Note from Kanuro5: Not much to say today. I'm happy that I am able to begin to wrap up this story. Please enjoy!

XL

Alea Iacta Est

"That impudent Celtic cunt!"

"Now Praetor, don't—"

"That little shit must believe he's Priapus, making demands of Rome as if he possesses a giant cock to fuck us in the ass!"

"Praetor, you need to calm yourself so that—"

Marcus snapped his head to the senatorial legionary, "You were not there, do not demand for me to calm myself. You did not see the hubris he carried in his speech, that fucking smirk of a child who believes he's a man! I swear on the Black Stone I'll kill him with my own hands."

Vitus exhaled as he rubbed his jaw. His eyes swiveled to his side and fell on Proculus rolling his eyes and playing with his hands as he watched the Praetor's tirade. Vitus' gaze then fell on the remaining soldiers of the garrison, all forming a circle around the three Roman aristocrats. Upon their return from Lugo, they informed all the men of the terms that the Briton offered. Every soldier began murmuring among themselves around the validity and the need to answer the terms.

"How much time until we deliver an answer?" a legionary asked.

"I assume around twenty minutes," answered another.

A Twenty-Eighth optio sighed, "So…it is to the death then, correct?"

"There exists no other option. If such is true, then we should take the fight to them, let us charge out there and meet them in open battle."

"And be slaughtered by their arrows and cavalry?" Aelianus asked open-endedly. "No, I suggest we stay inside and use the village as a defensive advantage. We…we shall still fall, but we shall take more of them down with us."

"I second that!"

"As do I."

Another legionary spoke up, "Perhaps we can shore up the defenses now, while the barbarians wait. We can patch the walls with the dead Britons and possibly wade out the Briton attackers, correct? There's still food in the city after all."

The legionaries were mumbling in agreement with one another, but Aelianus spotted a look of forlorn on the faces of the senatorial soldiers. One purple-cladded soldier even buried his face into his palms.

"Wait, there's no food here? At all?" Aelianus said, loud enough to be heard by all.

"Not a crumb," a legionary from the Senate said.

"By Jupiter's mercy, for what reason is there no food?" a 28th legionary asked.

"Lugotorix," Marcus sneered. "He brought in those onagers and used flaming ammunition. Such is why almost every single hut was burned to cinders. And in one of those huts…was the storage for food."

The men of the Twenty-Eighth ran their hands through their hair. As if their situations could worsen in such a manner.

"So we're trapped here, surrounded by an army of barbarians, in the brutal midst of winter, with no food?"

Proculus chuckled bitterly, "Such news continues to raise my fucking spirits…"

A legionary suggested, "We can flee from the rear of Samarobriva and make haste to the ships."

"And get cut to pieces, quick as Pan, in the attempt," another legionary remarked dryly, "They have cavalry that'll close in on us in moments. We cannot flee and we cannot remain here."

"Such a reason proves my point," Marcus said, "We take the fight to them, no terms!"

"Let us not be filled with haste," Vitus said, standing to his feet, "These terms are not too bitter to accept."

"What?! You actually care to accept them?"

"I…I do. I believe it is the most prudent decision we can all make. And it is our mission to take you back to Rome, Marcus. So I believe we should surrender and flee on the ships. Lugo seems a man that keeps his word."

"But why should we trust a barbarian?"

"You trusted the pirates, and they have shown honor in such agreement, so why not the Britons?"

"The motivations of pirates are based on gold; barbarians hold no such motivation except savagery and bloodlust."

"Yet Lugo was not bloodthirsty. If he was, he would have charged the moment he laid eyes on Samarobriva. But he didn't, he even voiced his assessment in how he could win the day in numerous ways. Praetor, these are not your average barbarians."

Marcus scoffed loudly, "So you qualify an expert on barbarism, Vitus? You who only spent two months at best on this campaign? You figure you're more knowledgable than I, the man who fought against them a whole year? Or how about your own soldiers who fought against the barbarians for over a decade, you know more than them? Tell me, what is your experience with these barbarians, boy?"

