Heat IV
Title: Heat IV
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ronon/Hiroto (Stargate Atlantis/Alice Nine)
Disclaimer: AU, slavery, crack pairing!
Comments: Sequel to Heat III for tingedwords!
[ Heat ]
[ Heat II ]
[ A Heated Interlude ]
[ Heat III ]
Heat IV
There was still a good two or three hours of sunlight left in the day when Hiroto returned to his cell. Some days he didn't make it back to their shared bed until dawn and still other days he never made it back at all, but this evening he figured he wouldn't be too missed. Without another glance back, he slipped quietly through the main house and out one of its many rear entrances.
The master, like most of the rich, prided himself on owning one of the finest known cooks in the countryside and certainly flaunted it in the grand size of his kitchens. It had to be one of the largest rooms in the villa, Hiroto reckoned, and perhaps the most confusing. From all sides of the giant kitchen various doorways, exits, storerooms and walkways had been constructed to allow for quick and easy access to hot food and fresh ingredients on demand anywhere in the house. If you didn't know your way around the enormous villa, you would get lost; it was an important lesson every slave learned fast. One wrong turn could land you a few harsh lashes simply because the chicken on your plate had cooled.
The exit leading most directly to the ludus happened to be where the kitchen staff tossed trash out for the house's foul and pigs. The smell wasn't much to be proud of, but the animals were better fed then a good fourth of the country's population. Hiroto trekked past the occasional squeal and squawk of the penned animals until his feet found the familiar dirt path fraught with the occasional animal's droppings. Usually slaves hurried through here in the mornings, but at this time of the day Hiroto found himself completely alone.
Gladiators rarely had any business with the main house, however, if they did or their master had some business with them they left through the front entrance of the ludus and took the long, scenic route to and from the main house. This was mostly for security reasons and usually armed guards followed them along the way, especially for those like Ronon who hadn't volunteered for the arena. Hiroto had followed nervously behind, not sure what to expect, and now he tread lightly through the dirt and grass alone, unimportant, and slightly hidden by the tall grass. He wondered what their master's guest was doing and why he needed Ronon to stay.
Ronon was a formidable opponent, true, but he wasn't invincible. His mortality was never more present than when Hiroto had to watch him falling to the arena floor, barely avoiding the swing of a blade.
All these thoughts and more flooded his head as Hiroto picked his way towards the ludus. They at least gave him something other than his shamefully sticky clothes to think about and they were probably the most important thoughts to consider. Nonetheless, he grimaced at the reminder of his dirty clothes and veered back towards the shaded pigs' pen.
A long time ago, some unfortunate someone had cracked one of the giant urns meant for the inner courtyards. Now the urn sat in various pieces collecting rain water for the animals and holding their food. With no one but the pigs to see, Hiroto stripped down and stuck the most soiled bit of his clothes into a puddle of brownish water. Using a small rock, he scrubbed halfheartedly at the stain before taking it back out and squeezing it dry. Good enough.
The normal task of cleaning clothes was a pleasant distraction and he briefly considered returning for cleaning duties, but then Hiroto remembered just how fast gossip traveled in the house and decided against it. It was bad enough everyone thought they could treat him poorly. Half the slaves and servants in the house avoided him because of Ronon, the other half considered him even lower than a slave because he was owned by one. Not to mention most of them already looked down on his effeminately small frame and wide-eyed look. Hiroto seethed. What right did any slave have to judge another's misfortune? He shook his head.
If there was one thing slaves learned from their masters, it was how to be cruel.
For every one order a slave had to take, two more orders just as unforgiving were waiting to be bitterly dealt out onto the next weakest link. Apparently he was the weakest of the weak.
Hiroto however, found some solace in the nights when Ronon let him do all the ordering and maneuvering - albeit with a very patronizing smirk on his face - and moments like now, when he could accidentally elbow a pig while getting dressed without fear of retribution. The pig barely made a snuffling sound in the cool mud. Heaving a big sigh, Hiroto continued on his way with a heavy heart.
Gossip aside, no one washed clothes so close to dusk. He would be assigned to help with supper and right now he was just about fed up with taking orders or serving any high-browed dignitary. He spat distastefully at the grass.
