"More wine, Tiberius."

The slave blinked his dark eyes and shifted his gaze to his dominus, who held out an empty clay jug. Immediately, Tiberius reached out and took the container from his master's grip, and just the weight of the thing in his hands reminded him of his gladiator - the one he'd left those many mornings ago after spending the night in his arms. The one he could barely cease thinking of. Was it the same with Agron, Tiberius wondered? Was he reminded of the time they'd spent together, even by the most mundane things? And did the gladiator lay awake at night, remembering what it had been like to stir with the sun, to open his eyes and see beside him a body tangled in brightly colored blankets? Did he recall the feeling of skin warm with sleep and pressed against his own? Could he still taste searching lips brushing over his and coaxing them into something deeper?

Tiberius remembered. He replayed those waking moments in his mind over and over. But sometimes, when he was missing the gladiator's touch, he wondered if maybe he'd invented the whole thing. He wondered if maybe Agron had never been real, and it was all in his mind, some escape from reality and into a world in which he was loved. A world in which he loved in return. But when he wondered, when he was so close to convincing himself that it had all been a dream, he only needed to steal into his room and rummage through his scant few belongings to find a tiny glass vial, empty its contents. It was the only physical proof he had of the gladiator, evidence of a grievous crime Agron (and Tiberius, in his part) had committed against Leddicus, and though it should have been destroyed to protect them both, the slave couldn't bring himself to do so. He needed it for when this doubt crept upon him.

Bare feet took up well-trodden path to the store of wine within the villa. The empty jug was put gently on the floor and a full one was taken from the shelf. Tiberius uncorked it and smelled its contents, making sure it hadn't soured, and when it passed the inspection, he started back the same way he'd come. It was all so second nature that he could lose himself in thoughts of Agron again: his blue eyes, the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, the tiny pause he always took before kissing Tiberius, as if giving the slave a moment to catch his breath before it was stolen from his lungs by soft lips.

But Tiberius was distracted from these thoughts when he approached his dominus again. Leddicus was entertaining someone, the owner of a nearby villa, and the Roman's voice was raised to deliver the latest gossip. Normally, it was of no interest to the slave, and he paid it no mind, but this time, he was drawn into the man's words by a name that passed his lips: Batiatus. The name of Agron's dominus and the owner of the ludus.

"But surely it must have reached ears here," the Roman man said, "what happened in the house of Batiatus only days ago." Leddicus, who was holding out his cup for Tiberius to fill, shook his head and silently urged the man to continue. "The slaves rose up," the man said, sitting forward in his couch, his eyes wide. How pleased he seemed to be the one to deliver news of this. "They killed all that stood within the walls of that house. Sextus, Batiatus, countless others. You must have heard."

"No word traveled here," Leddicus replied, shock lacing his tone. And beside the dominus, Tiberius had stilled, his body poised in pouring his master more wine. The liquid streamed slowly into the cup, filling it to the brim and then spilling over, but the slave was blind to it. His wide, dark eyes saw nothing. He was lost within his mind, the Roman's words echoing in it. The slaves rose up… killed all that stood within the walls… He didn't understand. He didn't know what this meant. Agron. Had Agron been a part of this? What had happened? If all had died, what of the slaves? The gladiators that had lived within the ludus? Tiberius dare not ask aloud but not knowing would be a torture he'd never before felt. A panic was rising inside of him, tightening his chest, and his grip was so tight on the bottle of wine that the clay threatened to crack beneath his fingers.

"Tiberius!" Leddicus' hissing voice drew him out of his thoughts, and only then did the slave realize the mess he'd made. His breath left him in a rushed, "Apologies, dominus," and he hastened to correct his mistake, finding a cloth to mop up the wasted wine. For the briefest of seconds, Tiberius met Leddicus' eyes, and the Syrian found they were narrowed at him in a hard expression. Tiberius soon fled from that gaze, rags dripping with wine in his hands, but he lingered just out of sight. Only for a moment. If Leddicus had found him there it would have been his head, but Tiberius went mercifully unnoticed for the moment he delayed. He remained because he had no know the rest of the story. He had to know what fate had befallen the slaves.

And the Roman was anxious to continue spouting the gossip. "Batiatus' gladiators escaped," the man said. "There is talk of a slave revolt with Spartacus at the helm." There was more, but Tiberius heard none of it. He moved quickly away, weaving through the villa to find privacy in his own room. There, he dropped the soiled rags to the floor and simply stood there, lips still parted in shock and mind whirring. What did all of this mean?