"On the seventh day of my journey, I was shot with a Germanic arrow, right here in my breast. They ambushed my patrol and killed them all and would have done me too if not for Oroles. I've witnessed the destruction of the Gallic people firsthand. I sliced open the throat of the Gallic chieftain who pleaded for the safety of his people. I befriended and led Thracian warriors into battle. Battled with the Germanians and killed an elite armored Germanic captain. I've conversed with a Briton spy, and I've conversed with the brashest Gallic archer you shall ever meet. I broke bread with a chieftain and survived an ambush by his people and killed his warrior daughter, in single combat. With my brother, we've slain about 20 Briton warriors in order to find our Father's body. I've led a night raid against a Briton fort. And just today, I defeated King Lugotorix the Bloodyhanded and King Segovax, who wielded numerical superiority and saved your life. And I've conversed with Lugotorix and listened to his views on the world, as had you. And just now, I amicably conversed with the wisest barbarian I've ever met, and he was a prince. In this journey of mine, I have delved in philosophy with Gauls, Germanians, Britons, and Thracians. All this I have done within the span of two months, and I am still sixteen. So Praetor, I would say my knowledge about barbarians is pretty extensive. Wouldn't you agree?"

Marcus gave no reply. He held his tongue, absorbing all of what Vitus had informed him of his adventure, never truly expecting this young man to face all that he said he faced, within a span of two months. Vitus continued glaring at the Praetor; he dare belittle him in this manner? He truly never imagined what he, his brother, and the legion had to sacrifice to rescue him.

"Let us stray from heated words," Cossutius mediated, getting in between the two patricians. "And let us redirect the argument unto its proper course. General, can you speak for certainty of Lugo's true intent on the mainland?"

"For absolute certainty, I cannot. But I do believe he is genuine in his speech."

"General, if I may?" Centurion Cervinus of the 10th Cohort asked.

"You may speak, Centurion."

"General, if we do leave by ship, and the Britons take Samarobriva; what's stopping them from immediately marching on Rome's territories? They could sign the ceasefire and march on the defenseless Alesia. He holds a large army that is already mobile, they can march more efficiently in winter than any other army, and he apparently holds knowledge of the inner machinations of Roman politics. It baffles the mind, truly. If Lugo holds such advantages, then why not attack our borders? Even if he desires to be left alone, he could greatly expand territories of the Britons by attacking Alesia and the rest of Roman-controlled Gallia."

Proculus told them, "Your words hold weight…but…but I stop and think about the spy, Cassius. Cassius met up with me in Alesia, and held no genuine notion of the Legion leaving when he arrived at Alesia. If he did, then he would have continued spying on the Legion the entire campaign without going to the city. Which means, he was supposed to spy on Alesia and beyond in the south. To…gauge the strength of our borders."

Cossutius gasped, "Of course! That's why Lugo is suggesting that! He doesn't know the true strength of our borders."

"What do you mean?"

"That prince is bluffing in his omniscience. He desires us to believe he knows all the weaknesses of the Roman border. But most likely he believes like many other barbarians that our legions are actively patrolling every territory in Rome instead of being garrisoned. The Twenty-Eighth is the only active legion in Gallia. The closest legions to us are two legions in Hispania. It would take those legions at least five months to reach Samarobriva, especially if they're leaving in this winter. If Lugo knew how lightly defended the northern territories are, he could take his army and roll over all our lands and people for a thousand miles. They know winter more than we ever will, and could probably move with swifter organization and logistics. They could probably reach the borders of Italia before the Senate throws an army at them large enough to stop them! He hold the utilities to destroy us, but he doesn't know it."

The Praetor sighed, "Such is true, the strength of the Republic is scattered. Sulla is still fighting Mithridates with the Brutii and holds the bulk of the army. And the Scipii are still waging war in Egypt. We're spread too thin to counter this new threat."

Vitus stepped forward, "Which is why we need a truce. We need to prepare."

Marcus chuckled darkly with a roll of his eyes, "Oh that is a wonderful jape, Vitus, truly it is. We just sit back and do nothing! And watch them grow stronger like we're watching a play! Go ahead, boy, we're no longer soldiers, go ahead and label us tragedians then. Go on!"

"Yes, we do nothing, but we grow stronger as well. Praetor, what can we do?" Vitus spat back. "We have six legions that are effectively destroyed, my father is dead, and the closest army is five months away. We need to bide time and raise a larger force, reinforce our borders with militia, keep up appearance and formulate stratagems. We need time. And this truce may provide us with it."

Aelianus walked over, his voice was soft, "Generals, if you allow me to speak? We do require time to bolster our strength, but…please remember what happened last time you two trusted a barbarian?"

