The encampment was quiet but for the scraping sounds of light-footed sandaled messengers running between tents, delivering a few last messages to and from the centurions' tent. The night was warm and the sky was clear, a possible sign that the Gods had blessed them on the eve of the battle.
Nico felt strangely satisfied at the clean, orderly layout of the streets, complete with rows of one story buildings for the higher-ranking men. The Prefect's own headquarters, where the business of Rome in foreign lands was run, stood in the middle of the main street, and in the darkness, Nico could discern an oil lamp shining within its walls despite the late hour from where he sat in front of their tent.
The Legion had been quick to erect an encampment, and within weeks, they had built long houses and streets, a feat which filled him with pride.
It would pain him to see the camp destroyed if the battle was lost tomorrow.
He could have slept, but he found no position was comfortable. He hadn't slept but for a few hours over the last few days, and always sitting up.
His shoulder was killing him, but he refused to let it show. He swallowed the grimace he'd been about to make as he stretched his arm and continued to sharpen his gladius with the heavy, cool whetstone. He could have asked one of the two servants assigned to their unit to sharpen it for him, but Nico was itching for a way to test his strength.
After dusk, orders had been given by the centurions for the men to return to the tents and take turns keeping guard, while the others slept.
Nico had volunteered to take first watch, and when Leonidas, another member of his contubernium had woken up after only a couple of hours, Nico insisted he went back to sleep.
The eves before a battle were always taut with tension, and Nico had learned to deal with the unrest for the last five years, during which he had fought, bled and killed, all in the name of the Legion, in the name of Rome.
Tonight, though, his arm twitched at the smallest movement, and pain rippled through him as if the wound had been fresh, and not a painful souvenir of their last battle, already three weeks prior.
It had been an irresponsible thing to do, he knew, hiding the severity of his injury to his fellow legionnaires, but he was decanus, leader of their small unit that consisted of eight soldiers, two servants and one pig, and he would not be stepping down while they camped on enemy territory, not while thousands of blue-skinned barbarians hid in the shadows surrounding them. Especially not on account of an injury he had deemed minor, and had hoped would heal on its own, given the appropriate time.
Alas, time had turned against him, as the barbarian tribes scattered across Macedonian lands had quickly begun to unite against the Roman Legions. As the weeks trickled by, with disturbing speed, over ten thousand barbarians had joined forces, and were laying siege on their encampment. With each passing day, Nico had debated bringing the issue to his centurion, but something kept him from doing so.
And that something was sleeping in the tent over which he currently stood guard.
His fellow legionnaire, his partner within the smallest unit divisible within their Legion—Will, who had been last to join their unit, would find himself fighting alone, with no one to lock shields with, had Nico decided to step down.
A contubernium was made up of eight soldiers, yes, but within that division, two men were assigned to each other, defending, avenging, and in many cases, delivering proper funerary rites in case his partner were to fall in battle. It was the closest thing to a family Nico had ever known.
He would fight, and perhaps he would die, but he would do so defending the life of his brothers.
And Will. He would die defending him, if it came down to it.
The Gods might have been spying on him, as they watched over their encampment, for his ears were quick to pick up the sounds of someone stirring within the tent, and he recognized Will's footsteps as he dragged his sandaled feet across the black soil, a clear sign that the Gods loved to interfere in people's lives.
He did not turn when the flap opened and Will stepped out into the balmy night, stifling a yawn and quickly taking a seat next to Nico.
"Scoot over," Will said, nudging him with his hip.
Nico grunted in response, but did not move a muscle. Warmth filled him where their legs touched, and that was something from which he did not want to move away.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Nico thought he was doing a great job at stifling every groan that threatened to spill out of his mouth each time he rubbed the whetstone against his blade and his shoulder muscles contorted with pain.
A few oil lamps had gone out already, and it would be a few minutes before the servants returned with fresh oil to resupply them and keep the camp well lit. For the time being, the brightest source of light were the stars above their heads, and Nico sighed contentedly, in spite of the throbbing pain on his shoulder.
"You should get some sleep," Will said, his face upturned, his eyes closed.
"I'm fine," Nico replied dryly.
He felt Will's eyes on him, but he refused to turn and face him.
Things had been awkward between them for months now, ever since that night they had been separated from their unit.
Their contubernium had been assigned a mission of reconnaissance, as a former Roman fortress to the north had been silent for weeks. It had been plain to them when they arrived, that the men and horses had been slaughtered by barbarians, leaving the place riddled with disease and the fumes of rotting flesh.
