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Chapter Text

Agron withdrew his dagger from its sheath and pressed it to the man's throat. "Did he not cast breath? Did his skin not feel warm and alive? Did his heart not beat like any other boy's? But you did not see a boy did you? You saw nothing but slave to use and destroy you treacherous fuck," roared Agron as he plunged the dagger to the hilt in the man's neck.

***Outside the Villa***

Spartacus watched with curious eyes when he notice Agron stride from the villa with bloodied hands. "What news have you?"

Agron spared him a glance before he tucked his dagger away. "Nasir is in the mines. We head out at first light."

TBC...?

Chapter Text

In the coming days while Spartacus thought of ways to retrieve Nasir from the mines, apparent fortune befell them when they came across a Roman wagon filled with slaves. Spartacus saw them as men and women to add to their ranks—numbers to give aid to his cause. Agron saw them as potential witnesses to Nasir’s whereabouts. However in the end, and under Crixus and Naevia’s interrogations, the slave trader revealed word of Nasir’s demise before he too met the end of his life at the tip of the Gaul’s sword.

At least, that was what Crixus reported when Agron asked what the dead trader said.

But another, more compassionate soul felt need to clear conscious and break words of truth to the broken German gladiator days later. Like spirits, Naevia moved about the shadows within her Dominus’ villa, seeking opportune moment to strike conversation with the busy man. She watched as he briefly conversed with Spartacus before moving around to help the others carry out the supplies that they needed. When he had finished helping Chadara carry a heavy chest, and the corridor was once again empty, Naevia revealed herself.

“Agron,” she said with shaky voice to gather his attention. He turned to face her with an expression that she anticipated: a small smile. It seemed to be the only positive reaction that anyone could draw from the man these days, and with good reason. Naevia believed that she too would find less and less cause to smile if her heart were stolen from her as Nasir was from Agron.

“Naevia. Were you in need of assistance?” The offer was a genuine one though Naevia knew that Agron merely offered in need to keep idle hands and mind busy lest the thought of his fallen beloved.

She hesitantly stepped forth with hands rubbing together in anxiousness. Agron noticed this and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “You appear tense? Has something happened?” When Naevia did not respond Agron’s concern grew even further. “Does this involve Crixus? I have noticed the two of you huddled together in intimate conversation as of late. Has that fucking Gaul done something to harm you? Because if he has then I will not hesitate to—” Agron ranted, only to be cut off by the shaking of Naevia’s head. “No,” she whispered. “He has been good to me.”

Agron’s concern changed to confusion. “Then what troubles you so?”

Naevia looked to Agron with tears hot upon cheek. “There is something I must tell you.”

As she spoke Agron felt bursts of flames spread throughout his body, enraging his spirits and enflaming his anger. He barely stayed to hear the woman finish quiet confession before he charged forth, barreling into unsuspecting peoples in search of his intended target. And when he spotted him across the courtyard he sprang forth like an arrow freshly released from arched bow.

“Crixus,” he yelled, as he tackled the Gaul into the nearest marble column. The gladiator’s back collided hard into the stone, cracking it. But that did not stop him from fighting back, aiming punches at Agron’s head and back to break his hold on him. Yet the fight soon ended when Spartacus and a few others heard the commotion and ran over, forcibly separating the two.

“Fucking shit,” Crixus spat, his face enflamed and mouth spitting forth other foul swears.

“I will fucking kill you,” declared Agron as he struggled against the men holding him. He wanted to make good on his words and see the Gaul lay dead beneath his feet.

But Spartacus had other ideas on his mind, deciding that he had seen and heard enough. He turned to Agron for answers since it was he who had picked the fight with Crixus. “Have you lost mind,” he said with the German’s head gripped between hands.

“But gained heart,” growled the German, casting a hateful glance at the shit eating Gaul who thought he had right to glare back at him. He turned heavy stare back to Spartacus. “Nasir lives.”

That revelation gave the Thracian slight pause before he responded. “How did you come by this?”

“The girl Naevia. The slaver revealed as such to her and Crixus before death. And you would have him suffer in the mines,” Agron yelled, his urge to kill Crixus renewed. Nasir meant the absolute world to him so giving thought to the knowledge that he had to spend one more day in those disgusting mines because of a lie told from a perfidious fuck while his beloved endured such horrors was beyond unsettling.   

 “An equal fate,” replied Crixus just as strongly.