The brothers exchanged looks and their eyes fell to the ground. Aelianus was right…was this trust worth it?

"Yes, I remember what happened. That barbarian saved your lives."

All eyes turned to the man who spoke; it was none other than Ardunas, waltzing through the conversation with a carefree expression. The Praetor grimaced, "Aren't you the translator?"

"Pleasure to meet you, Praetor. I am Ardunas, a mercenary, and one of the best archers you shall ever find, short of Parthia. If you need more men to hire, do not look too far."

Marcus examined his features, recoiling in disgust, "Are you a…Gaul?"

"Indeed I am. The brothers hired me and my boys a month ago. They needed men, so we signed on. Now they were suspicious of me, but I proved myself. After the betrayal from the Briton spy, Cassius, the brothers grew mistrustful of us and even contemplated our executions. But they didn't. They did not allow fear to rule them, they placed their trust in us, and we have saved their lives and men of this Legion on multiple occasions in this battle. Yes, we barbarians can be treacherous, but not as much as you 'civilized' Romans."

"Explain your statement."

"I must say, you Romans are reviled for your dishonest ways around the world, how you must always implement 'The Roman Way' into every culture. The seizing of boys from their fathers as hostages. Your ruthless ambition that threatens to swallow the world in whatever you do, be it conquest, finance, or religion. Your people are despised across this world. There's even a humorous saying that goes like, 'An Egyptian will bribe you, a Greek will coerce you, a Jew will cheat you, but a Roman will fuck you.' "

Proculus couldn't refrain from a low chuckle, "That is an inarguable statement."

"A flawed statement, more like it," Marcus sneered. "What is the point you are making, Gaul?"

"Honor is never exclusive to Romans. We men of the so-called 'barbarian blood' pride ourselves on honor, or risk shaming our Gods and our ancestors. We may seem savages but we still know the concepts of respect and honor. Lugo is placing a huge risk as well; a risk he knows may as well burn him and his people in the future. Yes, he's young and the young are rash, but he holds more cunning than any man I've seen. It almost seems he made these terms on a whim, yet I suspect he was planning a ceasefire with Rome for a while, and meeting Vitus has provided that opportunity. And even if he does betray us once we leave, what is he to gain? He could have just killed us all now, he even made a point in explaining it; allowing us to return to the village to convene a truce then attack us as soon as we leave is exhaustingly tedious. I believe this Briton is genuine."

"But how can we guarantee that Lugo's true interest is in his own lands? How can we be sure that his ambitions do not carry into Roman lands? If he did know the strength of our borders, I hold most credible feelings that he would invade the can we know that his goal is truly their "old" lands?"

A spark went off in Aelianus' mind upon hearing the word, "land". His mind flashbacked to the day Lucius was meeting with the Candevaci tribe of Gaul on the sacred hill. He remembered Lucius gazing at the land below him and around, and he told Aelianus something the sole survivor of the Mighty Three never forgot. The word flowed from Aelianus' tongue as if it was the sweetest melody.

"Property."

"What was that, Aelianus?" Proculus asked.

"Property…it is property." Aelianus' eyes widened in realization. "General Lucius, h-he told me about p-property. On the hill when we met to converse with the Candevaci, he told me 'Everything is about property', and that one day I'll understand what he meant. He was standing on top of the summit seemingly absorbing the wonders of nature around him when he told me. Property."

Property…

The brothers looked at each other, their mouths hanged low as their minds reverted to the past where they dined with their father and the centurions the night after negotiating with the Cherusci. Their father posed a riddle about why wars are fought and why men seek to eclipse the gods. And the answer was…

"Property." Cossutius said with a smile.

"What are you men speaking of?" Marcus asked.

"General Lucius had a favorite phrase," Cossutius explained, "It was simple, yet he swore the entire world revolved around it, 'Property.' The owning of land drives the world. Wars are fought over property, holding many pieces of land allows for one to feel superior over others. It is what Rome shall be remembered for over its military and technology after Rome is a memory. It's what one tries so hard to attain, a place to call their own, or the most cherished amount of property is one's own…for one to reclaim the home of his ancestors…property. Oh General, how did you know…?"

Proculus wrapped his arm around Vitus' shoulder. He looked at his brother with a soft grin and prideful eyes, telling him fondly, "Even in death, Father is still educating us."

