Note from Kanuro5: Feels good uploading once more. I've recently been playing Crusader Kings 2 and have fallen in love with the game, I'm pretty sure I may write a fic about CK2. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here impatiently waiting for the Sixth Season of Game of Thrones, the season debut can't come fast enough. Enjoy!
XXXII
Oroles' Origins
Day 55 of the Campaign
Oroles' emerald eyes traced the beautiful flicker of the flames that danced in front of him on this dark night. He pressed his rugged hands against the flames, enjoying the thawing sensation of his extremities. He sat alone—per his request—to clear his head for the inevitable battle that would arise in a few days. In his 15 years of being with the Legion, he along with many men had come to anticipate impending battles by the chills of their spines, the churns of their stomachs, and the ache of their bones. Maybe he was just feeling old; the shivers of veterancy took its toll on him. Nervous as he was, he knew he would be ready for whatever came, as would the Romans.
Relief had finally arrived for the Twenty-Eighth. The biting cold of the winter had finally died away today, leaving a noticeably warmer day. The shining sun and warm weather had done its part in melting a small chunk of the snow, providing a mild relief for the marching men of the legion which even extended into the night. Tonight was warmer than any man could rightfully remember, and many of them praised the Gods for this small mercy. Oroles simply scoffed.
Four days had passed since the raid, and morale was still riding high. The men prattled on as they once did before the quarry, singing songs of vengeance and carouse, and feeling the warm safety in residing in their fort walls. Oroles had noticed that since the Legion's loss in the quarry, no Roman has shaven in act of mourning their General, some even vowing that they shall not shave until they defeat Lugotorix. Oroles observed how Antonius' previously trimmed beard grew thick and unkempt within the following days, and how even Proculus was now sporting a shadow himself on his face. Oroles rubbed his own red beard, Proculus, Vitus, he thought to himself. As of late, the brothers have been on his mind.
The two had endured through a good deal of hardships and wounds since they embarked on the campaign, shedding their boyhood skins as they evolved into men forged by war. Oroles stared back into the fire, wondering how much he changed since he came to Roman lands. He remembered how both the brothers asked him separately about his own origins, and how he responded to the brothers that he promised to speak to them later upon the subject. The Thracian sighed, if he knew one thing from warfare, it was that "later" was never promised.
A voice came from his side, "You look like shit. Well, more than usual."
Oroles chuckled without turning, "It's good to see you too, Ligadis."
His friend sat beside him, smacking on a bowl of heated corn, bread, and roasted squirrel. Ligadis offered portions of his food. Oroles snatched the entire squirrel and gobbled it with haste, yet with an odd touch of refinedness.
Ligadis shook his head, "Asshole." Both men enjoyed a laugh.
"The squirrel was good, to where did you acquire it?"
"The Romans. Specifically Centurion Cervinus, he saw how I and ten others of our blood had little to eat and gave us his remainder. It was oddly generous to do so, but much appreciated."
"This is surprising, Ligadis," Oroles said with a twisted grin, "Are you befriending the Romans?"
"As if. Fuck the bastards, I still hold fury for what they did to me years ago, only Vitus and Proculus are in good standing…and I guess Cossutius…and maybe, Aelianus, the man's not as apathetic as I presumed…"
Oroles laughed.
Ligadis continued. "Anyway, did I disturb your solitude?"
"No, you did not. I was only reflecting on the unchanging past."
"Oh yes, your favorite hobby."
"Oh be quiet."
"Too bad we cannot reverse the sun and relive the days that were spent. Any one day stand out to you?"
"A few."
"Well, we are only days away from Samarobriva. Only days away from the final fight. Possibly, days away from our demise. If you must give voice to something that grips you, now would be the time."
"Such thoughts do weigh on me."
"And who is the target of these thoughts?" Ligadis placed a handful of corn in his mouth and kept talking, "I? Our men? The dead? The brothers? Antonius? Cossu—"
"The brothers."
"Ah. And to what do you seek to speak about?"
"I…Everything."
Ligadis placed his bowl down, "For what purpose?"
"I do not know myself; I just feel the beat within my heart giving voice to do so. Besides, I did promise Proculus I would finish what I told him. Might as well be now."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I am."