Spartacus turned to his second in command with a look of incredulity. “Why would you bare false tongue while a life holds in the balance?”

“And what of our lives,” posed Crixus loudly with amazing brass.  He pushed aside the man holding him back, and stood up with spine straightened as if he could do no wrong. “What of our lives? Agron spares no thought to anyone but Nasir and would have us all meet our end in foolish attempt on the mines.” Crixus grabbed Spartacus’ forearm, turning him so that he could look him in the eye. “I did what needed to be done Spartacus, you must see this.”

Their leader looked at him with thoughtful glance, weighing the truth of spoken words. Crixus waited patiently, trusting that Spartacus would see it in his eyes that he held nothing but the safety of their people in mind. And he felt quite justified when he saw Spartacus turn to Agron and whisper words of the greater good. But he would be lying if he said he were not shocked when Spartacus turned and placed well aimed right hook upon cheek. “Yes the greater good. One that would never had happened if it were your kin in Nasir’s place. Or your lover if you so had one.” The Thracian turned to all who bared witness to them “If one life holds no value, then none are of worth. So I stand with Agron, and will see Nasir freed from bondage.”

Crixus snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I will not fucking die for this,” he growled. “I move for Vesuvius. Those that will live, join me,” he said before walking away to attend to bloodied lip. When passing by Naevia she lowered her gaze and Crixus found that such action made strange feeling overcome him. But he kept walking, knowing that he would not be walking away with tainted image, nor would he be walking alone. Others would follow him.

And those that chose to stay, would die an undeserved death.

 Agron and Spartacus watched the Gaul disappear from sight, with others following behind him. When their people were separated, those that remained numbered in few. But Spartacus reassured that few men were all that were needed. They could find a way to sneak into the mines with only a few men in their ranks versus an entire group. So the men changed clothing and prepared themselves to head out.

“Are we to attack naked, with our cocks as weapons?”

The men around them laughed at Agron’s question though they knew true meaning behind spoken words. What little protect could they carry about themselves in such little clothing?

“Perhaps not,” came an unexpected reply. The voice belonged to Naevia who stood perched at the edge of the courtyard and appeared nervous to speak in front of the group of men. Then again, the chances of her being around so many at any given time would have been rare, seeing as how she was the body slave to a single Dominus and was never before in the presence of gladiators. “I accompanied my Dominus to the mines once. I may be of some aid to you and your men,” she said timidly.

Agron spared the woman a small nod. “Well received.”

Naevia returned the gesture with a smile of her own and followed behind the others as they filed out with Mira who had made announcement of the arrival of their wagon. When the Thracian went to move past him, Agron clutched his forearm to stop him from leaving. He struggled with words upon tongue of how to reveal his gratitude for having Spartacus’ support in favor of Nasir’s rescue, but in the end, he need not say anything. Spartacus simply smiled and embraced him with warm hand upon shoulder. “Save words for Nasir, when we have returned him to your arms.”

“I would have it so,” Agron said with conviction, following behind Spartacus. “Or perish in attempt.”

TBC….

Chapter Text

The ride to the mines was a long one. The cart was cramped as nine men had to fit inside it. Spartacus laid out the plans to all inside, detailing what they were to do once they arrive at the mines. But then like all the others, the Thracian himself grew quiet, the silence giving way for mind to conjure thoughts. Agron found himself encumbered by the plague of thoughts as well—of his beloved and of the first time he truly laid eyes upon him…

Doctore had just finished his shaming of Spartacus, pissing on the sands before the Thracian. It proved great amusement to see him lowered to such a state—to remove him from high perch upon steed. But in the end the entertainment died down and they were all once again commanded to resume training. Agron could give a shit about who he was paired to fight with—it was one of the other no-name fresh recruits that had yet to bare the mark of the House of Batiatus. In fact, the German wondered why he was paired with a pup whose tail had yet to spring forth from between his legs. He should have been twined with a more suitable opponent such as Barca or Gnaeus. At least they could give the undefeated German a decent fight to make him break sweat. But Agron decided that it was of no never matter: the quicker he tamed his wild little dog of an opponent, the quicker he could take rest in the shade. After deflecting a thrust aimed at his head, Agron placed a well aimed kick to the pup’s chest, sending him flying a few feet back. That gave  the pup time to regain sense and footing, while he the time to let gaze linger about the ludus. And he found eyes curiously raising towards the balcony above.

Breath hitched in throat.