Lucius' sprawling smile radiated in Vitus' mind. "He was truly right in that regard, everything he spoke about did hold a purpose."

"Hey!" Marcus shouted. "Are you Julii done staring into space? I still do not understand what Lucius meant by that word."

Aelianus chuckled, "Pardon me, Praetor. But to understand, you would have to serve under the man and listen to his delicate teachings. He saw the world differently than we did."

"That was our Father," Proculus said. "He was truly extraordinary. And I hold faith that if he was here, he would believe that the Briton cause is genuine. All that they've done is fight for their conquered homeland. I…I feel that I can believe that. And if in the future they do try to expand their territories into Roman lands, then we shall fight them back as a new unit."

All the men of the Twenty-Eighth grunted in approval as one. An optio stepped forward, "We're the bloody Twenty-Eighth, we held the line at Lucretian Bridge and Praxus Hill! If the blue bastards try to take our land, then we'll beat them back to their fucking island!"

"Yeah!" the Twenty-Eighth men shouted.

Another soldier stepped forward, "Of course we can, the Twenty-Eighth never fails!"

"Twenty-Eighth! Twenty-Eighth! Twenty-Eighth!"

Cossutius held his hand high and looked to the brothers, "On my honor, I stand by General Proculus and General Vitus in their decision to accept the Briton's terms. Ye the Britons may attack in the future, but we shall be ready when they do, we shall prove the strength of the Julii and the Twenty-Eighth! Who stands by me?"

All hands of the Twenty-Eighth shot in the air with a confident roar. Proculus and Vitus looked on and smiled, feeling truly blessed that were able to lead these men.

However, Marcus' face contorted as if he swallowed something sour. He stood tall and walked closer to the Twenty-Eighth, nodded contemptuously, "It's pleasing that you men show such loyalty for your posthumous leader and his sons. But it's very disheartening that you all lack the foresight to see the political error this decision of yours shall lead to. For it is I who shall finalize our decision, not Proculus or Vitus."

Vitus inhaled through his noise, "But Marcus, I was in the assumption that I was to give voice to our decision."

"Then you assumed falsely, Vitus. As the Praetor of Rome, it is my authority that dictates our response to Lugo."

"Yet Lugo asked me, not you. With respect, Marcus, at this moment, Lugo is the only authority out here that matters. And I shall tell him that we plan to surrender, you need to return back to Rome."

"Has this fighting made you simple? You claim I am to return to Rome, but in order to do so I must surrender to barbarians? Ha! And you freely converse with the enemy and you claim his authority supersedes Rome's? Continue like this and the Julii shall surely lose all their position within the Senate's graces."

"You speak to me upon position?"

"I do, boy. A year ago I led five legions into this feral land in hopes of winning a battle when you probably discovered the pleasure of stroking your own cock at night. I was given the positon over everyone in the Senate to win this battle by myself!"

"And now we are here and saved you. You mustn't have been very good in your position."

Marcus seized Vitus by his collar and painfully yanked it upward. The Praetor sneered in his face, "You do not mock me with your words, boy! Remember who I am!"

Vitus was gagging louder as Marcus squeezed tighter. Then a strong pair of arms wrapped around Marcus' torso and spun him to the ground. Several of the legionaries gasped and blinked incredulously at the sight. Marcus rose to his feet in seething anger at the man who threw him.

"You dare place your hands on a Praetor of Rome?!"

Proculus' eyes narrowed in an unfazed glare. He spoke slowly with a gravelly tone, "Your title means shit to me. Do not, lay hands, on my brother. The only reason that I do not break your face is because you are Appia's cousin.

Marcus snarled to him, "Do not hide behind my cousin, you already struck me! Be a man and own up to your consequences, come at me then!"

Proculus growled and walked towards him with his hands up. Cossutius jumped in between them with his arms apart. "Are we truly to devolve into fighting with one another with the enemy at our doorstep?!"

Proculus exhaled and rubbed his head, yet his eyes still stared daggers at Marcus, "Cossutius is right, we cannot fight amongst ourselves..."

"Then allow us to take the fight to the Britons. No truce! No surrender!"

"We cannot have this, Praetor. We've been over this; our mission is to bring you back to Rome by any means. It is the mission that the Senate gave our father that we have ventured this far. These men of the Twenty-Eighth have lost nearly all their brothers, and the general they were proud to claim a father, just to bring you back home. If you die here, then all we accomplished, all we sacrificed, the legacy and glory of our legion would have been for nothing."

