A/N: I forgot to mention this was set in the past, sometime in the early eighties.

Horace

Four years. Four years fucking I've served Rome without acknowledgement from my father. Four fucking years. This is the day though. My sixteenth birthday, tonight I'll prove myself in the gladiator fights and make him take notice. It doesn't matter, won't matter, that no one had remembered (no one except Becca). Tonight I will be claimed. Tonight I will earn respect.

Liam

I knelt before the Praetor, fidgeting anxiously. The whole room seemed to be constructed to make people fidget. The walls were loaded with bloodstained weapons, each one pried from the cold hands of an enemy of Rome the Praetor had assured me. The Praetor? She'd seemed nice when Pablo introduced me us outside the via principia. She seemed a lot more sinister now that she held an infernal black dagger to my throat. Every time she asked a question I felt compelled to spill my heart out. When she asked about my time in the Wolf House I babbled about every hunt, every conversation, every lesson learned. Details I'd long forgotten came gushing out like blood from a wound.

Eventually I was allowed to stand. I did so with effort. Sweat ran down my forehead and my knees trembled a shitting dog. Interrogation took it out of you.

"I'm satisfied that you're no threat to the Legion" she said. "In time you may even be an asset."

I looked at her, bewildered. "Do I look like I could be a threat to a Roman soldier, let alone an army of them?"

"One can never be too certain given our current situation" she wrinkled her nose, "especially with a descendant of Hercules."

I opened my mouth and stopped. Her eyes were oddly intense like she was daring me to ask. I closed my mouth again meekly.

She smirked, obviously satisfied.

"Normally I'd send you to the auger now to make sure no gods have a vendetta against you but he's preoccupied at the minute so we'll skip the formalities, you may join the Twelfth Legion. You'll be placed in a cohort at evening muster."

She sat down at her desk and began to write. My time was up. I started out, but turned at the door.

"One thing Praetor, I didn't catch your name."

"Mallory" she said without looking up. "Mallory Lawrence".

You've never been intimidated until you've stood in front of two hundred heavily armed Romans, each one just waiting for the order to put a javelin through your neck. Luckily the order never came. I stood before the Legion, feeling naked without armour like everyone else. One Praetor stood on each side of me. Mallory on my left, and a tall dark haired guy I hadn't met on my right. Mallory stepped forward.

"This is Liam Twomey, legacy of Hercules. He has one letter of reference from his uncle Antonio Mazza in New Rome."

Mutters ran through the legion. There was obviously more than one patron of Antonio's shop in the crowd.

"Will anyone stand for him?"

There was a painfully pregnant pause until a soft southern twang echoed out.

"I will."

Horace, the giant I'd been introduced to earlier stepped forward. I was amazed he could speak so quietly but with so much authority. Mallory turned to me and said,

"Legionnaire Horace Wolff has agreed to stand for you and allow you to join the fourth cohort. Do you accept?"

"Yeah, eh I mean, I do."

She smiled, I was one more thing checked of her list.

"We will reassemble for gladiator battles in one hour, after dinner."

The other Praetor who hadn't spoken up to now stepped forward and bellowed,

"Senatus Populusque Romanus"

The legion roared it back and broke apart for dinner.

Horace filled me in on the differences between the cohorts as we walked to the mess hall. Fifth was best, Fourth not far behind, First and Third were about the same, and the less said about Second the better. One of his strides equaled about three of mine so I had to scurry to keep up. Pablo materialised in between and decided to hang off our soldiers for the remainder of the trip.

"So guys, I'm sensing a real bromance thing here. Has young master Twomey broken through your prickly exterior to unveil a soft, marshmallowey underbelly?"

Horace just grunted at him.

"Aw, that's so sweet you guys..."

The mess hall was anything but formal. Low lying coaches surrounded wide flat tables. There didn't seem to be any seating plan and people hopped from table to table. The girl I'd met earlier, Rebecca, spotted us and called us over to her table. Horace dumped Pablo on the ground and sat down next to her. The two of them grinned like schoolchildren. I'd suspected it earlier but now I was sure, there was something going on there. Pablo jumped up and dusted himself off and sat down beside me. Food began to materialise in the air and fly around, everyone seemed to get whatever they wanted.
Pablo spoke up first

"I would've stood for you man but I'm barely a full member of the Legion. Didn't want to rock the boat."

"Don't worry it's grand. What do you mean full member?"

"You have to either serve for a year or commit an act of valour to get your tatts, I've only been here for six months or so. Slayed a Chimera a while back though. Saved a couple of lives." He grinned at Rebecca cheekily.

"Tatts?"

Rebecca took over.

"All legionnaires have tattoos burned into them."

She showed me her forearm. A hammer-and-forge over two black lines and Rome's motto, SPQR.

"Symbol of your godly parent, Vulcan for me, and how many years you've served."

"So all you guys have them?" I asked.

Pablo nodded and held up his arm, a caduceus and one line. Horace held up his arm, four lines but no symbol.

"I haven't been claimed." He grunted before I could ask.

"Ah, but we all know you belong to Mars, eh big guy." Pablo said.

"There are loads of gods outside of the Olympians" Rebecca said quickly. "Mallory (I let out an involuntary shudder) is the daughter of Orcus, punisher of liars and broken oaths. Michael, the other Praetor, is the son of Janus the god of doorways. It doesn't really matter who your parent is if you've ambition."

She glanced at Horace. His heritage was obviously a sensitive subject.

Suddenly our plates disappeared and a variety of brutal weapons appeared in their place. Horace nodded at me.

"Pablo has his sica, I've my cestus. Take whatever for now and we'll sort you out with something better tomorrow."

I looked around and picked up an iron sword. A gladius. It felt a little light but it would do for now. Pablo grinned at no one in particular and howled into the air,

"Let the games begin!".

A/N: Sica, A curved dagger.
 Cestus, Leather gloves with jagged metal sown in.

Thanks to anyone who read. More reviews would be great. I'd like feedback on characters, my writing and any ideas you have (but don't worry I do have an over all plot). I'll try update ASAP.