The slave recalled a conversation he'd had with Chadara. She'd spoken of the possibility of Agron gaining his freedom through glory in the arena. She'd spoken of the possibility of the gladiator coming and taking him away from here; only then had he ever thought of shrugging off the shackles of slavery. Only then had he ever thought of ripping the collar from around his neck and finding freedom in Agron's arms. But this was different. Agron might have escaped his slavery, but he was a man hunted now. One of those responsible for the deaths of many Romans, important men - and such a thing would not go unanswered. That was not the freedom Tiberius had dreamed of, but…

His first instinct was to somehow flee the villa. To leave and join Agron wherever he and the rest of the escaped slaves were. But what a foolish notion that was! Here he had station. His position was a good one, for a slave - surely better than the rebels that no doubt now fled from the armies of Rome. That would be his fate, too, if he joined them. Would he endure that to be with Agron? Would he give up life here, where things were secure and safe, to become part of the rebellion? A rebellion led by Spartacus, the Bringer of Rain.

He was quickly decided. Wherever Agron was - that was where Tiberius wanted to be. The gladiator occupied his waking and sleeping mind and all Tiberius ever wished for was Agron's touch, the man's voice in his ear whispering declarations the likes of which had been offered the slave when they'd lain together in that bed covered in rich fabrics as the dark had turned to dawn. It would be impossible to escape his longing for Agron, so he would have to fulfill his desire and see himself to those arms again. But how would Tiberius fly from this place? His absence would be one quickly noticed. There was much he did, a majority of it for the dominus himself, so when would he slip away? Maybe in the night, when Leddicus slept.

Tiberius closed his eyes and lifted a hand, covering his mouth to quiet a long, steadying breath. When had he started trembling? It must have been the second he'd starting thinking of becoming part of this rebellion. It was a terrifying thought, especially for someone who had been a slave all his life. It was no easy thing, making the decision to abandon everything he knew, and all for the sake of being with his gladiator. Freedom was such a foreign concept, one Tiberius could hardly grasp, and even more difficult to wrap his mind around was the idea of escape. The idea of marking himself a fugitive. Panic was rising in him again, but this time for a different reason. "Agron," he whispered, hoping the sound of the man's name would help calm him and chase away troubled thoughts. It did, for only a moment.

But the peace he'd so briefly found did not remain. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind, a rough hand grasping onto his hair and pulling. Tiberius let out a short cry of pain and twisted his body, turning to face his attacker. He'd raised his hands to defend himself, they faltered when his eyes fell upon the one holding him.

Leddicus.

The Roman's face was a mask of rage. "Are you so lost in thoughts of your gladiator that you do not heed call?" he asked, his tone venomous. Tiberius parted lips to apologize but his voice was stolen from him when Leddicus' hand twisted in his hair, pulling it, nearly ripping it from his head. Tiberius swallowed any noise of pain that would follow the first one; his dominus wouldn't be allowed to see that weakness in him. "What fucking romance," the dominus mocked. "Do you think he will come and grant you freedom?" Leddicus used his grip on the slave's hair to force him to his knees on the floor. "He would not risk life for you. You ignorant shit. None would."

How easily Leddicus planted the seed of doubt within Tiberius's mind. No, Agron had not come yet. Perhaps he never meant to. But the things the gladiator had said… The things they'd shared… A voice in the back of Tiberius's mind sounded softly, but with each passing second grew louder. You know nothing of love. Words spoken in passion may not have held truth. This revolt will not come to a halt just for you. You were a body soft and willing. A prize to victorious gladiator. No more.

And perhaps those words were ones that had always lurked just beneath the surface. Fears never realized in the wake of foolish hopes and foolish joy. That voice in his head - it sounded strangely like Leddicus - banished to a small corner the thought of escape, the hope of finding Agron and being with him. Though the notion wasn't crushed, it was made insignificant in the shadow of this crippling insecurity. And all because of those few words spoken by the dominus.

Leddicus was all Tiberius had ever known. The only truth he'd known. And though that tiny part of him wanted to have faith in the gladiator instead, it could not hold up against the years Tiberius had spent under his dominus' thumb.

The Roman shoved Tiberius forward, releasing his hair, but he did not retreat. No, he crouched beside the slave and reached out, grabbing his chin roughly in one hand and staring him in the eyes. "See thoughts of the gladiator and his fucking rebellion from mind," Leddicus said. His fingers dug in, the grip bruising. "Speak not a single word of it to another. Nod that you understand, slave."

Tiberius nodded.

"Make attempt to leave these walls," the man continued, "and see head removed from body." Leddicus drew back his arm and although Tiberius saw the blow coming, he could do nothing to stop it. He was backhanded across the face, the force of the impact cutting the inside of his lip against his teeth. "Ignore me again in favor of daydreams of Agron," he said, the gladiator's name dripping from his lips like poison, "and suffer the same."