"And if we surrender, then all that we have done would have been for nothing. Can you fathom what I've had to endure? I spent the first four months marching an army from Rome to Samarobriva. I laid siege to this damn village for an entire year. I fought off Segovax and captured the village, and then I was under-siege from two new barbarian armies. Not only had I to worry from them attacking the village, but I had to contend with infiltrators who would slit our throats in the night, rebellious barbarian villagers who were trapped within the village with us, not knowing whether my message to the Senate for reinforcements had arrived or not! And I have told you and your brother the horrors of what happened inside Samarobriva once we captured it. I sympathize with the loss of your father, Lucius was a great man. But I shall not be moved by the sole basis of your father's legacy; we shall fight the Britons and die with honor! And why am I to be evacuated? I sent a courier to explain that I needed reinforcements to hold Samarobriva! I did not request for an escape. I say we take the fight to the Britons."

"Praetor, no!" Vitus shouted, "We order you not to engage."

Marcus' eyes bolted open, taken back from what he heard. "You order me?" His face slowly purpled, "You order me?! I am a Praetor of the Republic, I have been ordained by the Gods for this position and you bark orders at me as if I am a dog? What gives you such right?"

Proculus dug within his breastplate and removed a sweat-covered, ragged and slightly torn scroll and handed it to the Praetor. "This."

"What is this that you hand me?"

"The mission the Senate sent to our Father."

Marcus squinted at the scroll before taking it in his hands. He stared at the brothers, "You've kept this with you throughout the entire campaign?"

"We did, it was our father's decision," Vitus explained. "He presumed that you would stubbornly refuse to abandon Samarobriva, so he brought this message to show you the will of the Senate."

"And what if the barbarians captured this sensitive information?"

"Then what?" Proculus added in a spiteful tone, "If they captured this, what could they do? Read it? There are very few barbarians who can even speak our language. There exist even fewer who could read. And if they had seized this, it would only inform the barbarians what they already knew: the Twenty-Eighth Legion is on the march to relieve your legions, Marcus. And the Germanians and Britons were already well aware of our movement without even taking this scroll."

"Hmm, you believe the contents of this scroll shall change my answer?" Marcus sneered.

"Open it and see."

Marcus unraveled the scroll and his eyes started reading the message with close intent. The brothers watched on in silence. They knew what it said. Word-for-for, they remembered the scroll their father received from the Senate. After his death, they kept it as a physical reminder of their duty they owed their father. They remembered how the scroll read:

To Lucius Julius the Mighty, Heir of the Julii, Imperator of the Twenty-Eighth Legion,

The Senate of the Republic of Rome has tasked you with the mission of the utmost importance to complete. By the sacred oath that you have sworn to take up arms for the Republic, it is your duty as a general of the Republic to take your Twenty-Eighth Legion to rescue Marcus Maxentius, the Praetor of the Republic, and the five legions of the Senate. The Praetor's whereabouts are at the Gallic village of Samarobriva, a village at the very north of the mainland, the tip of Gallia. Praetor Maxentius has laid siege to the Gallic King, Segovax, but he has been assaulted by a three-faction alliance of barbarians consisting of the Gauls, Germanian led by their king, Cunovindus the Butcher, and the Britons led by their king, Lugotorix the Bloodyhanded. The most recent report from the Praetor states he's destroyed most of the Gallic army of 12,000 men, but the army of Germania and Briton number both around 11,000 men. 8,000 infantry, 1,000 missile troops, and 2,000 cavalrymen. Now the valiant Praetor has been besieged within Samarobriva and as he is unable to hold the settlement, you are tasked by the Senate of Rome to rescue the Praetor from the vile barbarian horde and return him to Rome.

You are given liberty as granted by Consul Caius Maxentius, to take whatever measure you deem necessary to retrieve the Praetor at all and any cost. His survival is paramount. Failure to complete this assigned mission shall not be tolerated and shall result in the highest punishment to be conceived by the senators of Rome. Return with Marcus Maxentius, free him from the cursed village he resides in; and return him to proper Roman society where his talents could be of proper use.

May the Gods watch over you, Lucius Julius, and may they grant you fortune.

Long live the Glorious Republic of Rome and long live the Senate that guides Her hands.