He would stomach today with a grain of salt, no matter how long it took to digest - there was no doubt about that. Living an unprivileged life taught you a lot about making do and moving on, but that didn't make it any easier. He just hoped tomorrow wouldn't get any worse.
---
Deep within the villa, Ronon was once again bent at the knee, speaking with Tora in whispered tones, when a sudden knock sounded at the door. They exchanged a sharp glance - "There are steps along the way to ensure we are still in agreement" - before a guard was allowed entrance. It was clear neither man expected any guests and both suspected the other of an ambush; it was all very poor grounds for any alliance. The guard however, entered slow and unsurely, as if scared to walk in on anything too embarrassing for himself, before standing at attention.
"The master of the house requests gladiator Ronon's presence in atrium," he announced in a steady voice. He didn't say anything else, simply stood staring at the two with level eyes. Ronon stole a calculating glance at the slowly fading sunlight and waited for Tora's cue. Perhaps this was a third party ambush.
"He was just taking his leave," his host smiled without a single misstep. "Off you go," he added loudly, "Tell your master I certainly enjoyed myself and look forward to seeing him at supper." He did not give Ronon any lingering touches or meaningful looks or any helpful hint about what was to come. So the gladiator simply left.
Either way, everything seemed beyond his control now.
---
As he was led through a set of walkways towards the atrium, Ronon could not help but feel as if he were stepping away from one fire and into an even greater disaster. A disaster similar to the red mountain he had seen from far away once. Hades seemed to have erupted from a island's highest peak and spewed steaming, glowing blood all over the trees and land that lay beneath. Darkness had clouded the sky above the island and the next day nothing was left. Ronon felt like he was being led to the peak of such a mountain. What reason did his master have to call him to the atrium? Whenever his master or mistress sought him out personally it had never ended too happily. He dearly hoped Hiroto had made it safely back to their cell or was still working undisturbed in the kitchens or gardens or his other less favored places. Somewhere someone with too much power couldn't reach.
"We're not staying in the atrium," Ronon stated to no one in particular when the guards kept him walking past the open ceiling and rain-filled pools toward a set of double doors. They continued on through two other rooms and a smaller atrium before coming to a stop in front of a different door. Ronon had never seen this part of the house nor did he recognize the guards and strange marble statues manning each side of the door. To his credit, the gladiator rarely had reason to trapeze through the house memorizing every turn and tunnel and face passing by. He didn't know much of the layout and shuddered to think of just how rich and powerful his master was that he could own a villa - not even his permanent homestay - this size. He apparently owned an even larger domus on the other side of the country that he would return to when he saw fit. Ronon was just glad he wouldn't have to follow.
Recognizing the head of shaggy hair and scarred skin, the guards parted and opened the doors to allow Ronon into what he now saw was a large room protecting a separate household shrine - this one much larger, more elaborate and expensive looking than the small lararium at the heart of the villa. He entered cautiously and looked around the seemingly vacant room. For all its decadence, its interior was shrouded in a darkness that hid most of the room's contents and took the glaring shine off any golden, crystallized ornament. Even a thick veil of silence seemed permanently affixed to the air, like it could smother out the sound of clanking armor and any man's scream.
The guards left Ronon at the entrance and shut the door with an ominously final sound.
He stepped uneasily down a clear aisle to the open shrine. On either side of him hung long tapestries, deep reds and shades of wine, embroidered with family trees, pictures of battles, faces and houses. They fluttered emptily as Ronon edged past. Hollow flapping noises, as if the spirits of ancestors and betrayed ghosts lived in every stitch and seam. He had been brought here to die, they whispered. The perfectly bred sacrifice fit to both please the gods and save the household's name. Such were the morbid thoughts and images spinning like dust in Ronon's ears when a pale face flashed out from between two weathered embroideries. Immediately the gladiator was swerving into the offense, teeth bared and fists raised at the apparition.
"My liege," Ronon immediately dropped to his knee when he realized it was his master's face eyeing him incredulously. "My apologies. I thought I was seeing an undead spirit of your house."
The older man snorted and stepped out from his hiding place in a flourish of delicate robes. There appeared to be no immediate danger other than a slightly frightened gladiator. "Unfortunately it is only I - your owner - come to confirm that you have done your duty for my house," he replied in a sardonic voice. Not the whole truth, otherwise why meet his audience in such an unannounced, dark and confined space? "I trust you did not disappoint me."
