The high winter sun had turned the snow field into a glaring blind spot that had his guards alert and ready on their own horses, wary of a possible attack before they had a chance to reach the village. Aurelius was oblivious to this concern, blue eyes unfocused as he tried to ignore the lapping waves of anxiety. The morning had been spent on last minute preparations: Rome had argued with Iulius for easily a half a horae about what Aurelius should wear—Roman clothes? Or Gallic garb? Eventually they settled on Aureilus's blend between the two, to 'demonstrate his position as an ambassador between Romans and Gallics'. He didn't feel like an ambassador. He felt like he was going to throw up. Silently, he reviewed what Rome had instructed him to say as his opening statement:

We come to your village with glad tidings—we seek not war, but a peace between us. Your hearts are stirred up in anger, fearing that we have come to make all Gallic people slaves. This is false! We desire only peace, and will not attack you unless you leave us with no other recourse. But know that our numbers are great; should you decide to test our might in combat, you will be defeated, your lives lost and your women scattered. This is not a threat so much as a solemn promise. I stress that we do not wish it so—make peace with us, and no harm shall befall you.

Aurelius felt lucky simply to remember all of it. He had no idea how he was going to actually present it. The closer they drew to the village, the more Aurelius feared that Rome had made a huge mistake, entrusting this diplomacy to him. If he failed, hundreds of people were going to die—he forcibly stopped himself, taking a deep breath as his heart raced in his chest. No, it would be okay. He would say his part, and if any asked him questions, he would repeat that they didn't want to fight, that they wanted peace, just as Rome instructed him. It would be okay.

"On guard—the village gates are ahead," the leading praetorian warned. Aurelius's stomach summersaulted and he sat straighter in the saddle.

They weren't immediately shot as they rode up to the village gates, which Aurelius hoped was a good sign. None of them were carrying shields, a fact that automatically placed them at the mercy of enemy archers—another thing Iulius and Rome had argued over. Ultimately they agreed to no shields, banking on the hopes that the sight of a Gallic child and no attack force would be enough to stay their hand. Aurelius had to wonder if all negotiations rested so heavily on risk taking and prayers.

"Stop!" A loud commanding voice rang out, and the Gaulish cavalry leader held up a hand to do so. Aurelius realized that having a praetorian and an equites in front was more than a presentation of existing cooperation between the Romans and the Gauls: it allowed for the very necessary translation of Gaulish into Latin for the praetorians, and ensured that Aurelius wouldn't have to split his focus between negotiating and translating. Gods, Rome was good at this.

"State your business!" demanded the warrior perched inside the wall, bow at the ready. He was part of a line, five archers with arrows nocked. One for each of them.

The leading equites raised his head. "We come to parley with the village head," he answered firmly, unruffled. Aureilus mentally thanked him—he didn't think his own voice would carry that far.

The guard vanished for a brief spell, and Aurelius held his breath. Please talk with us, please. The praetorians eyed the archers warily; the archers didn't glance away for a second. What felt like an infinite amount of time later, the guard reappeared.

"Rix Moritasgos will speak with you," he announced, and the gate began to creak open.

Aurelius exhaled, the spark of relief quickly overshadowed by the task before him. They were in; now to convince his proud, strong people to surrender…

They passed under the gate and the archers held their fire; the hairs on the back of Aureilus's neck prickled, and he knew they were still fully within range. A huge crowded stood waiting just inside the town, a throng of men ringing the open space of what would normally be a market. Whispers passed among them, angry looks and dark glances and Aurelius gripped his reins tighter before guiltily forcing himself to relax. Was he really afraid of his own people?

A man separated himself from the crowd; tall, with wild chestnut hair and a stern face, the hard times etched in deeply around his mouth. He wore no armour, a cloak of wolf skin clasped around his broad shoulders, and his hand rested on the pommel of a long, heavy sword sheathed at his side. If this, along with the deference shown to him as he moved, was not enough indication, the crown of beaten gold at his brow unmistakably marked him as king. Aurelius took a breath and let it out slowly. This was his focus.

"Speak your names!" Moritasgos commanded, his voice casting a silence over the crowd. "Who seeks an audience with me?"

"I do," Aurelius answered loudly, pleased that his voice didn't shake. He slid off his horse, realizing that it might seem insulting to the king, having to look up to negotiate with a child. "I am—" What name do I use? "—Aurelius Gallicus Romanus, called Maponos in my youth, son of Epasias Gaul, guardian of the Gaulish people."