Marcus had finished the scroll; he blinked several times, and reread it again to see if his eyes deceived him. Once he finished, his arms flailed to his side and the scroll flew out of his fingers and into the snow. His jaw slowly creaked open in defeated confusion. His legs crumbled and he fell on his ass, his blue eyes were staring into space.

" 'Take whatever measure you deem necessary to retrieve the Praetor at all and any cost,' that is what your own uncle told our father in that message," Proculus said to the speechless Praetor. "There is even the Seal of the Consul stamped at the bottom of the message, so our father was given the authority of Consul to retrieve you, Marcus. And as the General of the Twenty-Eighth, Vitus can exercise that authority whatever way he sees fit." Proculus turned to his brother, "And how do you exercise such authority, Vitus?"

"By demanding you take your men and board those pirate ships and we shall surrender Samarobriva to the Britons. Come now, Marcus, it is over. Return to Rome with us."

"They…they never believed in me…" Marcus shook his head softly, his voice was quivering with each phrase, "They used the words 'cursed' to describe this village…they never believed in me. No, no. They could have…order you Julii to assist me in keeping the city, but…they want me to return, they never cared about this city, just me? They never placed enough faith in me?" Marcus rotated towards the brothers, and both of them were taken back by his looks. The white in his eyes were strained red, his jaw was hanging low, and his eyes were narrowing as if he was to cry. "Proculus, Vitus, is that what I just read? They never believed in this?"

Vitus' eyes softened, "Marcus…are you—"

"They told me I was special and I could succeed, they cheered me…they applauded as I accepted the task—and now they require that I abandon all that I've done?! By the Gods…all this time…I just requested reinforcements…not an evacuation. How could they misconstrue my message? How?! I just needed more men to hold this fucking village! I—I held no desire to leave…but to use such wording, 'at all and any cost'; they truly desire me gone from here. All that time I spent here, all those who perished, all of my men, was it truly for nothing…?"

"We…Such thoughts are too difficult to answer," Proculus told him. "It is not our place to judge the worth of this village, but it is our place to take you back to civilization. Marcus, do not choose to die so far away from home. What do you say, Marcus?"

"What?!"

Eyes turned to a senatorial legionary whose face was covered in fresh scars he undoubtable earned during this campaign. His rugged face was contorted in anger. "You men of the Julii, you intend to surrender this village? Apologies for my bluntness, but how by the name of Mars can we relinquish this fucking village?! After everything we've suffered?!"

The rest of his men chimed in with similar bitter sentiment to their losses, but Marcus could not reply to his own men. His jaw shook in confusion and anguish, it was clear by all that he was torn asunder by the request of the Senate.

Vitus exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck, "We understand, soldier. Such a decision—"

"You understand what?" the legionary snapped back, "Can you understand a year of besieging in this haunted land deep in barbarian territory? Or can you understand as soon as we take the village, we are immediately trapped by the enemy for months?!"

"You are out of line, soldier." Centurion Cervinus of the Twenty-Eighth said to him sternly. "Know you are speaking to a general."

"Does the General know of the true number of our casualties, Centurion?"

The despondent Marcus muttered slowly to the brothers, yet loud enough to be heard. "W-We loss 25,000 men, just to get this fucking village…by the Gods…I've seen good men perish with honor, and I've seen even better men who were slaughtered ignobly by the very filth who you are prepared to surrender to. I've…I've held the hands of boys who've never known the pleasures of a woman; just mere boys nearly older than you, Vitus, absent strands of hair upon their chins. I—oh Gods—I held their dying hands as arrows r-ripped open their lungs and spears m-mangled their innards! I heard their dying prayers and how they cried to their mothers with blood pouring from their mouths…am I to leave this settlement, with their blood still wet on the soil?! Should I ignore their cries for vengeance by fleeing back to civilization…that they all desperately dreamed upon returning to? Can you brothers answer me that?"

"I…well we—we can probably…um…" Vitus stammered uncomfortably.

"Uh, we…it's not that simple, but…" Proculus began to repeat himself as well.

The stares of the senatorial legionaries evolved into frozen glares, "You cannot even answer that, can you?"

Proculus exhaled with sympathetic eyes, "We…We cannot answer because such answer is too difficult to form with words. No words from us can ever replace your fallen brothers.