For up above was a beauty like no other—a boy dark of skin and hair yet glowing radiant as the sun. The boy did not notice Agron’s stare upon him for he was engaged in his duties to his Domina. It seemed she was purchasing jewelry and wished to see them grace the skin of her body slave before she made purchase. Agron watched as the boy slipped on a golden arm bracelet fashioned into that of a snake. It looked good upon such brown skin but truth be told, it was the boy who made such a frivolous bauble of value. Agron watched as the Domina of the house—a disgusting woman who on many occasion called him to her bed—speak to the merchant in regards to the bracelet. He could not make out what they said exactly but in the end the Domina shook her head negatively and motioned for the merchant to continue his showing. The boy nodded and turned his head to slip the bracelet from its place on his right arm when his gaze took hold of something below.

He spotted Agron watching him. The German felt a lump form in his throat. For weeks he had wished for such a beauty to notice him—to notice his lingering eyes upon him—but he never imagined the rush of feelings that would overcome him once such action had come to fruition. Hazel eyes from above met with emerald ones below, and for those few seconds there was no one around them. The ludus was empty. There was no Domina, no merchant, no gladiators. There was only the sand beneath Agron’s feet and a balcony that separated him from his beloved.

But that moment ended too soon when Nasir turned away, adjusting the shoulder strap of his light blue garment. Most likely he turned due to words spoken from his Domina’s lips. Yet that did not faze the German at all. If the gods granted him favor to have his aim of affections notice him, then he was certain that such kindness would be bestowed upon him again.

***

And indeed it was.

Minutes later Agron was summoned into the villa by one of Batiatus’ soldiers. He followed without question, knowing that it was more likely the Domina who called for him rather than her husband. Dutifully Agron followed and let the soldier push him through the door, grumbling internally at the rough treatment. He did not expect to see the boy on the other side.

He let a smile wash over his face as he tried to strike up small conversation. “This drought seems never to end,” he spoke as he followed behind the boy. Agron let many things wash over him from this close a view: Nasir’s shorter height in comparison to his own, the flimsy clothing he donned, and the swell of pert backside from behind such thin garments. “How do you fare?”

“Domina provides for me,” came the delicate reply from over narrow shoulder. Agron had never heard such a sweeter voice in all his life.

“That’s good. Good. How long have you served Domina?”

The boy did not look at him but spoke with voice barely above a whisper. “All my life. I was born in this ludus.”

Agron gave a soft laugh. “And recently come to blossom. I barely noticed until I saw you at the games with Domina, three moons passed. I fought Anok of Takini . Did you enjoy my victory,” came the hopeful question.

It worked only to get the quiet boy to turn and look at him. “I was pleased…when it ended.”

Agron nodded. “It’s no easy task, to sever a man’s head. You must find the right angle.”

Those words made the boy fluster. “I do not favor the games.”

That made Agron laugh outright. “Well that is an odd bent. For a slave. At a gladiator school,” he further pointed out.

Nervous fluster gave way to anger in the boy’s features. “One not to be straightened.” He turned upon heel to walk away but Agron grabbed his forearm to prolong his stay.

“I do not mean to insult,” the German tried to say but his younger counterpart was not having it. “Domina awaits,” Nasir said sternly with hand pointed towards his mistress’s bedchamber. He did not speak additionally and Agron knew that the time to make amends had passed. However, he kept it in mind to try again in the future.

He would not be foolish to let Nasir slip from grasp....

Yet in the end that was exactly what Agron did. He pursued such affections recklessly, and to what end? Nasir was sent to a deplorable fate in the mines. Agron grumbled. The German had every right to take anger out on Crixus. It was because of the fucking Gaul that Nasir had to spend more time in a place that he did not belong, and Agron had to spend one more day without his heart. Crixus should count himself lucky that he chose path to Vesuvius rather than the mines for Agron was sure he would have killed the shit-smelling little puissant. Yet it was because of himself that Nasir was destined to go there in the first place. Agron let his head weigh heavy in his hands at the thought. In his moment of weakness he allowed himself to pray to every god he could think of to grant Nasir’s safe passage back into his arms.

And he hoped that the gods were listening because if his beloved was not returned to him alive, Agron  swore that he would march to the heavens to slay all who denied him.

TBC…..