Stunned silence, then whispers shot through the crowd like lightning. The king's brow knotted in confusion, overlaid with a caution Aurelius didn't expect. He held a hand behind him to quiet the onlookers as he asked, "Maponos? Epasias's son?" he repeated in disbelief, walking up to him slowly, taking in the Roman tunic, the Gaulish winter boots, the Roman cloak pinned with a Gaulish clasp. He shook his head faintly, baffled. "What are you— Explain yourself," he demanded, though his tone wasn't sharp.

This was it—and abruptly Aurelius felt everyone's eyes on him, pinning him where he stood. "I—um, we- we come to your village with glad tidings," he stuttered, cheeks burning as he struggled to recall the words. "We seek not war, but peace between us. You think Rome wants to make you slaves, but that's not true. He wants, desires only peace, and won't attack you unless you don't give him a choice. He doesn't want to fight you, but if he has to, he will. And his numbers are great; if you fight him, you will be defeated, and a lot of people will die, and anyone left will be sold into slavery." His words were coming faster and faster, fear for his people infusing his tongue and destroying the carefully prepared speech he had rehearsed with Rome. "But Rome doesn't want this either! Make peace, and we promise no harm will befall you."

An icy wind blew powdered snow through the market space, swirling around their feet. For a moment, no one spoke.

"So this is how Rome acts," the king broke the silence, his voice hard. "He sends a child, to bid us surrender." He turned his back on Aurelius, addressing his people with a flourish. "He sends the son of our land to ask us to renounce our freedom!" The people scowled and grumbled as Moritasgos returned his attention to Aurelius. "Tell me, boy, how can you do this? How can you come here, bearing a Roman name, asking us to surrender? Your mother is our spirit; you disgrace her by your treacherous betrayal!"

Aurelius cringed, taken aback. "No, that's not it—I'm not betraying her, I'm trying to protect you!" he said desperately. "There's no way you can win, Rome's men outnumber you over sixty to one!"

"Then I guess we'll each kill sixty of the bastards!" Moritasgos declared triumphantly, and the assembled warriors cheered.

"No!" Aurelius cried, frantically waving his hands. "You can't win, it's not possible! Please, you'll just get everyone killed—"

"It's our sacred duty to defend Gaul, even at the cost of our own lives!" the king thundered. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would cheer the loudest for us as we rescue your own mother from Rome's captivity!"

Aurelius blinked, mouth opening slightly as his thoughts ground to a halt. "What?"

"Your mother! Epasias Gaul, our land and our soul, is being held captive in Alesia!" Moritasgos shouted. "And you come here, a Roman servant, to ask that we surrender!"

Aurelius heard him, but the words didn't untangle themselves into sense for what felt like hours. "No," he replied distantly, numbly shaking his head. "My mother is dead. I burned her body in a funeral pyre at Alesia, where her sword still marks her grave."

"What?" Moritasgos drew up short, puzzlement vying with anger.

"I performed funeral rites for her, and gave offerings to the gods," Aurelius said, throat tightening as tears threatened to spill. "Mama is dead."

"Are you certain it was your mother?" the king pressed.

"You're being ridiculous!" the leading equites snapped. Aurelius jumped; he had almost forgotten they were there. "As if a son wouldn't recognize his own mother!"

"I certainly wouldn't expect it of you, you Helvetii pig-fucker. How would you distinguish your mother from all the other whores!" Moritasgos retorted.

The crowd roared with laughter as the equites leapt from his horse, the praetorian grabbing him by a shoulder swiftly before they could come to blows. Aurelius rushed between the cavarlyman and the king, pleading, "Don't fight, please!"

"Boy, answer me plainly: are you certain it was your mother!" Moritasgos demanded.

"Yes!" Aurelius shouted, tears finally falling, hands balled into fists. "I'm certain it was Mama! Her blonde hair spilled over the logs and burned up in flame; I thrust her sword into the earth so that all would know the tremendous warrior who died there!"

"I think Rome is playing you for a fool!" the king declared hotly. "I think he's converted you for his own nefarious purposes, tricking you into orchestrating our downfall and the enslaving of your mother's people!"

"No! He wouldn't do that!" Aurelius yelled, red in the face. "Why can't you understand! If you don't surrender, Rome will kill everyone!"

"I don't know what evil spell the Romans have laid upon you," Moritasgos said gravely. "But it is evident that you've lost your reason. Rome asked us to surrender," he stated, voice rising. "Here is his answer! Guards, fire!"

"What—!" Aurelius whirled as the archers loosed their arrows; a praetorian fell instantly, his horse rearing in sudden fear, the Helvetii equites tried to shove past Aurelius to reach the king but an arrow buried itself deep into his neck. He gaped in horror as the men were cut down, the remaining equites wheeling around on his horse and thundering out of the closing gate, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Rough hands seized him, dragging him away from the dying escort as he shrieked in panic, thrashing in their grip.