Ligadis jumped to his feet with his bowl of food in hand and walked away from Oroles.
"To where do you go?" he called out to Ligadis.
"To bring them to you. For a prince once witted to me, 'To see the morrow, one must wrestle the problems of today'."
Oroles smirked, "A wise man."
"Eh, he has his moments."
"Come now, he's right over here," Ligadis said to the Julius's.
"What does he desire to break words upon?" Vitus asked.
"I cannot peer into his mind, but…from what I've seen, it may be personal. Ah, here he is."
"Gratitude, for bringing them here, Ligadis," Oroles remarked with a nod. "Would you desire to join us?"
"No, I believe it best if I sit out of this. But summon me if you have an extra helping of food." He turned around and left the confused brothers with the Thracian Captain.
"What have you summoned us for, Oroles?" Proculus said.
The Thracian eyed the brothers with doubt-filled expression, "Proculus, Vitus…I must confess something to you."
"What is it?" Vitus asked.
"Please, sit by the fire," Oroles clawed his thick auburn beard and sighed, "I must speak truthfully, so bear with me. I…" he struggled to find the words, repeatedly rambling until he finally found something to say, "I held no love for your father, which is obvious."
The brothers' raised their brows. "Yes it is. It was clear as day," Vitus said, sucking his teeth in a moment of awkwardness. The brothers sat by the flame.
"And our father held no love for you either, what, uh—what is the relevance of this?" Proculus yawned.
Oroles was silent for a moment. "I know not what possesses me to admit it, but I once made an attempt on your father's life."
"You what?"
"Oroles…"
"I admit it. I was close to killing him, but I—"
"Our father?" Vitus asked with an inquisitive eye. "Our father, who destroyed the Spanish and Gallic tribes? You tried to murder him, and you yet live? He would have had you killed immediately!"
"Vitus is right! You still draw breath; Father would have had you crucified! So why weren't you killed?"
Oroles bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. "Because I was a prince. Such is the reason I am yet of this world."
"Wait? A p-prince!" Vitus' jaw fell. Proculus nodded at his brother. Vitus' eyes turned back to Oroles. "Did I hear you correctly?"
"Indeed you had. My father, Oraxus, was the king of the Getae, the ruler of Thracia."
"Oroles, is this the time?" The older brother asked with a raised brow.
"It is."
"Time for what? What are you two talking about?" Vitus inquired, looking at both of them.
Proculus scratched his bristly beard and sighed, "Brother, I believe Oroles has quite an account to tell."
"I do…Vitus, Proculus; bear with me on this lengthy tale…it began thirty years ago. I was the second son of the Getae King, Oraxus. I was second-in-line for the throne, my brother, Oronesis, was the heir to my father's crown and was a great man and a loving brother and three years my senior. When I was a boy of ten, the Getae were once again at war with our oldest of rivals, the tribes of the Maedi. This was also when the Brutii began expanding eastward after conquering Greece. They recognized Thracia as untapped gold if they could control us, but my father refused to call a Roman his master. One day, I played with my younger sister, Anaitis, in the field. She was sweet and caring, I loved her. I protected her from the youths who bullied her. She was my best friend. Then the Maedi raiders attacked and killed our bodyguards, and they captured me and my sister. They bound our hands and led us away. We traveled for miles, until we were delivered into the hands of the Brutii. We were close to being branded as common slaves, until a Maedi recognized us as the son and daughter of Oraxus, and we were taken as hostages.
"The Maedi's reward for seizing us? Roman weapons and armor to use against the Getae. Upon hearing of our capture, our father ended the war with the Maedi and swore fealty to Rome as long as we were safe and alive. And thus, begun our lives as political hostages of Rome. And as for my people, the war may have ended, but the Maedi raids continued. My people could fight back against the raids, but could not go on the offensive or risk our heads returning to them.
"What I most vividly remember was crossing the endless seas. They took us on ships and we traveled from the Black Sea through the strait and entered the Aegean then we sailed to the Mediterranean, then the Ionian, and finally we entered the Adriatic. I have never known how endless the water was until that day. The ceaseless amount of salt that rose from the waves, the terrifying tempests that raged with the fury of the Gods that constantly threatened to capsize our ship; my stomach churned each day aboard the ship, I even believed my sister and I would be cursed to travel this endless ocean for eternity. But we finally landed at the Brutii capital, Tarentum." Oroles paused, his eyes shining with awe, "I had never seen anything as grand as a Roman city before that day.