Chapter Text

Agron remembers the first time he laid hands upon his beloved. While walking to his cell many moons passed, he heard the soft pitter patter of feet come down the steps near the gate. No Roman moved as such and curiosity got the best of him as he moved forth to see who it was. His joy could not be contained as he saw that it was Nasir who came down, his mind set to task to gather wine for the masters of the house. With eager mind Agron slipped his hand through the bars to place hand on Nasir’s shoulder, feeling slightly foolish when the boy jumped and dropped the wine jug in his hands. It shattered on the floor by their feet.

“Apologies. I did not mean to startle,” said Agron sheepishly as he retracted his hand. Nasir, whose breath was still erratic, paid him little attention as he frantically set about trying to clean up the shards of clay. His face was flushed and his brow scrunched in a mask of concentration and fear.  Seeing the boy so anxious made the German feel even lower if that were possible.

“When we spoke last, I meant no offense,” he tried again in soft voice. “I am practiced in sword, not words.”

Nasir sniffled and shook his head as if clearing away thick haze. “If Domina discovers that I dropped the last jug,” he began, only to be cut off by Agron extending his hand once more.

“Hand me the pieces. I will see them over the cliff.” Nasir looked the German in his eyes, gauging the level of sincerity in sparkling emeralds while also determining why such sincerity existed in the first place. He found it odd that a gladiator was being nice to him with no prior cause: Nasir had yet to even be near such a beast before. If Melitta were alive, she would caution Nasir to stay away from Agron, as she believed that men brimmed with sweet words seeked only to claim the nectar found between unopened petals. But Nasir was not sure if such beliefs pertained to this gladiator.  This one before him—this scarred German with the gentle eyes—seemed different. Nasir found himself moving small hands towards Agron’s, blinking when those of his larger counterpart enveloped his own before taking away the remnants of the broken jug. Nasir was finding it hard to believe that the kind man before him was the same ruthless killer that he found hard to watch as the Gaul took the lives of many men for sport. Those large hands, forever stained with the blood and sand of the arena seemed warm and full of gentle intent as they encompassed his own. Nasir decided to compare them both. Whereas his hands were smaller, and his fingers were long and dainty and topped with immaculate nails, Agron’s was completely different. The German’s was calloused from years of gripping the handle of a blade, and there was dirt and grit under his fingernails. Yet despite their differences, the two seemed to fit well together, as if their fate was intertwined all along.

But then the young boy regained sense that his Domina expected his return and he turned away in preparedness to leave.

“Wait,” Agron called out. When Nasir faced the gladiator once more he was met with an oddly wrapped parcel in open palm. “Perhaps this will explain where words fail.”

Nasir hesitantly accepted the gift, his eyes staring down at the bundle of cloth in his grasp with eyes full of wonder. Yet when they looked up to settle upon that of Agron again, he had disappeared into the shadows behind the gate. Nasir blinked opened his gift, gasping when the cloth gave way to the golden bracelet that he had donned earlier that day.

Agron watched him from the shadows as minutes went by. He watched as a myriad of emotions passed over the beautiful face. First shock, then amazement and curiosity. Then finally, as dainty fingers coiled themselves around the delicate bauble, a small smile made welcome appearance. To see the young boy’s happiness spring forth due to Agron’s gift made the German so elated that he deemed himself graced with Nasir’s forgiveness. So he slipped away under the cover of the shadows to the cliff as promised to rid himself of the incriminating bits of clay. But he left too soon, never noticing when charming smile gave way to a most troublesome frown.

Chapter Text

Agron remembered the night Nasir returned to him to offer gratitude for his gift. He was a fool to ever believe that Nasir had initially spurned his advances that day when he neglected to don the bracelet given to him. In fact, the Syrian boy called him as such before placing heated lips upon his own. You should have known better, he remembered Nasir whispering in his ear. And it was true. Agron should have known through lingering gazes and small smiles that the boy truly did feel something for him, and that other forces were to blame for his discretion.

Other forces such as the Domina from the house of Batiatus.

Yes, the black-hearted witch Lucretia, the cause for distortion in the past and the reason for Agron and Nasir’s separation in the present. If that Roman bitch were non-existent then Nasir would have never been put to cart in the first place and Nasir would never have been parted from the German’s arms. Batiatus’ whore of a wife robbed Agron of his gift from the gods—robbed him of many frustrating days and many sleepless nights of his beloved’s touch. But the one thing that Lucretia  could never do is succeed in attempt to break Agron’s spirit or his determination. And he made sure that Lucretia knew as such when he thrust the sword though her belly during the revolt, nixing all life within her.