"No, let me go! Let me go, someone help me! Help me! Rome! Rome!" His captor clapped a hand over his mouth and his blue eyes widened, images of the crooked nosed man flashing across his vision, nausea curling in his stomach, his scream muffled against their palm as terror shook him.

The king watched grimly as the young guardian was hauled away. The decision was made, and there would be hell to pay for it.

-o-

Rome slouched against the wall of a guard tower, tucked into the small cubby space as he idly sharpened his sword. He realized it was only just after midday—he hated how short the days were here, it made the sundials practically pointless—and that the likelihood of Aurelius returning so early was slim, but he wanted to know the instant they were spotted. So he staked out a guard tower, providing poor company for the soldier actually on duty. Iulius was drawing up battle plans for the possibility that Tricasses decided that their pride was more valuable than their lives. Rome suspected that he probably should be helping them, but really, their artillery alone would probably do the trick. Just set up the engines the appropriate distance away and pummel the village into dust, with units spread out around the village to catch any escaping Gauls. It would certainly minimize casualties on his side. But until Aurelius got back, they could only sit around and plan.

He shifted slightly, laying the naked blade across his lap. He wanted Aurelius to return. They had gone over everything that morning before the boy left, and he had dutifully recited his lines, his voice unwavering even as his fidgeting steadily increased. Rome had been nervous too, but years of experience allowed him to bury his anxiety under a blaze of confidence, assuring his son with smiles and warm embraces, even as doubt picked at his mind. But Aurelius was there now; it was pointless to worry overmuch.

"The escort!" the watchman announced suddenly.

Rome scrambled to his feet, sheathing his sword as he did. "What, already?" His eyes scannedforest edge for the party, and locked on a single horse approaching at a gallop, the rider slumped in his saddle. His heart plummeted.

"Oh no…" he breathed, before spinning on his heel and clambering down the ladder, spiriting for the nearest gate.

"Open the gate!" he ordered, stepping in front of the horse's path as they came in, taking the reins to keep the nervous animal still as other men rushed over.

The rider slipped off his horse and staggered into the gathering men, hand clutching his shoulder as the others helped support him. Rome saw the blood drenching his front, and his fear mounted.

"What happened, soldier?" he asked urgently. "Where's Aurelius?"

"Rix Moritasgos grew tired of the talk, and gave you his answer," the man forced out with difficulty, expression strained. "The others are likely dead."

"But where's Aurelius?" Rome demanded, grabbing the soldier by the arms with a slight shake.

"The—the Gauls have him. They hauled him off as soon as the archers opened fire," the equites wheezed.

"Fuck!" Rome swore, jerking away from the crowd furiously. "Gods damn them!" He stifled a scream, gripping fist-fulls of his hair before turning back sharply. "Get that man to the healers and place the legions on alert—we are going to wipe that miserable shit-eating village off the face of the earth," he snapped, hand cutting the air violently.

"Yes, sir!" the men chorused, obeying instantly. Rome ran for Iulius's tent.

"Well that plan's worthless!" he announced crossly, storming in unannounced.

Imperator and legatus looked up from the map. "Which plan?" Iulius began, but Rome cut him off.

"Aurelius! The only surviving man from the escort just returned with an arrow through his shoulder, and Aurelius has been captured!" he shouted, gesturing wildly.

The commander's face fell. "Ah…"

"Don't give me that! This is your fault, Iulius!" Rome stabbed an accusatory finger at the man. "You insisted we send Aurelius!"

"To which you agreed—" Iulius stated calmly.

"You wouldn't let it alone!"

The commander frowned, coolly replying, "I didn't realize I had so much control over your actions—"

Rome closed the space between them in two steps and grabbed Iulius by the collar, jerking him forward. The figurines on the map rattled as he jarred the table. "You are my imperator," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I trust you to make intelligent decisions; you have, influence, and as your republic I cannot help but be influenced." He released Iulius and stepped back, taking a deep, shaky breath. "You are not sharing the blame for this; it is yours to bear. And you will not attempt to hold me back from annihilating that pathetic excuse for a rebellion."

The legatus Tiberius looked between commander and republic, frozen in a shock of indecision. "Romulus," he said slowly, "Iulius sincerely believed that this was the best—"

"Don't," Rome cut in, piercing gaze snapping to the man, a single finger held up in warning. "defend him. I know what he thought. And he was wrong. And he will accept responsibility for this."

