dug deep in mud. Britannia could feel his hard blue eyes on his back as he added, "That Allectus murdered for power. It was not noble or brave—that was selfish. It was an act full of greed." A small pause, accentuated by a tired sigh. "Sometimes, humans can be so…awful."
Stopping suddenly, Britannia spun on his foot to face the other blonde, his green eyes a blaze with fire. "Stop it, Gaul."
The elder one raised an eyebrow, shock in his eyes at their sudden halt and suspicion lining his lean frame in the moonlight. "Stop what?"
"Talking like that. Using that tone. I do not like it."
"What tone?"
There was a fragile silence before Britannia took the dive and broke it. "You sound as if you are insinuating that they are different from us at heart. That they are the evil, and we are the good—that we are above such acts of cruelty."
"We are, are we not?" Now Gaul was the one who looked challenging, confused, muscles beginning to tighten with the anticipation of a quarrel. "We live for centuries of years—"
"—and yet we still make the same mistakes they do." Green eyes hardened with defiance. "We live centuries of years, and it only takes one human's willpower to change everything about a nation—what they live for, what they do, how they think. We commit murder in the same fashion those humans do—and you can't deny that—because we are them. We are not the better men, Gaul. We are the same—think about what the Roman Empire has done!"
"Does that mean you regret him?"
Britannia froze, momentarily caught off-guard. Glancing briefly away, he finally then turned back to his grudging companion, answering, "No." A small pause. "Do you?"
Gaul shook his head. "No."
Once again, silence remained. Gaul watched his comrade for a long moment, blue eyes examining the smaller one's body language and posture, waiting until he felt it was right to ask it. "I can vaguely understand what you mean, but that does not justify what Allectus has done."
"No," Britannia agreed. "But it should humble you to see the similarities between you and him, and why that is."
It did. But Gaul would never say such a thing. Instead, he humphed, tossed his matted golden hair over his shoulder and continued to walk on, pushing past the island nation and entering into the thick foliage all around them. He had no idea where he was going, but Britannia didn't seem to object, so he walked on, assuming he headed in the right direction.
It would be a long, tense night.
Roman Empire knew that word did not travel immediately. It would take time for messages to reach him, especially where he was at home in Rome, and normally, he was perfectly fine with that. Urgencies were able to be taken care of without a sweat; he never felt as if he were on the verge of being too late to stop any unwanted forces.
He had heard of the usurper named Carasius. Yes, that bothered him. But more so, it amused him. Some little twerp thought they could take away the Roman Emperor's land? Please.
Then came the news nearly five years later, when he had finally gotten permission from his higher-up to send troops to win back their two provinces—that whoa, Carasius was dead. The deed was taken care of for him by someone else named Allectus. But well hey, now that the traitor was dealt with, there was no need to worry! He could relax.
…oh, there was plenty of reason to worry.
Allectus didn't kill Carasius, as they saw as the days passed on, to give it back to the emperor. He wanted that self-proclaimed throne for himself.
But he was also on the move, apparently. Word spread that the two little personified provinces had escaped where they were being held imprisoned, and were now "hiding" (although it really wasn't much of a hiding place if people knew where they were) in Londinium. They, as well as the rest of the Romano-British population, pleaded for help from Rome.
Allectus had besieged them.
And do take note that no father (or grandfather) or mentor or guardian or any world-conquering-empire takes lightly to the fact that their children, even if not related by blood, are threatened.
There was much to be paid for.
But despite planned vengeances, time ticks onward. Another three years came and faded away like sand tossed to the wind. There one minute, gone from view and scattered the next.
But things didn't change.
"Britannia…I don't think he's coming…"
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
The child gripped the edge of the open window sill he had been holding on to, the same hole in the wall that he had been watching, every free moment he had, to see if he could see the troops of his ruling empire coming over the horizon to save them. But every day, the results were still the same.
Their besieged landscape looked no different. It was still ever-threatening, still ever-tense. And, still raining.
He could hear Gaul behind him sigh, and he knew without looking that the older one was reaching for the back of his robe, trying to pull him away from the tormenting sights. "Really, Britannia," the other blonde muttered with half-hearted exasperation. "You shouldn't do this to yourself. Come away from there—"
"—shut up, Gaul," came the sharp reply, filled with disdain. Green eyes remained resolute, staring out the window instead of turning around to glare at the startled pair of blue. "You do not understand. Even if you have been liberated and returned to Rome, I have not. This is important to me."
It still wasn't fair.
After they heard the results of a battle in Northern Gaul that freed the blonde nation from the usurper-emperor (actually, it had been while Carasius was still alive, but they hadn't received word of the event until after the man was murdered), both provinces had been astounded—both had been shocked. But then one had been ecstatic, having wondered why, one day in the prison, he suddenly felt more light-hearted, and the other had been left feeling…forgotten. Unimportant.
He had almost never left the window since. That had been three years ago, in 293.