"Here was I, a boy of ten whose idea of home was a hut of wood and tar, finally seeming stone upon stone buildings and great walls that seemingly stretched for miles, the faces of clean-shaven men and perfumed and powdered women wearing exquisite and vibrant colored clothing and jewelry that I never knew existed. Flowing water that did not come from a river and bath houses that were larger than my father's chieftain hut were erected in the city. And the scores upon scores of people who carried on their everyday lives in the market selling varieties that extend from animals to even selling men and women. And it was then that I realized that my people could never survive against the full onslaught of Rome.
"Upon my first day in the Republic, Romanization was already at work. They…they separated me from my sister. They told me how it would be improper for us to grow up together, so they took her away from the city. I fought, kicked and cursed, but they took her—just dragged her by the arm, I still remember her brown eyes with tears streaming on her peach-colored cheeks, screaming my name. That night, they gave me the name "Octavius" and told me I would be Roman, whether I liked it or not. That night was the loneliest night of my entire life. I cried myself to sleep.
"I was to be raised as a ward to Quintus Brutus "the Bold", at the time, the Head of the Brutii. I was to be seen as an adoptive son at best and a glorified body slave at worst. I would only speak when spoken to, follow Quintus around and learn of militaristic matters, eat at the Brutii table and play with Quintus' children, being taught the Roman tongue by many of his Thracian slaves, and being tutored on the Roman and Greek arts by many tutors. Yet I refused at first. I was a scared boy of ten, I would often scream and cry for my family, and Quintus…he would often…discipline me. Such screaming and discipline went on for about…I can't recall exactly, but probably three months, three months before I realized that I may never see my home again. After that, I took hold of the lessons and within a year, I was an addition to Quintus' family.
"Though we were in Roman custody, my father demanded to see us to know that we were safe. So every year, my sister and I would be sailed from the Brutii lands to Thracia, though my sister and I were separated when we sailed; I would sail a month ahead of her and would be unable to see her. I saw my family again when I was eleven, I have never been so elated in my life…but it—it was," Oroles began choking up; "It was bittersweet when I gazed into their eyes. Upon first seeing me, their eyes of happiness and relief turned to stricken horror. For I had become what they had feared.
"My long hair was cut short, I was close to losing my Thracian accent, and I wore Roman clothing, jewelry, and perfume. My father said he loved me every time he saw me, but with each visit, I could see the love in his eyes fade to ash, the longer I stayed in Rome. As I grew, I was speaking their tongue with fluency, I used Roman slang, I trained in their fighting style, I carried myself with Roman hubris, and I even coupled with Roman women…at times I even forgot I was Thracian by blood. As the Romans dug their claws deeper into my identity, they even placed their words on my lips. I began advocating for my father to transition from tribal law to Roman law, to propose Roman administrative titles to our kingdom, to allow Roman garrisons within our cities. It was Romanization at its finest. I was a blinded tool being worked by the system as a puppet. Upon turning sixteen, I eventually received word that my brother, Oronesis, was killed in a Maedi raid. And that was how I became the heir to the Kingdom of Thracia.
"Meanwhile, the Getae-Roman relations were deteriorating over the Maedi incursions, so upon turning sixteen, I volunteered to stay in the Roman lands as a diplomat of "Good Faith" for the Getae, instead of returning to my lands. The gravest mistake in my life. When I told my father this, I saw his heart break beneath his breast, he turned his back on me and sneered, 'Go on Octavius, stay in Rome and "aid" our people, and please…try to find my son, Oroles'.
"And such was the last time I saw my father, mother, and my family. I…I never returned to Thracia. I was being groomed for equestrian status, along with my sister who was being raised as a "proper" Roman woman. I wouldn't see her until I was nineteen. She was to be wed to a Tribune who was a war hero of the Cimbrian War, Septimus Marius, one of the sons of the famous consul, Gaius Marius. I attended her wedding; she was beautiful, but completely Roman, adopting the name Marcia after living in the home with Marcus Brutus. Her accent had completely vanished, she wore the lavender perfume of patricians, and her hair was curled and styled of the most fashionable women in Rome. And she too chose to stay in Roman lands instead of returning home. Rome had taken her as it did me.