"I did as he- as you pleased," Ronon replied astutely, keeping his head down and knees bent. Ever since Tora had pointed it out, he was becoming more and more aware of just how often he knelt and just how much he resented the position. Nonetheless, sensing his master's suspicion and knowing it was the right thing to say, Ronon added, "I fucked him on his hands and knees until he moaned like whore. He loved it so much I thought he would never let me leave." He bowed his head again and let an almost genuine smirk stretch across his lips, as if thanking his master for saving him from a distasteful courtship.
Standing with his hands clasped together and robes down to the floor, his master really did laugh then. He guffawed and roared with undignified mirth, turning towards the shrine and raising his hands to the ceiling. "Oh spirits, do you not hear this?! Great is the day when a mere gladiator can fuck the high and mighty Tora like nothing more than a dog. And under your blessful eyes, in my very own house! Oh, great is the day!" He continued on laughing like that, chuckling to himself as he lit more candles and set a golden goblet of wine on the altar for his man-sized statue of the house guardian Lar.
Keeping his eyes on the floor decorated lavishly in colored mosaics and the occasional precious gem, Ronon took the opportunity to also add, "Your guest expresses his thanks and looks forward to seeing you at supper. May I be so bold as to ask, did my liege require something else of me? I know it is getting late and you must prepare for the meal." He gave a meaningful look at the small slit of sky visibly darkening in a narrow window high above the altar.
"Ah, yes, yes," the master of the house hummed. He had almost forgotten himself in light of his gladiator's news and his own now subdued fears. "No, I did not have anything else to say other than to remind you to win your fight tomorrow," a sham of an excuse to interrogate Ronon and separate him from Tora's cunning presence. "If you lose, you will have to forfeit that slave of yours. Though you won't actually be alive to do the forfeiting and he really is more mine than yours… Though I do suppose you're already familiar with all of this." Ronon felt his blood surge angrily at the words.
It was like Tora said. Some things never changed.
"The kitchens are preparing the customary banquet in honor of my gladiators." A fitting last meal if you do not survive. "I'll send some equally delectable young thing over to call you lot when everything is set. You may return to the ludus now."
A wave of relief eased its way through Ronon's limbs, though it was followed closely by suspicion. He stood nonetheless, as his master returned his attention to the house shrine. It was a blessing to be rid of the almost suffocating room - although the guards on either side of him gave little illusions of freedom.
---
Ronon found Hiroto curled up on his side when the guards finally shoved him back into their cell. The sun was mostly set, but a coarse blanket was thrown over his fluffy head in that way he always did to try and hide from the world. The little mound of limbs didn't even move a muscle when creaky bars opened and closed.
Watching them lock the door and leave, Ronon peeled off his dusty sandals and joined Hiroto on their sleeping mat. They didn't get actual beds here or even wooden platforms some of the house slaves liked to share; gladiators were made of tougher stuff apparently. That and the fleas and ticks made it much more practical to give the hefty, expendable men sweet straw mats they could throw out when the time came. For Ronon, that was good enough. He let out a loud sound of content as he sank to floor and rest his back against the cold stone wall. Sometimes their familiar cell seemed heavenly in the isolated ludus, though they owned neither the cell nor any of its contents. But after a long, stressful day it was easy to forget and revel in one of the few comforts he had.
In the long silence that followed, Hiroto wiggled around beneath his blanket and turned into one big, mat-hogging lump. It was such a pouty, unhappy, Hiroto thing to do Ronon almost smiled. Distracted by Tora's propositions and his little scare in the shrine, he had almost forgotten the gnawing need he'd felt to run after Hiroto and comfort him. He probably tells you less than half of the things that go on behind your back. Hiroto who put up with so much and yet still tried to protect a fearsome gladiator from painful things he couldn't fight off. Hiroto who was actually the one in need of protection. Shaking his head, Ronon gathered up his moping bundle of trouble and cradled it too his chest.
Hiroto wanted attention and Ronon would be the last deny him any of it.
Guiltily, he wished he could give more. But this was all he could give. Ronon was a realist. He couldn't wipe away the past, couldn't stop the impending future. Like his battles in the arena, all Ronon could do was grit his teeth and live through it. It was a chanting line many slaves adopted. Just live through it.