And it didn't help that the weather was awful, too. Although that was usual for his country, Britannia found himself especially cursing it at that moment. If it was this bad on the coast, and the Roman Empire was still coming to save them…then there was a chance they couldn't dock.
His chest constricting with worry, Britannia lowered his chin to the window sill, green eyes boring out into the storming landscape, searching—straining themselves to see any tell-tale flashes of shiny Roman armor.
None could be seen yet; only the old, ex-Roman armor of Allectus' men still dwindling about the city—his city.
Gaul, frowning, still hadn't left. He remained watching his northern relative just as strongly as the boy was watching the scenery, until finally, he thought he would try to persuade the younger to come down again. But just as he opened his mouth, he found he was met with a surprise.
Britannia straightened, head snapping up like a prairie dog's, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. His hands clenched the window sill tightly, suddenly enraptured with something he could and yet couldn't see.
"…something is happening…"
Gaul, thinking it was outside, ran to the other blonde's side, peering out into the murky storm, but he, too, couldn't see anything. He frowned, squinting his eyes with the strain to see what it was that Britannia spoke of. Still nothing appeared. "What do you mean? What is happening?"
"I…I do not know…" Slowly shaking his head, mystified, Britannia then caught himself, shook himself back to awareness, and then clarified, "No—wait…there's fighting. Someone's fighting…only a handful of miles away…"
Surprised, Gaul turned to Britannia, and as green immediately met blue they knew both of them were thinking the same thing. They had to have been—there was such strong assurance flowing through the both of them—who else could it be?
"Rome!"
Finally!
In unison, the two turned away from the window and bound down the stairs. Along the way, they grabbed their cloaks—one dark green and the other royal blue—that would help keep them at least somewhat dry and warm in the outside storm—and then burst outside, ignoring their attendants' calls about returning to the house for their health, for their safety. For their people.
But their human friends didn't understand; they had to go. They had to see him.
They had to help him.
(Although, they reminded themselves, that was probably a very foolish thought, considering that this was the Roman Empire they were talking about here, and he didn't need any help from anybody—especially in times of war like these.)
But still. Perhaps if they couldn't help him, per se, then maybe they could thank him.
Maybe that would work just as well.
But for now, however, the most pressing concern was getting past Allectus' guards. If they could do that without getting caught, then they were free to run as fast and as far as they could to Rome. But if they were apprehended…
…then a lot of bad things would go down. Like, Allectus' army would get stronger, for instance.
They couldn't allow that. They had to keep quiet. They had to skirt around the enemy and keep to the shadows, unseen, unheard, undetected. And everything was going good. Oh, so good! But—
"—ah-ha! Thought you could escape Londinium through our forces, hm?"
Of course.
Of course.
Leave it to the tensest moment of the war for them to be caught—leave it to fate to make the stakes even higher by letting them be apprehended at the climax of it all, naturally. Stupid! Panic and annoyance flooded throughout Britannia's being as he felt his arm roughly grabbed and pulled back by a stronger grip than his own. No—no! He had been so close—! "Gaul! Run!" he cried, but it was a vain use—the other blonde had been caught as well, both arms behind his back even as he struggled wildly to escape.
It was hard to see through the pelting rain, but Britannia could swear he saw a look of fear in those blue eyes as they gazed widely at him, shakily. He didn't want to be caught again. He didn't want to be usurped again.
I knew this would happen…I knew this would happen…!
And suddenly…in a moment of strange, unusual clarity, as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to bridle in his raging and heightened emotions, Britannia could remember the past three years—and in those years, he could suddenly, at that moment, also remember all that Gaul had done for him during that time. They may have passed by dully—sure, they may have passed by uneventfully while besieged with nothing to do inside Londinium than hide and pray and eat and sleep—but the fact that, for three whole years the already-freed province had stuck by him while he moped and sulked and had been angry; that fact alone…
…well, although he hated to say it, he owed him. And he couldn't let this happen to him—to them. Else he would never forgive himself for getting Gaul recaptured when Rome had already worked so hard to free him.
Forget his secret fears of there being favoritism in their midst.
Filled with rage and courage, Britannia snapped his eyes open and suddenly started to writhe again in grasp that tried to keep him still, kicking, maneuvering so it was painful for the hands that bound him—all the while, repeating his mantra that he couldn't let this happen to them—he couldn't fail Rome like this—he couldn't—
—but then…he felt, with startling recognition, the cold steel of a blade pressed to the front of his neck threateningly, the sharp, jagged edge digging dangerously into his skin.
Darn it.
He went still, hardly able to breathe from the fear of slicing his own throat open by panting so vigorously.
The guard's mouth was close to his ear.
"Do not even consider another move, you stupid brat."
Despite the entire situation, and the heavy amount of adrenaline still coursing through him, Britannia felt the edge of his mouth quirk upward into a tiny smirk. If he could, he would have laughed. He really would have. How utterly amusing for them to think that he wouldn't rebel; that he would simply give up like that.