Once they had assessed the damage, Nico ordered the men to return to the encampment, over twenty miles south where they had come from, but to their utter shock, a band of barbarians ran down the hill from behind the fortress—it had been an ambush all along.
Gods know how these barbarians think, because instead of surrounding them, they began to chase them down the hill. Regardless of the fact that it had been a small group of barbarians, Nico's orders were clear. While no more than two dozen, they still outnumbered them, and they had better chances of retreating than fighting. Most of their men had made it out of the fortress on time and had sprinted down the hill with ease, outrunning the barbarians. Will, however, had miss stepped just a few feet past the gate, and Nico had the presence of mind to drag him back into the fortress and close the gates, before the barbarians had realized the two of them had stayed behind.
The barbarians had eventually surrounded the fortress, lighting fires and dancing grotesquely through the night, while Nico and Will watched down the walls, careful not to expose their heads too much lest the barbarians had archers with them.
They had been intimate that night for the first time.
And the night after that, while they waited to be rescued. Help arrived on their second morning, but the damage had been done.
Nico still found it hard to look Will in the eye.
"Nico?" Will's voice brought Nico out of his reverie and he made the mistake to lock eyes with him.
Will had the most beautiful eyes, and Nico found himself quickly looking away lest he began to blush. A Roman legionnaire did not blush.
"What do you want?" he managed in response, shifting his annoyance to make it sound like Will was the cause, and not his own emotions.
Will did not immediately reply, but his thigh pressed more insistently against Nico's, whether on purpose or by accident, Nico didn't know.
"Are you…" Will began to ask, but quickly stopped himself.
Nico rolled his eyes. He wanted to be mad at him, he wanted to hate him. Why couldn't he, Will, simply say what he wanted to say? Why did he have to tread around Nico as if afraid to hurt his feelings?
For weeks on end, Will had looked as if he had been about to say something to Nico, itching to speak, but always ended up piping up and saying nothing. It was frankly driving Nico insane.
It felt condescending. It felt like pity.
He had half a mind to stand up and leave, but in his fury, he had forgotten about pretending his shoulder didn't hurt, and an involuntary twitch of annoyance rippled through him, making him drop his gladius and reach up to massage the injured area.
He mentally chastised himself as he realized he had blown it. If Will had said anything at that point, Nico would have punched him.
Yet Will said nothing, he merely sat there, watching him silently.
More lights had gone out by the time Will spoke, as the men and the horses slept.
"It hasn't healed?" Will asked quietly.
Nico started, then turned to face him with a frown.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied quickly.
Will raised an eyebrow in his direction, and Nico felt his heart skip a beat in the most brutal, most painful way imaginable. He remembered drawing his thumb across that very eyebrow. He remembered kissing it as Will pressed down against him.
"You should have let the camp physician know," Will whispered, mindful not to be overheard.
Despite all his faults (Nico had counted them, and there were no fewer than one hundred), Will had always been trustworthy, Nico knew this as much as the next man who had been saved by Will on more than one occasion. On account of this, he was sure Will would not rat him out, not if his life depended on it.
Perhaps he owed it to him to be honest, for once, given that they might die in a few hours.
Especially since his heart seemed to be trying to burst through his chest and reach out to Will in its despondency.
"I'll be fine. It's healing just fine," he said curtly.
Will sighed and drew a hand through his hair.
Minutes went by before Nico opened his mouth again. "How long have you known?"
"Since the moment the butt of the spear hit you," he replied. "I would have said something sooner but… you outrank me."
Nico smiled bitterly.
The facts lay cruelly before them, making Nico shiver with a pain that was not remotely physical. Yes, he outranked him, and yet it had been he, Nico, who had played the submissive role, writhing beneath Will as they abandoned themselves to their passion that fateful night they thought they were about to die.
Perhaps that's why Will was here, talking about his injury after keeping his secret for all these weeks. Impending death seems to have a strange effect on men, even legionnaires.
Nico chuckled humorlessly. "I'll be fine," he repeated, perhaps more to himself than to Will. He remembered saying that same thing over and over again, as Will fussed about him on their first morning at the fortress, after they had relented to their impulses. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the shameful, wonderful memory.
"Nico," Will spoke after a while, "I understand, at least I think I do. We are trained to fight through injuries, and I would do the same if I were in your position. I just want you to know that…"
He stopped and took a deep breath, which rattled in his chest.
Nico stole a side glance and found Will had doubled over, hiding his face in his hands.