The purple caped soldiers asked the red caped ones, "What of you bloody lot? You lost nearly your entire legion just to get to this village! What would you have to say to your generals?"

A Twenty-Eighth legionary said from the back of the crowd, "Generals…pardon my question, but what of the vengeance you spoke of earlier, when you returned from the blizzard? About taking revenge upon the Britons? You promised us vengeance by completely destroying the Britons."

Vitus exhaled, "And we meant every word. We shall have our vengeance. But not yet, though. And if that labels us hypocrites, then so be it. The Britons shall pay, but on a date and battle of our choosing where we are sure to win. If we fight and die here, how is that vengeance? Today we experienced a good measure of vengeance by crushing the Lugotorix's army. But we must wait before we destroy Britannia. It took Rome almost a hundred years to fully repay Carthage after the Battle of Cannae. Our forefathers destroyed Carthage in the Third War, exacting our vengeance. When the Gauls sacked Rome centuries ago, my father paid them back in full by destroying their pitiful nation! We are Romans. We are patient."

The men of the Julii nodded and murmured lowly in subtle agreement, it was bitter to swallow, but the brothers spoke correctly. The legionaries of the Senate however scoffed loudly. They turned to the Julii soldiers and said, "Are you willing to accept such an excuse? For all your brothers who you fought beside in the rank-and-file? Do you not wish to see this village in Roman hands for your brothers who died for it?"

Aelianus stepped forward, "Our brothers did not die for Samarobriva. They died for each other; they died for us, for General Lucius, and for Generals Proculus and Vitus. They didn't care about Samarobriva or its strategic value, they only cared about their family. The Twenty-Eighth is the only family that some of them ever knew, they died for that. Not for this cursed settlement."

"And we Thracians agree." Ligadis was the one who stepped up now, "We Thracians of the Auxilia were only loyal to Vitus and Proculus, we fought and died so they may live and aid us in living. All of us Thracians are of the Getae tribe, all of us are kin in one way or another. Our blood is thicker than any substance you can imagine, we fought and died for each other and our leaders. This village be damned."

Cossutius walked forward, "You soldiers of the Senate, listen well. As soldiers, we follow our leader's commands. If they command us to march on Elysium, then we shall. Lucius told us why we were fighting, to save the Praetor at all cost. Every last one of us knew this was the objective. And with Lucius dead, and his sons trying to honor their father's memory in completing this task, how can we brothers of the Twenty-Eighth not aid them in this quest. Indeed, we lost many of our brothers-in-arms in this campaign, but if the Praetor dies, if you legionaries die, then it would have been all for naught. And we shall not allow that to happen."

The scarred legionary replied, "If we leave, then all of our brothers-in-arms' lives shall have been for naught! You are saying that you are doing this because of your comrades. Well we are deciding to stay here for ours! What are we to do, General? Flee back to Rome as shameful cravens? This mission of yours is for the Praetor anyhow, allow him to return to Rome and let us die with honor! Leave us and take the Praetor! For what are we to do but die?"

"Live and fight!"

"What did you say?"

"You asked me of what you legionaries are to do? You live and fight! Like true soldiers! You lost virtually everyone in your legion, but you thirteen still draw breath, you still hold that valuable experience in fighting the enemy. In such circumstances, I believe special conditions can be made available to you veterans. For surviving this long and killing many enemies, I can imagine you all being inducted into the ranks of the Evocati, Scipio Africanus has done so with his survivors of harrowing battles. Use this experience and train the men of Rome, you men can help rebuild the legions. Also, look over there."

Vitus pointed to the five legionary eagles that rested beside the hut where Lugotorix resided in. "You still possess your eagles; you still hold your standards. There is no dishonor in your actions. With 25,000 men nearly obliterated, these thirteen still held on to their pride of the legions, proving that until the last soldier draws breath, their eagles shall never fall. What I've spoken is damn near poetry. The newsreaders of Rome shall speak of your brave exploits in protecting the identity and sanctity of your legions. And yes, you are leaving your comrades behind, but know that they fought and died so each of you may live. That is the creed of the soldier, to fight so your brother may live. Honor that sacrifice they made for you.