He hadn't waited in hiding for three years to suddenly be caught by the enemy and taken hostage once more. Things didn't work that way—not while a nation.
Without thinking—in his defense, he did feel quite provoked—Britannia jerked his feet backward, holding his breath—although that was in vain, because still he could feel the blade slice skin, and although he tried not to cringe; tried to stay relaxed so his muscles wouldn't bleed so much or spasm, he could still feel that sharp, cold metal dig—
—then his bondage was gone, and he was miraculously—and he instantly knew, not by his own doing—freed.
Gasping for air, the blonde nation collapsed to his knees, a hand flying up to the thin, precise abrasion on his throat that still ran clear, vivid red. He could hear Gaul shout in surprise, "Rome!" And then—well. Wait. All sensible thoughts simply shut down.
…R-Rome…?
"What do you think you are doing?"
Oh sweet Boudicca…
That was Rome. And oh, oh how delightful angry Rome sounded! Relief and happiness trembled up Britannia's spine, all just from hearing his rightful, beloved empire's voice. Instantly, he scrambled on his knees to look behind him and at the scene—and oh, how vengeance was sweet.
Rome in battle, Rome threatening, with that gleam in his blue eye, was more intense than he had imagined.
The tall, muscular man had the guard that had caught Britannia up by his throat, his thick hand cutting off all of the man's oxygen levels as he glared heatedly into the other's eyes. The intimidation factors flew off the charts. "I ask you—I ask both of you once more. What do you think you are doing to my provinces?"
The one still holding Gaul, the only one that really could talk, answered as bravely as he could—but there was an undeniable tremor in his voice. "They are not yours, soldier. They belong to Allectus."
An amused smile played on Rome's lips he turned from the man he was strangling, threw that poor fellow to the ground (leaving him hacking and coughing there for much-desired air) as he stepped towards the second guard threateningly, making sure to maneuver carefully around his wounded little one as he did so. Yet he never once did remove his eyes once from the intimidated guard holding Gaul, who stepped back shakily as Rome approached them.
"You called me 'soldier,'" the brunette commented idly enough. "Interesting. So I suppose that means you do not know with whom you are dealing with."
"Ha!" the guard tried to laugh, but it came out more as a bark. "Stupid, empty words. You cannot make me fear you with them."
Rome wasn't daunted. "They ring with truth. You are a fool not to hear it."
That made the guard falter. Finally, he looked at the man nearing him with true fear in his eyes. "…h-hear what?"
"Britannia, Gaul, close your eyes."
And what happened next, neither of the provinces would ever truly know. Loyal to their commander, loyal to their empire, it was part of the agreement that you obey nearly everything they command—even if it was as silly as something like closing your eyes—they did indeed shut them and keep them tightly closed. They didn't reopen them until they could hear Rome's voice, a particularly short distance in front of Britannia, say, "All right. Now you may look."
And to open your eyes and see with startling clearness through the rain, your empire's face—one you haven't seen in over two hundred years—Britannia could hardly be blamed for jumping to his feet to tackle the man in his joy.
Except, there was a problem.
"Rome—!"But as soon as he sprang to his feet, the world decided to jump, too. Everything swayed dangerously, tilting, and the smile and excitement that ran through his blood dwindled as vertigo took its place. Britannia reached out to grab something as he lost the ground—
—but he needn't worry. Two strong arms caught him and cradled him, their owner speaking gently to him. "Hold on there, meus tener unus. You may not think it, but you have lost a significant amount of blood. I would advise you not to move or talk too much until we get you back to the governor's house. Do you understand?"
Britannia nodded numbly, his breathing becoming so much more of a struggle than he remembered. He clutched the tassels dangling from Rome's armor with as strong as a grip as he could, determined not to lose consciousness. Not while Rome was here, after having returned to him finally. He just needed to…stay conscious…and keep that ringing out of his ears…as well as that foggy headache…
Just as his vision started to swim, he found the strength to murmur laboriously, "You…you came back…"
Rome pulled him closer, standing up. He must have gestured with his head to Gaul or something for one reason or another—because for a moment, he couldn't feel the presence of that face there. Then, once more, it was bent over his own—almost as if in prayer.
"Yes. I did. But I am sorry I did not come sooner."
To even his own shock, Britannia could feel a single tear escape from his eye and drift down his cheek. He swallowed—which seemed an incredible feat to him; he could feel his strength fade. "No…" His throat was so tight, it made that word alone so hard to utter. "…I should be the one sorry, Rome."
But there was so much to say. So little time. He could feel the pressure in his head grow, and his breath become shallower. Panic crawled up his chest and through his throat—he had something to say—something of dire importance that needed to be understood—before he—
"Rome…you…"
But then he could hold on no longer—and against his will, the last thing Britannia could remember was a tight squeeze on his body and the start of wind—as if suddenly, in urgency, Rome had begun running.