And now as he set his foot to path within the caverns of the mine, he hoped to right all the wrong done to him and his beloved. He and Spartacus followed behind the latter’s woman Mira as she navigated them through the many tunnels. The space was dark, dank and cramped, and the faces they came across were in the many. But so far Nasir had yet to be discovered and with the fear of the Roman’s discovering their plans and closing in, their time rapidly decreased.

As did Agron’s hope.

Until the sweet sound of Naevia’s voice rang throughout the tunnel and into the German’s ear.

“Agron,” she called out.  “There is a slave here who bears the mark of Batiatus upon mid thigh.”

Her words caused Agron to break out into a full sprint, his eagerness overcoming his entire being as he pushed and shoved people out of his path. He had to place eyes upon the one that Naevia spoke of to see if it was true. To see if Nasir truly lived. He knew sight was not playing tricks on the mind when he indeed witnessed what Naevia did as well as the slave in question tried to climb up to a higher level in the mines to escape pursuit of what the boy believed to Romans behind him. There on mid right thigh was the mark Lucretia gave Nasir—the lotus flower with the letter “B” in its center.

Agron’s immediately reaction was to run towards the boy, but he eased his steps when he noticed that rushed actions were doing nothing more than to frighten his lover. Instead he took slower steps and spoke words of a calm nature. “Nasir my love. Fear me not. It is Agron that stands next to you,” he spoke softly. He placed his hands upon the boy’s shoulders and guide his boy until they stood face to face.”It is your beloved who touches you, not a Roman. You are safe now.”

“Agron?” The name was spoken as a shaky question from a face covered in sweat and muck. The German smoothed the damp black tresses back and attempted to clear some of the mud from Nasir’s face. He lifted the boy’s chin up and pleaded with him to open eyes tightly clenched.

“Agron,” the boy repeated, though this time the name was spoken with more confidence and was equally followed by a gripping hug. “The gods have heeded my prayers and reunited us once more.”

Agron placed a kiss upon Nasir’s head. “May they take notice of our love and never separate us again.”

***

Weeks passed since Nasir’s return. They were able to rejoin the others of Spartacus’ men after leaving the mines unnoticed by Roman fucks. But before they all made journey to Vesuvius, they stopped at a Greek temple whose days of granting audiences for prayers of worship had long since passed. Indeed there was not much of a roof left, and there were no weapons to be found amongst its rubble, but there was a strong enough wall intact that they could use to fortify themselves from Roman attacks. And there was also a settler awaiting them inside—a man named Lucius Caelius. He may have been from Roman lineage, but he proved to be a great resource to Spartacus and his men.

He was the man who accompanied Spartacus, Agron and Crixus to port to free the boat of Gallian men that would help swell their ranks. He was the man that trained most in the skill of archery. And he was also the man gifted with incredible intelligence and swift words that would in the future be able to successfully persuade Glabber himself to aid the Thracian’s ranks with a cart of wine and weapons. But for now he sat back and watched with the others as Crixus and his recently recruited men sparred with each other.

So far Sedullus was wiping the floor with the lot of them, and when the big lug decided that he was through with his challenge to Crixus and the others, he disappeared into a small corridor in which people believed he was in search of more drink. Yet instead what he was really after, was the Syrian boy who had wandered down there only seconds before to refill his own cup of water.

Sedullus came closer to Nasir’s bent form, smiling when the young boy jumped at the sound of his voice. “Wine, we share,” said the burly man.

Nasir tentatively returned the smile. “Gratitude, but Agron awaits,” he spoke softly with a gesture to the German’s direction.

“Ah the German. Yes, I see his eyes at me—no love.”

“He needs time,” the Syrian replied with a small laugh.

“And drink,” said Sedullus jovially.

Nasir placed his cup of water down and nodded his head. “I will tell him.” He was beginning to grow weary of Sedullus’ company and wanted to return to Agron’s side quickly. But the Gallian did not let him leave, instead gripping Nasir’s chin with a rough touch. “Tell him his eyes I not like. Your eyes better.” He backed Nasir into the table behind them, leering in delight when the boy grew afraid.

“Let me pass,” Nasir whispered.