"My father taught me a valuable lesson, after my first battle. I felled a mighty Germanic warrior and I could have taken his armor as spoils of wars for besting him in combat, but I held on to my honor and allowed the prestigious laurel that could have benefited my family go to waste. My punishment was excluding me from his confidence and his inner circle. His lessons taught me to never allow for an opportunity to slip through your fingers, or another shall take it. We could have been killed, but we haven't by the will of this barbarian prince, so let's take advantage of this, and live to fight another day. Yes, this is a compromise, but my father told me, 'Life is about compromises.' We shall not allow this opportunity to pass."

Proculus spoke up, "Yes, the mission from the Senate is strictly for the Praetor, you all are secondary. But know that without you, the Praetor would not even be drawing breath at this moment. This is because of your courage and ability as warriors he is alive. Now look at him, you see how torn he is about this decision; all in part because of the loss of his men under his command. His love for his men is evident, so why rebuke the judgement he is to pass? If he is to return, then he needs you soldiers by his side. How can you let him live knowing, all of his men perished in battle while he is the sole survivor? Do not curse your commander with such vile cruelty."

The thirteen soldiers lowered their heads, softly gnashing their teeth; their eyes had mellowed into disillusioned stares. They looked at one another and spoke with tenderness to each other. They had seen the true horrific acts of war that no man should be privy to witness in their lifetime. They have seen virtually all forms of death in war that they could imagine during their year and a half long stay in this land. Yet the sharpest blow that they felt in their hearts was the simple question, "Why do I yet live when so many others have died…?" Were the gods to deliver the answer? Would it have even mattered if they did, would the men have even accepted the answer? The brothers did speak a certain truth, they did fight for each other to live, and each of them knew a friend who died to save their lives, so that they may return and see their family once more. And there was the beacon of light that flashed in the mind of the thirteen. Family. They could finally return and be with them. Rejoining their wives and children, their fathers and mothers, their precious siblings, and valued friends. They could reunite with their loved ones.

The scarred legionary lowered his head and exhaled. He stood tall and proud and announced with a heavy heart, "So be it. We…shall stand by the Praetor's decision. Whether he decides we shall fight or flee, we shall abide by his decision…we shall. By Jupiter Optimus Maximus, we so swear."

"By Jupiter Optimus Maximus, we so swear," the other senatorial legionaries said as one.

Proculus took a knee beside Marcus and asked him softly, "Marcus, your men are with you and are ready to return home. We can survive this, you can return home. We just need your word. What say you, Marcus?"

Marcus Maxentius looked toward the faces of his legionaries, and sighed at their bitter, haggard, blood-coated faces. He examined the grey sky and closed his eyes as he felt the chill of the wind blast his face. He ran his hands through his blond hair and rubbed his palms in his face. He placed his hands down, stood to his feet and faced the brothers. "What say I? I…Marcus Maxentius…I tire of this. This game of politics…I tire of it, I desire to return to Rome with you brothers of the Julii. I…I shall surrender Samarobriva."

Every man present, Roman, Thracian, and Gaul; shuddered at the words that Marcus ushered. They had all unanimously agreed to this decision that the rest of Rome would consider sacrilege upon first hearing it, but the Roman people were not here, they did not see the details, they did not debate amongst each other as these soldiers have done. To these soldiers, their honor was discarded for survival. The Roman soldiers only prayed that they could reclaim their honor in the future. Vitus felt Proculus' heavy gaze upon him, he turned and faced his brother and nodded heavily in this decision.

Vitus moved to Ligadis, planting a hand on his shoulder, "Ligadis, fetch a horse and place Lugotorix on it. It's time."

"Right away," Ligadis nodded as he walked away.

"Furnius…" Marcus said to a senatorial legionary, his voice was softer than wool, it carried the pain of defeat. "Fetch my parchment in the last remaining hut and stencil, I…I must write…the terms of the ceasefire."

Furnius sucked his teeth, but nevertheless saluted Marcus, "Yes, Praetor."

Cossutius turned to the legionaries, "Men! Grab your gear and stand at the ready to move out when called upon. Once we are permitted to leave, we shall depart this village."

The legionaries saluted in agreement and went out of their way to assemble their gear, albeit desolately. Proculus moved to the crest of the summit, his sight glued on the horizon of the grey sky and the golden sun trying to break through the winter clouds. Right there, a sliver of sunbeams fell on his face, he closed his eyes and embraced the warmth. His first thought was Appia, then his mother, and then his uncle. He exhaled and opened his eyes.

As his eyes fell on the Briton formation, he uttered to himself, "And so…the die is cast."

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