The slave was silent and unmoving in the wake of his master's rage. Leddicus stood and Tiberius thought he meant to leave, but instead he reached out and took from atop a nearby table a small box Tiberius had been allowed to keep his possessions in. He reached inside and then withdrew his hand, fingers wrapped around something small. Tiberius didn't know what it was until it was thrown at him.

The small glass vial landed safely in the Tiberius's lap and his heart stopped. He trembled as he lifted his dark gaze to look at his dominus.

"I granted mercy once," Leddicus said. "But not again. Remember that you are mine."

The man disappeared. Tiberius reached out with shaking fingers and closed them around the vial.

Perhaps he would be able to convince himself that Agron had been a dream, after all.


Agron paid little attention the conversation between Spartacus and Crixus. They spoke of trivial things, of villas in the south, of places that Naevia may or may not have been. All Agron wanted in that moment was the blood of Romans on his hands, and that would not be achieved if they followed the fucking Gaul to his end. The whole of the army of Rome would fall to Agron's sword for what they had done. This he had decided the second his brother had been taken from him. And yet the chance to make this so had been taken from him.

The gladiator closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone wall, closing his ears to the sounds of the sewer around him and the sounds of the other men's voices. Again, the scene played through his mind. The moment of Duro's death at the hands of a Roman soldier. He revisited it often and felt the pain of it anew every time. Agron still heard his brother's scream of pain and still could feel the weight of him in his arms; that weight somehow grew heavier when life had fled Duro's body. So many other lives had been lost even after that. Aurelia's corpse was nearby, growing colder in death granted her by the Romans. They would not find vengeance for the fallen in the south, but that was where they were headed. The decision had been made.

Suddenly, Agron opened his eyes. For a moment, he wasn't sure why. His gaze slid to where Crixus and Spartacus sat, making plans, and then parted his lips to speak. "Wait," he said, his brows drawing together in confusion. He knew not why he spoke, but still he'd been compelled to. The other gladiators stopped and turned toward him, no doubt expecting more resistance toward their plans. But when Spartacus saw the expression on Agron's face, his own look of annoyance softened.

"Agron?" he questioned simply, patiently. The Gaul was less patient, shifting where he sat and scowling, but wouldn't speak against Spartacus yet.

Crixus was the one Agron turned his attention to, though. There was a panic rising in the German, though from where, he had no idea. His mouth spoke without mind behind it, not yet, because it hadn't yet caught up. "What did you just say?" he asked, slowly climbing to his feet. He felt everything more keenly then, somehow. The stone behind him that had only been stone before was now cold, textured, like he'd lost the ability before to feel but it was now returning to him. Both Spartacus and Crixus glanced at one another, perplexed by Agron's question. He asked it again, louder this time. "What did you just say?" His heart was beating fast in his chest. He felt that more keenly, too.

Finally, an answer. The Gaul briefly bared his teeth in irritation and then spoke through them. "When we move south will we come first upon the villa of a man called Leddicus—"

"Leddicus," Agron repeated, interrupting. Something in his mind shifted into place. Something that had been knocked loose, perhaps, in the wake of Duro's death. Something he'd forgotten in his grief. "Leddicus," he repeated, and his voice was shaking. Spartacus was standing now, and he reached out to steady Agron where he stood. A question came to the Thracian's lips but before he could ask, Agron spoke again. "I know him," the German whispered. His eyes were wide and unblinking as memories rushed back to him, ones to fill a mind empty and hollow save the memory of when Duro had fallen. "Tiberius," Agron continued, his voice pained. "Tiberius."

Spartacus knew enough of the slave to understand what Agron spoke of. "He is Tiberius's dominus," the Thracian said slowly, searching the other gladiator's face. And how all the pain and anger had disappeared to make way for absolute desperation.

Agron grasped at Spartacus's shoulders, his grip too tight. "We must find Tiberius," he whispered, and he seemed almost on the verge of madness. Vengeance was suddenly forgotten. Thoughts toward staying and fighting the Romans were abandoned. Duro's death would be avenged but not before Agron had Tiberius safe in his arms. He hated himself in that moment. He hated himself for forgetting the slave. So consumed by sadness and rage had he been that everything else he'd ever known had fled him except for how to wield a sword and how to strike against the Romans for what they had done. But now he remembered. Now he longed for that embrace, for there he would find comfort. There, he would find relief. There, he would find the heart he thought he'd lost.

"We will find him," Spartacus promised. He, too, grasped Agron's shoulder, but in a touch meant to soothe troubled thoughts. "We move South take the villa and there you and he will be free men together. It is deserved fate." The Thracian glanced toward Crixus, who had also stood. "And there we will begin our search for Naevia."

Agron looked to the Gaul. For once, they stood together in something. Just as Crixus would for Naevia, Agron would cut through any man that came between him and Tiberius. And when he got his hands on Leddicus, that Roman shit would suffer and beg for mercy by the end.