"Years later, the Three Families were at each other's throats over their unique resources—the Julii holding barbarian land, the Brutii holding Greek knowledge, and the Scipii holding the grains and fertile lands of Africa—so the Senate devised an equivalent exchange of resources among the Families. Each Family would exchange with one another their unique resources, such as food, treasure, knowledge, and even slaves and foreign hostages.
"One greedy Brutii, that I cannot recall his name, did not know of my true status—he knew I was an elite Thracian, but not the Heir of Thracia—and exchanged me to the Julii for two Gallic princesses, right from underneath Quintus the Bold's nose. From what I heard later, Quintus was so enraged that he personally flogged several of his Thracian slaves to death to quell his anger, and allegedly, he sent assassins to kill the Brutii who "sold" me. Quintus used every form of litigation for my rescindment from the Julii, but the Julii who recognized my worth as Heir simply stonewalled the Brutii's attempts for years. I was 23 at the time.
"As I came to the capital of Arretium, I was stunned to witness the varying philosophy of the Julii. As the Brutii were for the cause of the patricians, the Julii were for the cause of the plebeians; they expressed what seemed to be genuine sympathy for those less fortunate than them, and at the same time, one could see ambition for higher laurels in their eyes. I was an Equestrian at the time and served with various Julii generals and won a few laurels in battle against the Gauls. I sought the attention of one patrician family loyal to the Julii and was betrothed to their daughter. I also received the attention of the Leader of the Julii, your uncle, Decius. He gave me orders to become an officer of a new "elite" legion, this very legion who was still in its early stages of infancy, the Twenty-Eighth, under your father. I was at the age of 25 and thought I had it all. Renown, knowledge of combat, physical appeal, I even thought I could surpass the clouds. But it was at the age of 25 when my entire life went to shit; it was when I realized how corrupt Rome truly was.
"So much happened that year…but I do recall my shit fortune occurred when I entered the Legion. My renown preceded me and I was greeted by Lucius as a welcome addition, it seemed at the time we were destined to be friends. I was told that I would be made a centurion of an Auxilia unit, it was my first time in command and I was ecstatic. And to my horror, I discovered I was commanding my own countrymen, of my own tribe, who were forced into service. Yes, I had advocated for the Getae to freely volunteer as auxiliary soldiers in the past, but these men were branded on their body and sold to the legion like slaves, most of them were captured by the Maedi raiders, forced to fight for fear of their loved ones in their homeland succumbing to another Maedi attack.
"I protested this to Lucius, I told him as Prince of Thracia, such flagrant abductions and conscriptions were against what was agreed upon by my people, but he would have none of it. These men were giving him the most trouble and he expected me as a Thracian to effectively discipline them. So I swallowed what he fed me and I demanded that those under my command obey me, and by extent, Lucius—I even used my position as a prince. But as the Thracians took a look at me, they vehemently spat and cursed at me, calling me a traitor, for I looked more Roman than Getae. And so under Roman law, I had to discipline them, flogging them and withholding rations, yet earning more of their ire. Each time I had to do such an act, a piece inside of me whittled away."
Oroles fell silent, his eyes fixated on the fire before him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and cracking. "Shortly after, I received a report upon my sister. She was dead…She was killed by her husband, Septimus Marius…that fucker killed her. I was visited by the Consul Gaius Marius to receive the full news of her death. Apparently, Septimus held a concubinage relation with his house slaves and had several children with them, and to her shame, my sister was unable to bear any of Septimus' children. As such, he began visiting her bedchambers less and less. One day, one of the slaves grew too haughty, and openly mocked my sister that she was less of a woman. Fueled with anger, my sister apparently confronted Septimus to cease his relations with the slaves, but on that night, Septimus was filled to brim with drink and lost a considerable amount of coin by gambling. My sister…she angered him to the point where he struck her multiple times, until she fell to the marble floor and her head…cracked against the floor. And that was when her life was extinguished.