But Sedullus merely laughed and smacked him across the face. Blood flowed freely from his nose but the Syrian could do nothing as the bigger man grabbed him by the throat, turning him around and bending him over the table. Fear strickened Nasir’s limbs and a solitary tear ran down the side of his scarred face. Memories resurfaced from his time when in cart, and the faces of the men who had used and abused his body flashed within mind. He could not believe after finding his beloved Agron once more that this was all happening again. The weavers of fate were cruel. Nasir whimpered as Sedullus fumbled with the string of his pants, his screams caught in his throat as the wind now caressed the flesh of his uncovered backside.  Those meaty hands pried his cheeks apart and an idle finger traced his quivering, exposed hole.

He was not sure if anyone had seen him go to fetch water, so he knew that there was a strong chance that no one would come to his aid. He was left only to pray to the gods that Sedullus would make quick work of his body and leave him reasonably intact afterwards.

“Sedullus,” someone screamed, and Nasir was thankful that he would have a protector. As it turned out, that man was Crixus and he held no hesitation in mind as he barreled into his fellow Gallian brother. “Sedullus, stop this,” Crixus yelled as he tried to subdue the giant. Sedullus did not go down easy, instead throwing Crixus back and into the line of sight of the others.

Agron snickered when he saw the two Gallians heatedly fighting. He did not care what their quarrel was with each other. He hated the Gallians and would prefer that they never existed. A good Gallian was a dead Gallian in his mind.  So if they killed off each other than so be it. It was not any of his concern anyways. Agron returned his attention to his section of meat in his hands, cutting off a small piece to eat.

“Agron,” came a faint voice. He turned to see Nasir standing before him with loose, disheveled clothing and a bloodied nose. It was if time suddenly slowed down around the gladiator. Simultaneously he felt anger course through his veins while his heart plummeted into his stomach. His mind demanded to know who would dare lay a hand on his beloved Nasir way in advance of his mouth forming the words. But Nasir answered that question next. “Sedullus,” the boy whispered with a frown as he turned to watch Crixus and said man scuffle.

Immediately Agron sprung into action.

“SEDULLUS!!!”

TBC…

Chapter Text

The fight transformed into complete disarray once Agron joined in. From there the Gallians took part, launching themselves at Spartacus’ men absent solid reason. But Agron could only get in a few blows before Lugo, one of Crixus’ men, intervened. Agron was forced off of Sedullus, tumbling down the steps while aiming blows to Lugo’s face and abdomen. Yet seeing Agron fall at all incited his brothers— the other gladiators— into the fight and soon the temple was roaring with the sounds of various brawls. The sudden noise attracted the attention of Spartacus himself as he had been joined in quiet conversation with Oenomaus and Lucius inside the temple.  Like lightening he came forth, favoring no man who crossed his path. He was tearing through the crowd with newly released fury—a rage brought on by the idea that his hard work for unity was then crumbling before his eyes. But he kept his eye on everyone, including Mira who was engaged in a vicious battle with Saxa. And he especially took heed when she cried out his name and pointed, alerting him to the fact that Sedullus had gotten his hands on a blade and was three seconds away from ending Crixus’ life.  The Thracian intervened at the right moment, his sword clashing with Sedullus’ only an inch away from Crixus’ beating breast.  But the huge Gallian’s movements were clumsy due to his over consumption of drink, so their fight lasted less than a minute before Spartacus’ blade sliced his opponent’s face clean off.

“Enough,” cried Spartacus. He pointed his bloody sword at Sedullus’ corpse. “Is this what you are…animals? Demanding slaughter? We give you freedom and you repay it with blood and dishonor.” He made sure that his gaze brushed against every Gallian in attendance. “If you cannot stand among us as trusted brother, if you cannot follow my orders…take leave now or join Sedullus in death,” the Thracian roared.

Crixus watched with heaving breath as Agron walked over to Nasir and gathered the frightened boy into his arms. He watched his brother place a tender kiss upon quivering lips and though he could not hear what he said, Crixus knew that Agron was whispering words of love and reassurance into the Syrian’s ear. Such an act of love made the German turn his eyes upon his own interest Naevia, who to his relief, had managed to remain hidden and unscathed during the brawl.  Feeling sudden eyes upon her she turned and smiled at Crixus with one hand clutching the other above breast.

He did the same before turning back to the others. “I follow Spartacus,” he yelled. “I call no man my kin that does not stand so.” Everyone knew that the words Crixus spoke were definitive in their meaning. They either had to bite their tongues and make do with leadership given, or they would fall to the end of a gladiator’s sword. The choice was theirs to make.