With a kiss to the top of a blanketed head, like magic, the small body melded to his and pressed another kiss to his scruffy chin in return.
It was for sweet moments like this however, that Ronon's rebellious mind spoke of different tomorrows, thought for a flickering moment that he could move mountains and slaughter armies in their favor.
He considered telling Hiroto everything. The other had a right to know but, at the same time, perhaps the less he knew the less incriminating it would be if all Tora's plans failed. Though his ignorance would probably mean nothing in light of Ronon's betrayal. If everything went wrong they would find anything Ronon ever cared about, torture and kill it, make Ronon watch, then force him to end his own life or worse. He shivered.
It wouldn't matter if he knew or didn't know. For just a slave, Hiroto's life was about as entangled in main house politics as their most worthwhile gladiator - and it was a worrying thought.
Glancing out from between the bars, Ronon eyed the fading light. Tugging Hiroto decidedly closer, he cupped the back of his head and whispered into one round ear, "Tomorrow may very well be the day we walk free." The small body stiffened immediately.
Rubbing his free hand up and down a slender spine, the gladiator worried over the details of how much he should or could say. How good was Hiroto at playing it cool? There was really no way he could act suspicious even if he was forced into cleaning duties, sweeping up the unfinished scraps of food their master dropped to the floor. But then again a single look could give away everything.
It wasn't until Hiroto impatiently pinched Ronon's side that he realized he was taking too long. "Demanding, aren't we?" The large man whispered with a wry twist of his lips. Though really he felt his blanketed imp had every right to be. "Tora," Hiroto flinched at the name, "has informed me that there will be an invasion tomorrow following the arena fights."
---
"You will keep it hidden in your cell until after your fight." Tora pushed the blade out of sight.
"I want your master's head."
Ronon's own head shot up to meet Tora. That was impossible! His master was usually surrounded by any number of guards and servants and, even if he did manage to kill him, he would die trying and Hiroto would certainly be next. Regardless of any outcome, Ronon would rather live to see the next day than try to drastically change his standing in society.
"Ah, ah, ah," Tora interrupted, holding a finger up to silence the disbelief about to tumble from between cracked lips. "I'm not done. You seem to forget that, along with my troops filling your inns, I brought with me a large number of staff. All of them are loyal fighters, they are trained for battle and have experience, no matter what they may seem incapable of." Then why couldn't one of them do it?
"Before the night is through, I will appear before your master with a single request." Tora paused and looked the gladiator straight in the eye for full effect. "Should the gladiator Ronon survive his fight, I would like to purchase his slave Hiroto. I will pay the ludus a very generous sum."
That - Hiroto's name - really did push Ronon to the edge then.
"NO," he roared, slamming his fist down to the marble floor and feeling a resounding thud crackle up through his knuckles. "Whatever game you are playing here this is clearly a trap." He hissed his words out through deathly clenched teeth at the sharp look Tora gave him. Despite how angry he was, it would spell certain death for them all if anyone caught a single word of their conversation.
---
"He wants me to join sides with him."
A small hiss of breath escaped Hiroto's lungs and his face finally popped back into view.
"You can't be serious," he whispered just as quietly, lips barely moving and so close to Ronon's own.
Ronon gave them a small peck. He wished he wasn't. "I have no control over the games these people play. But, if it helps us survive, we can't just ignore it."
Silence ticked the evening away and they could hear footsteps beginning to exit the ludus, one pair at a time. Hiroto nodded thoughtfully, his head returning to its position on the gladiator's shoulder. He was scared. He didn't want to risk losing Ronon over something that might not really happen, that might not work, because that was surely to happen in every coup. He didn't trust Tora at all. His bubbling anxiety grew even more prominent when Ronon gently tugged his head back up and gave him a strange look.
"Hiroto… he is going to ask to purchase you."
No. No, no, no. He shook his head desperately now, eyes wide and clinging to his one comfort left in the world. "Please, Ronon. No. Don't let them. Please." For so long he'd managed to stay in Ronon's shadow, keep himself tied down to this villa and its master. Now he was pleading, panicky tears starting to well up in his eyes, and the big warm hands on his side were only making him shake harder. He didn't want a new master, especially Tora and his cruel eyes. He knew Ronon absolutely couldn't do a single thing to stop them. He knew it, but he wanted him to try harder.