"Such an incident was horrifying for the Senate; an ally's daughter was killed in a domestic situation. And to make it worse, it was the son of the Consul who committed the dreaded deed. So what did the "honorable" Romans do? They tried to hide their sins. To my knowledge, they never told my father the truth of her demise, or even lying that she passed away from an illness. They probably told me the truth because I was a Roman Equestrian and would understand. Septimus was questioned, but her death was seen as an accident and he was pardoned to pay me for her death. So Marius and his family payed me a portion of her dowry for the wrongful death of my sister, but I could care less of the coin that was given me. No amount of coin could restore her life. That little shit…that fucking shit! He did not even hold the courage to meet me face-to-face to tell me how he killed my sister.
"And that is how my eyes were opened; my sister and I spent 15 years in Roman lands, fifteen fucking years. And upon her death, I am only offered an apology and a sum of coin and told to forget about her?! I…I was going—fuck! I couldn't—" Oroles began mumbling to himself in anger, until it quickly subsided. He sighed hard and spoke once more, his voice as soft as a feather. "That tore me asunder. Everything in life had lost its simple joys. Food tasted like ash, I lost all carnal desires, I broke my betrothal and returned the families' dowry, and my governance of my men eroded away. I allowed my men to run wild. I didn't care about anything anymore. Lucius had berated me and even flogged me for incompetence, not caring about my aristocratic status. But I didn't say a word…I-I-I j-just didn't care anymore. My dear sister, who though I rarely saw, I still loved her; she was cruelly and prematurely stripped from this world. The world itself could have been set ablaze, and I would have calmly embraced the flames. I just did not care.
"Months had passed and we received new men from Thracia, one of them was a young troublemaker who was caught stealing food from the Cohort's camp. He was caught and beaten by the legionaries before he was taken before Lucius. Lucius decided to publicly flog him. As centurion, I must stand by his side and watch this public discipline be meted out with my kinsman watching close by. I personally tied the man up against the post and told him to embrace the pain that would come. The man just scoffed and said, 'You must know all about embracing what hurts our people.' I don't know why, but that sentence shot through my heart like a flaming arrow. That was the first time I met Ligadis.
"So Lucius and his Tribunes stood stoically as their legionaries assaulted Ligadis with rods and whips—each blow, causing new waves of screams to exit Ligadis' mouth. His agonizing cries went on for ages. I beseeched Lucius to end the flogging, but he stared at me with the coldest eyes and told me, 'No, if you cannot do your duty, then your men shall pay for it.' And he told his men to beat him harder. I begged him to stop once more, this time getting in his face. And he sneered that if I opened my mouth again, I would be beaten worse than my sister.
"The anger that I saved for that entire year finally burst. I attacked the nearest centurions with punches and kicks. Lucius called for my restraint, several centurions drew their swords, and I drew mine. I moved forward, my attention on Lucius, the ire of my rage. I don't even properly remember how it happened, but in my rage I slayed two of his centurions, before I descended on him. He drew his sword and we clashed. It wasn't long. About ten seconds I suppose, I attacked and he blocked. I was then overpowered by the sheer number of legionaries and tackled to my knees.
"Lucius called for my head on a spike, but his Tribunes reminded him of my worth. They took me away to a flea-infested cell, beating me like a dog along the way. As they tossed me in, I had thought that I would be killed later that night, but no knifeman came to slit my throat. In fact, I rotted in that cell for three weeks until I was released. Though I tried to murder a Roman General, my status as a Getae Prince saved me. My execution at the hands of Rome would violate the treaty they had with Thracia. And being the Romanized son of an ailing Thracian king, I would be needed to succeed my father. Yet I knew someone like Lucius would not care about such status. He would gladly see me dead at all costs. And yet the Senate thought of such a plan as well. They knew the value of a political hostage and dared not risk "an accident" befall on them, so they assigned "Senatorial Observers" to the Twenty-Eighth Legion to look over me. Under their watch, if I so much had been struck dead by lightning, they would hold Lucius accountable for my misfortune. I was too crucial to kill, yet I could still be disciplined. For the murder of two centurions and attempted murder of a general, I would be flogged and locked in a solitary cell every day for three months. My body still aches from the pain I've endured from those months.