One of Crixus’ recently freed brothers was bold enough to speak on behalf of the others. He stepped forward and grasped a sword and shield in hand. “The man who kill Sedullus is great warrior… and Lugo follow,” he pledged, pounding the sword against the shield.  Those who did not have a weapon in hand used their clenched fist, beating their chests in allegiance.

To Spartacus and Crixus, the scene before them, though pleasing, was but only a mere step in the right direction.

***

Nasir helped Agron back to the niche that Agron had claimed for himself and Nasir upon initial discovery of the temple. Nasir had helped his lover to a sitting position and then he fetched a bowl and some strips of cloth to tend to Agron’s wounds. “Does it hurt,” he asked as he brought the cloth to the gladiator’s face. He had a small yet deep wound upon face.

“A few cuts and scrapes, soon faded from memory,” he replied.

“Would that all scars were so easily erased,” said Nasir.

“I see no scars.”

They shared a small grin, one not quite full of the warmth and happiness that they once had. “ You risked all for the pale shadow of the boy you once loved.”

Agron nodded. “Then let us ignite the sun, and strike darkness with its warmth, he said as he placed a tender kiss to Nasir’s lips.  He continued his ministrations, removing Nasir’s shirt and laying him to rest on his back. The gladiator placed his mouth on the darker flesh of his lover, caressing the elegant neck and chest with warm lips and tongue. He continued south, latching onto a dark nipple while his hands gripped Nasir’s full hips with questing fingers dipping below the thin fabric.

Agron was reeling in euphoria. For many days and nights he had dreamed of having Nasir in this way again. He could not believe his luck that Nasir would warm to his touch so quickly—so soon after all of the horrors that he had succumbed too. Yet unbeknownst to Agron , the Syrian boy was a wreck. What started out passionate became a nightmare when he closed his eyes. He knew that it was Agron above him—his beloved and no one else. Yet when his eyes slipped shut all he could see was the faces of the many men who hurt him and forced themselves upon him, time and time again. He tried to shake his head to clear them from mind, but they would not leave. Those faces were taunting him ever still, laughing at him, whispering that Nasir was nothing more than a whore. And when the images became too much to bear he pushed Agron away and sprang upright. “Stop.”

“Nasir.”

The boy looked over at his lover with a sad expression. “They have taken everything from me…even your touch.” He gathered his clothes and made haste to the door, leaving Agron alone with his thoughts for the entire night.

***

The day passed with Nasir absent from the gladiator’s side.  Agron saw him with Naevia throughout the hours bathed in the bright sun, but he knew not what to say so he said nothing at all. He chopped wood when needed and held meetings with Spartacus and the others when called. But as the sun set Agron seized his chance to engage in conversation with his lover once again. He walked into their room. He knew the Syrian was inside after having seen him slip inside a few minutes prior. With soft feet Agron entered the room, his eyes settling upon Nasir’s back. And clutched within once dainty hands now scarred by work in the mines, was Agron’s sword.  At first the gladiator anticipated the worst, but he quelled his fears when he took notice that Nasir merely inspected the blade. He had no true purpose to turn sharp edge upon himself. “Gannicus’ bounty is being prepared. Come, let us take food,” said Agron softly. The last thing he wanted to do was scare his young lover further more.

“You have honed it to fine edge. Life would easily run from veins, if brought to bear upon flesh,” said the Syrian shakily. As he turned Agron could see streaks of tears stained upon cheeks.

“Nasir,” he cooed.

“That is a name that holds no meaning. He was a different boy, young and foolish, ripped from this world by rough hands and hot breath upon neck.” He ran his thumb over the edge of the blade. “The things he was forced to do to survive--,” he whispered only to be cut off by Agron’s hands upon his shoulders.

“We will go from this place, find a new life on distant shores beyond the shadow of Rome,” the gladiator pleaded.

Nasir shook his head and stood. “There is no place that memory would not follow. I cannot run from this.”

Agron stepped forward to kiss him, and then tried once more when refused. “What would you have me do? Stand idle and watch as you fade?” Hot tears made a rare appearance upon pale, scarred cheeks.

“No, I would not have you watch. I would have you teach how to breathe again, how to live, how to fight, so that no man will ever lay hands on me against my will. And the boy, whose name was robbed from him, may reclaim it.”

 “We will have vengeance for what the Romans have done,” Agron said as he pressed his forehead against Nasir’s.

“And together we shall see them drown in rivers of blood.”  

The End.