He wanted to reach out and touch him, his fingers itching to make contact with Will's translucent skin, and not doing so was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"What?" Nico whispered almost desperately. "Speak, Will. Be blunt with me for once."
Ten thousand enemies surrounded them. Their food supply had run low and they could not possibly survive for more than a few days, not unless the Fifth Legion managed to reach them on time. They might have but a few hours to live, and Will was still minding his words.
Will straightened up and pressed closer to Nico, keeping his eyes to the stars.
"Your sword arm is useless at this point, as a result, your balance is off. I've been watching you for weeks now. You've somehow managed to make up for it with your shield arm, but if attacked from the right, you will not manage to block on time," Will whispered emotionlessly.
Nico blinked, surprised at the sudden strategic talk.
"Uh…" he stammered. "Okay?"
"The men will follow you, because you are decantus, but if you were to fall, our orders are to push forward, and Leo will become decantus as soon as you are out of combat. The unit will not stop. The unit will not retreat. The unit will return to collect your body if the battle is won," he continued.
Nico huffed indignantly. "I know that!" he hissed, "I am perfectly aware of how my unit works, why, in the name of Mars's ass are you telling me –"
His voice had begun to rise, and Will pressed his hand to Nico's mouth quickly, which Nico found so outrageous he was rendered momentarily dumbstruck.
"Shh!" Will hissed. "You're going to wake the others."
Already there were shuffling noises within the tent, as Roman legionnaires slept with practically one eye open.
"'S going on?" came a sleepy voice from inside the tent.
"Nothing," Will replied dryly. They remained still until no more sounds were heard from within.
Nico wiggled himself out of Will's grasp, then threw him a look full of annoyance.
"Don't you ever do that again," he warned him, but his voice had gone back to a whisper.
"Yes, sir," Will said with a smile.
"Why the fuck are you telling me all this bullshit anyway? I know what will happen if I die in battle, I don't need you to sermon me –"
"I am trying to make a point, but you keep interrupting me," Will said.
Nico's mouth fell open, but Will would not look away. His face was set in a decided frown, his mouth stretched thin.
"Speak," said Nico with a sigh.
Suddenly, Will smiled, turning away from Nico and looking straight into the stars.
"You will not fall in battle, Nico. You will remain head of the unit, because you will not fall. I will be there to make sure of that. If I have to fight one thousand men, ten thousand men, I will make sure you live," he whispered, looking resolutely away from him.
Nico's chest throbbed harder than his shoulder, and he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out and clutching at the area where his heart beat like a caged animal.
"You better," he said sardonically, trying to hide his emotions. "That's your job."
Will chuckled. "I know," he whispered.
Then slowly, inch by inch, his hand found Nico's forearm, and he began to trail a feathery path down Nico's skin with the tip of his fingers.
Nico stiffened but found he could not move away from him.
"But… if you were to die…" Will whispered, moving his fingers at a dawdling speed and reaching Nico's hand. "I will die with you."
"Will," Nico whispered so quietly he had trouble hearing his own voice. He began to tremble under Will's touch, the way he had done all those months ago, when Will had entered him for the first time.
"They will collect our bodies and put a coin in our mouths. Then we will be on our way to the afterlife, together, without a rank to divide us. I will follow you, Nico. I will follow you to the death," Will whispered. As he spoke, his pinky tugged at Nico's, who slowly relented, allowing Will to lace their fingers together.
Nico closed his eyes and was surprised to find he did not have the urge to cry. He took a deep breath and felt himself grow stronger with each passing second.
"Idiot," Nico muttered, grimacing slightly as he reached out with all his fingers and took Will's hand in his, squeezing him as hard as his shoulder would allow.
Will squeezed back, then pressed his leg against Nico's, and this time, it was on purpose.
The last oil lamp had been extinguished, and no servant had stepped up to rekindle them. Dawn was still a few hours away, Nico guessed, and he relished in the darkness that engulfed them as they sat in silence, hand in hand and pressing against each other.
They might die in the morning, for all he knew, but for a few precious moments, they were nothing but ordinary men, enjoying the stillness of the night and the light of the stars that twinkled only for them.
"Nico," said Will, still unmoving. "All my life, I had only ever loved one man—my father. But…"
"Don't," Nico cut in, squeezing Will's hand and flinching in pain.
He didn't need Will to say it. He found he did not need to hear it himself. He knew. They both knew. If they died tomorrow, so be it.
At least, they would have a boat ride to look forward to.
"I do, too," Nico whispered, his lips barely moving.
Will let out a gentle sigh, as if he had been holding his breath.