"Shhh," Ronon hushed softly, rubbing his thumbs up sharp cheekbones and planting another more lingering kiss to trembling lips. "He doesn't mean to keep you. Buying you will be an excuse to lure our master to me." Hiroto could see where this was going and just how bad and incredibly wrong everything would go. "Tora wants his head," Ronon whispered, running a tender hand through dark locks of hair.
---
"You seem to forget where you are slave," Tora mouthed in a deceivingly soft voice. The house of my enemy. Ronon held fast his tongue, though he had to bite it until he tasted blood. His eyes flared fiercely. "You will survive your fight. Your opponent is one of my own and he will not strike to kill and neither will you." He said it all in an enragingly calm and self-assured tone. "I will offer a price your master cannot turn down. I will convince him to go to your cell and negotiate on my part, though I suspect he will simply state that you can no longer own a slave." Ronon's face twisted in anger, his mind a fury of images he did not want to imagine.
"At the least, he will visit you in your weakened state, relieve you of your ownership, and deliver this tunic and a small fraction of what I will pay him." Rising from the bed, Tora threw on his own thin garments before stepping towards a ratty chest piled in amongst a sea of others. From within it he pulled out a brand new tunic, pure white with stitches so small it looked like a single sheath of cloth.
"When you see your moment, take his head."
---
"He said he wouldn't touch us if I did it. He said that once I deliver the head he will hand you over and grant us safe passage out the city." Ronon tried to put a firmness into his words, but even he could hear his own incredulity and doubt.
"How do you know?" Hiroto choked out, shoving his fists into Ronon's chest and trying to leave the embrace he just wanted comfort from, not more bad news. "How can we trust him? Why should we trust him?"
Ronon tsk'd softly and pulled Hiroto back down. He didn't know, of course he didn't; how could he? He was just as torn over the decision, just as worried and scared and suspicious. He didn't have the power to protect anyone. Tora had showed him that. He didn't even have enough time to think it through. The guards finally reaching their cell and unlocking the door were now even making even that decision for him.
"Dinner time," one of them announced with a bark as the other massive guard entered carrying shackles for Ronon's hands and feet.
The gladiator hauled Hiroto up as soon as the door clanked. He gave him a hard look up and down before carefully wiping the last bit of wetness from unhappy eyes. "No more," Ronon mouthed before holding his hands out and allowing himself to be chained and pushed out the cell. Hiroto merely received a small glance and then they were all gone. The cell doors remained ajar. Because of his small size, half the men in the ludus hardly acknowledged Ronon's little slave. The other half knew better than to tease or taunt him in anyway. Sometimes Hiroto really felt like a ghost here. Other times he was just grateful.
But now he threaded his way quietly through the barracks and maze of cells and storage rooms. Peeking around the entrance, he spotted Ronon amongst the last of the gladiators being chained together and hustled forward into the night. Unaware of the watching slave, the guards finished their work and pushed the thick front doors shut in Hiroto's face.
Sighing, he returned to his cell to wait in a dark corner he hoped no one would see.
---
The gladiators returned just before their usual curfew with a string of raucous whoops and loud clatter. They filed through the ludus laughing uproariously, slapping each other's backs and tripping over their own feet as pairs, fours, threes, and individuals were shoved into their various cells just a bit tipsy from all the wine. Ronon was no different. He stumbled towards their sleeping mat humming, stomach filled with good food, and collapsing in a heavy mess on top of Hiroto.
Snorting, the smaller man shoved the goofy, grinning, smelly face away from his nose and immediately groaned when Ronon took the opportunity to latch his lips onto a bare chest. Hiroto's back arched up minutely and he sighed softly. "Ronon. Don't. We need to sleep for tomorrow."
"Mm-mm," the big oaf huffed, burrowing his face into Hiroto's neck and pouting. The feel of stubble scratch-scratching his sensitive skin made the smaller man roll his eyes and shiver all at once. If he could help it, Ronon never had sex before a fight; most of the men considered it bad luck. But he had already been coerced into pleasuring Tora today so why not? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hiroto shied away from Ronon's touch.
"Not tonight," he breathed over wine tasting lips, tugging the lion's mane back and patting his cheek. "Sleep." Ronon was slow to comply but he did, stealing one last kiss, tongue delving almost painfully deep as he claimed and tasted and took. His roaming hands finally settled atop slim hips and Hiroto snuggled closer, ready for sleep.