Tiberius dropped his gaze sheepishly as Rome turned his attention back to Iulius. The imperator solemnly inclined his head. "You are correct, Romulus. I took a risk and it fell through. You are wholly justified in taking action against the rebels, and I will do whatever I can to facilitate this," he stated formally. "And I am truly sorry. I did not intend to cause you grief."

Rome nodded slightly, a wordless acceptance of the apology. He let out a frustrated sigh. "It's done. Now to fix it." He tilted his chin toward the map. "What have you drawn up?"

Tiberius fixed the position of the figurines as Iulius explained. "According to the estimates from the exploratores, we shouldn't need more than a legion to bring them in line; two if we're being careful. They have two gates; one in the north, one to the south. A legion at each, with the cohorts arranged in a bowl to force them back against the walls, more of a precaution than anything else, to prevent escape. Given their low numbers, it's possible they'll attempt to dig in and wait us out, but even they must see the futility of that. Likely they will face us head on, as their pride would dictate. We'll ring the city as if for a siege, and then artillery will destroy the walls, before we lead a direct assault—"

"We can't bombard the village," Rome said abruptly.

Iulius stopped, frowning. "That would leave open the possibility for a siege, which will undoubtedly be more costly than—"

"I realize," Rome interrupted, arms crossed as his eyes traced the outline on the map. "But Aurelius is in that village."

Silence. "Romulus, is it not true that those like you are practically demi-gods?" Iulius asked.

Rome glanced over at him. "Yes…" he answered slowly, trying to see where this was going.

"Is it not also true that, like demi-gods, you are insufferably difficult to harm in any permanent sense?"

Rome paused. Ran over the statements again in his head, before looking back to his imperator with a kind smile. "My dear Iulius. I know that you are a clever man and a devoted father, who loved your daughter with all your heart before she passed." He noted with ugly satisfaction the flinch of pain in the man's eyes and continued. "Which is why I know that you cannot possibly be insinuating that, after your poor insistence on sending my son to demand peace, we bombard Tricasses while my son is trapped there, since no matter how brutally injured he is in the process, it is unlikely that he would die. Giving that you never in her life sought to place your own daughter through unimaginable anguish, I am comforted to know that as a loving father you would never ask such a hideous thing of fellow parent. Though I do thank you for your concern regarding my son's safety."

Iulius opened his mouth, shut it, and nodded stiffly.

Rome's smile widened a fraction in its brittleness, and he cleared his throat. "So!" he stated brightly, dark eyes flicking back to the map. "Two legions; ideally we draw the rebels out and smash them in the fields. If not, we storm the village and finish them that way. I want the soldiers to gather up any children they find still in the village and corral them—that way I don't have to worry about someone accidentally killing Aurelius in their eagerness." A tight grimace, and Rome glanced at Iulius for confirmation.

"Of course," the imperator nodded. "Tenth and Thirteenth legions?"

"The very same. I'll call them up and we'll head out—"

Tiberius straightened. "Now?"

"As soon as possible," Rome confirmed.

"There's not enough daylight left for a battle today," Iulius pointed out.

The republic scowled. "How long do you think it'll take me to slaughter those backwater pissants?"

"It would be near dusk by the time you reached the village—"

"So I should leave me son in enemy hands overnight?!" Rome exploded, flinging his hands into the air. "That is absolutely unacceptable! He is waiting for me to save him and you think I should sit on my hands and do nothing!"

"What I am suggesting," Iulius stated loudly, annoyance creeping into his voice. "is that you attack at dawn, when the rebels will be unprepared—that way you will have a swift, solid victory—"

"And what if they smuggle Aurelius out of the village tonight? How the hell am I supposed to get him back then?" Rome demanded, leaning his weight on the table.

"Your love for the boy is blinding you to common military sense—"

"Damn it, Iulius, I don't care!" Rome slammed his hand down onto the table, upsetting the figurines again. "I want my son back! It is utter bullshit that he got captured to begin with, and I refuse to give them the opportunity to spirit him away and convert him back into a vicious little brat! I will storm those walls tonight, even if it means vaulting the wall from a pile of corpses!"

Iulius stared at him, eyes troubled. "There is no reasoning with you when you get like this," he said finally.

"Then stop trying to dissuade me and help me like you said you would!" Rome demanded.

The commander looked at him: hair mussed, face a mottled red, a furious scowl twisting his lips. He sighed. "Go rescue your son."

"Thank you, Iulius—Tiberius," he pointed, anger flashing over to an eager bloodlust, "Call up your legion, I'll summon the Tenth." Rome grinned. "Let's go wipe out a village."

-o-

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