"Yet if something pure was to come from this, it would be how I began to receive the respect of my fellow kinsmen, including Ligadis who smuggled me food inside my prison. It wasn't complete admiration, they still didn't like me but they gave me a bit of respect. It was a start, a start that I would prove to them in combat. In the coming years, I would win more of their respect and these men aided me in reconnecting with my heritage. Yet I knew Lucius would not be deterred from his vengeance. In those battles, the Auxilia were often placed in the thickest of the fighting, I can imagine Lucius telling the Senate how I 'died with bravery in battle', but my men and I kept surviving, ye I was wounded several times, but I recovered—a more battle-hardened man with a battle-hardened unit. I believe it worked out for Lucius in the end in this win-win scenario; either I die in battle or my unit gains experience and kills his enemies.
"Years later, news came that broke me once more. The Maedi had usurped the Getae from power. From what I remember, the Maedi raided the Getae capital in force and…butchered all that they found—especially my family. Rome was furious, they invested tireless amounts of time and coin into our land, and it all burned to ashes, but Rome's wrath would quickly extinguish when they realized that the Maedi were more subordinate than the Getae, they willingly swore fealty to Rome and the Brutii took their lands. And…that was how I became King, I guess. Thracia rightfully belongs to me, but I am a king without a kingdom, my kin are dead and scattered, the Maedi rule over our lands and the Romans…fully support them. I suspect that I am still alive and valued, because if the Maedi fail Rome's expectations, then Rome shall install me as King.
"But that is not likely to come to pass. For a decade, the Maedi have served Rome as dutiful vassals; sending Rome their children, paying Roman taxes, allowing the forfeit of Getae lands—the Maedi have done more to support Rome than the Getae. And so, the Senatorial Observers began to leave the legion, my wellbeing pushed aside as an afterthought. Everything that Rome had prepared me to be, was wasted, my life was wasted. Rome had failed to deliver justice for me and my family, saying how they preferred the Maedi over the Getae, allowing those bastards Maedi to murder my family and kin and reward them with servitude. I fully saw the hypocrisy of Rome and what it represented, and if they dare cast me aside, then I would embrace my "fall from grace".
"No longer was I Octavius Brutus Getaenus; I was Oroles, son of Oraxus, rightful King of the Getae. I knew in my heart that as long as the Maedi were supported by Rome, I could never regain the lands of my ancestors by force or diplomacy, but maybe I could rebuild a community. Every now and then, Getae prisoners would be exiled to Rome as auxiliary soldiers to various legions, upon the end of my services of the Auxilia for the Twenty-Eighth, I vow to find all those of my blood to rebuild the Getae people."
Oroles exhaled and drank from his pouch of water, "Forgive me, I did not realize how long such a tale was. But, now you've heard my story, now you know me."
The brothers were speechless.
"Come now, give voice so I may hear your thoughts," Oroles encouraged.
Proculus blinked quickly, his young mind trying to wrap around what he was told. "Where to begin? I-I have never heard of…such was your life?"
"Truly it was."
Vitus found his voice, "A question, if I may? You abandoned your position as an Equestrian and lost your status as a Getae aristocrat? So…why didn't our father have you killed when you lost your value?"
"Remember, I wasn't completely without worth. If the Maedi failed in their duties, Rome could always install me in power. But for Lucius…I hesitate to say, your father despised me for what I did and how I abandoned my Romanized ways, but I believe he respected my fighting prowess, begrudgingly of course. You two know full well that your father was a pragmatic man; he would not easily discard what could be of use to him. The Auxilia killed his enemy, that's all he could ask for, I suppose."
Proculus asked, "If you are the Getae Prince—no, the Getae King, why do your men not refer to you as such?"
"What am I the king of? The Getae are no more. The Maedi reign in Thracia. And besides, they never called me 'Prince' or 'King' when I joined the Auxilia, and I do not require them to call me that now."
"Why didn't you flee the Legion?" Vitus wondered. "Fifteen years must have given you plenty of chances for escape."
"I have contemplated such things a long time ago, but I stayed for the men. I could have fled anytime, but if a member of the Auxilia deserts, then all members of the Auxilia are crucified. And if the entire Auxilia rebels en masse, then we become Rebels; targeted by all nations for destruction. We would not last long if the entire Auxilia fled, we would be tracked down and destroyed with ease. Also, I did it for me. This is my atonement for blindly siding with Rome," Oroles said candidly, "I had a chance to be with my people when I was younger, but instead I ran away for a life of luxury. I shall not flee this time; we Getae pride ourselves on redemption in combat. If I die with sword in hand, maybe, just maybe I can be redeemed in the eyes of my family in the afterlife."
Proculus stared harder into the Thracian's face, finally saying. "Why did you tell us this? What was the point? This is not some major revelation. We know you hated our father and suffered by Roman hands. What was the reason to apologize for? Does this change anything?"
"No, I suppose not." Oroles said with a straight face. "I figured you two deserved to hear my story. The point was…well—this fight may be our last, and if it is to be so, I shall die with truth upon my tongue. Now, you know why I fight. And, there is a reason why I offer this tale as an apology. I have spoken to you two—"
Vitus' eyes opened, the dots in head connecting to an answer he hoped was untrue. His expression fell into twisted sullenness "Oroles, speak the truth. Is such the reason you grew close to me, was to use me to assist the release of your kin?"
The Thracian bowed his head with an elongated sigh. "Yes. And at the same, no. I heard how you sided with Drenis in receiving food. It reminded me of Ligadis, so I was interested in whom you were. After I saved you from that Germanic ambush and when you summoned me to your wounded side, I saw something in you that I have never seen in a Roman. Idealism and naiveté. You were strange for a Roman, good in heart yet naïve in mind. I shall not bear false tongue; I thought I could use you to beseech your father in releasing us all from the Auxilia after the campaign. But, then I saw you grow as a person and a soldier and I cared for you as a friend. The same goes for you Proculus. At first, I did not hold your best interests to heart until I witnessed the inner worth of both of you. And for that, is why I offer my apologies for considering using you."
Vitus struggled with his upended words, "I—I cannot…you tried to use me."
"Pride does not follow my admission."
Vitus did not breathe a word for the moment, playing with his hands as his mind drifted back to their former interactions. But a sudden chuckle emerged from Vitus that caught Oroles off-guard.
Vitus stood dumbfounded, "I see. I have come to the realization that I stood virginally naïve in war when I started, but now I stand a hardened man." A smile crept on his face, "Now that I recall my beliefs of the past, was I truly that annoying at the beginning?"
"Gods, you were worse!" Proculus exclaimed in a fit of laughter, "You rambled on about fairness and honor among barbarians. 'Twas truly irritating."
The brothers shared a laugh, leaving Oroles sitting with a blank expression on his face, feeling like he was missing the punchline to the secret joke. As it subsided, both of the Julius' gave a warm smile to their foreign friend. "Gratitude for sharing this with us, Oroles." Vitus said, "Know that I hold no anger for what you did, you only acted for the sake of your people. Something us Romans would do, but in a more dubious way if I can admit."
Proculus added on, "Indeed. Like I said, we knew along the lines that you suffered by Roman hands, it was obvious by how you and the Thracians interacted with the legionaries. But we are glad you trusted us to tell your tale as our friend." Proculus' smile lingered for a bit before it fell from his mouth. "You have suffered greatly, and know that though these are words that may sound hollow; you have our sympathies for your loss."
Oroles sat there blinking before he finally nodded. "Romans…" he sighed silently under his breath with a smirk. "Vitus, Proculus, I'm glad my tale was well-received by you, but know that I don't desire sympathy for my life, what can I do with that? Going into a battle, one's mind combs through the annals of their memories; sifting through nostalgia, aspirations that were fulfilled and remained unfulfilled, one's sex life and how one last fuck would be perfect for them, and listing off regrets one had. And I had too many regrets on my heart. It felt good to release this one at least."
The brothers exchanged quizzical glances at the statement. What was the regret that Oroles meant?
The Thracian stood to his feet examining the faces of these young men before them, "I can tell you two have scores of regrets just by looking at you. Regrets clouds your mind and will result in your downfall. In a few days this campaign will end, one way or another, so make sure not one regret stays in your mind on that day. To see the morrow, one must wrestle the problems of today."
Tomorrow is never promised. Never die with regret.
This chapter was written primarily to explain Oroles' history and to erase some plot holes I had made earlier in the story concerning Oroles…yet I have a feeling that I may have made even more plot holes in the attempt. Hope I didn't.
I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!
-Kanuro5