Stillness filled their cell. Just outside the ludus, little bugs chirruped and animals snorted as the moon slid behind a violet grey cloud.
Ronon was once again mulling over his options and thinking back to everything Tora had said. He wasn't the least bit drunk; any good gladiator knew better than to acquire a hangover the night before a fight. He just wanted some last minute affection before risking life and limb for a cause he knew nothing about.
Hiroto was perfectly aware of it all. In the gladiators' absence he had thought long and hard about what needed to be done and focused on first. Everything he'd been forced to do today, the constant shame he couldn't get away from, all of it was tucked away in the back of his mind so he could concentrate on tomorrow. On Ronon's fight. On Tora's war. On his Plan B.
---
Silence permeated the villa grounds as a hardened pair of feet flit soundlessly through the marble halls. Exiting through a creaky kitchen door, the shadowy form slid effortlessly through tall grass, dodging sheep droppings and jagged tree stumps. A dirt path finally appeared in the moonlight and he edged along it towards the ludus.
With a single nod he was granted entrance into the dusty barracks and the night guard turned his back. Not sparing them another glance, the figure stepped down a hall with only the smallest of candles lighting his way. On this wing of the ludus holding cells, only one wall was lined with living quarters to allow the special few a certain amount of privacy. Snores rumbled reassuringly through the night as he neared his destination.
In the last cell.
Blowing out his flickering light, the stranger set his candleholder down and reached into the folds of a loose tunic.
Whether it was the smell of smoke or the sound of footsteps, a metal hilt sliding through fabric or the scrunch of leather straps tightening, Hiroto didn't know what roused him.
He was only conscious of the short second he had to inhale before a rough hand clapped over his face and he was silenced completely.
A/N:
Good lord that took too long to post! I'M SO BUSY! SORRY!!! Half of this doesn't even make sense and turns out I'm not even getting to the good part until the next post. LOL *sweats* Just thought I'd go ahead and post this because it sounded like the next one would be long...
Now have some researchy notes!
- a gladiatorial school was called a "ludus"
- in many Roman homes there was a small family shrine called the "lararium"
- atriums in these houses were usually open and included a sunken pool called an "impluvium" to collect rainwater
- a rich person would often at least own one summer villa in the countryside and their "domus"
- the wealthy especially ate while lounging on couches during fancy get-togethers lol butwomen weren't allowed to do much lounging until later
- when you lounged and ate you threw whatever you were done with onto the floor so the slaves could sweep up
- gladiators were usually either volunteering freemen or conscripted slaves, criminals, and POWs forced to fight for entertainment
- before big arena events, gladiator owners would hold banquets in their honor as a sort of last meal
YUP. Ending my shpeel of facts there! This story is complete fiction though so I probably ignored a lot of things about Ancient Roman culture, I just thought I'd share some of the things I read about lolol. Seems like there will be a Heat V that will take equally long to post…
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ronon/Hiroto (Stargate Atlantis/Alice Nine)
Disclaimer: AU, slavery, crack pairing!
Comments: Sequel to Heat III for tingedwords!
[ Heat ]
[ Heat II ]
[ A Heated Interlude ]
[ Heat III ]
Heat IV
There was still a good two or three hours of sunlight left in the day when Hiroto returned to his cell. Some days he didn't make it back to their shared bed until dawn and still other days he never made it back at all, but this evening he figured he wouldn't be too missed. Without another glance back, he slipped quietly through the main house and out one of its many rear entrances.
The master, like most of the rich, prided himself on owning one of the finest known cooks in the countryside and certainly flaunted it in the grand size of his kitchens. It had to be one of the largest rooms in the villa, Hiroto reckoned, and perhaps the most confusing. From all sides of the giant kitchen various doorways, exits, storerooms and walkways had been constructed to allow for quick and easy access to hot food and fresh ingredients on demand anywhere in the house. If you didn't know your way around the enormous villa, you would get lost; it was an important lesson every slave learned fast. One wrong turn could land you a few harsh lashes simply because the chicken on your plate had cooled.
The exit leading most directly to the ludus happened to be where the kitchen staff tossed trash out for the house's foul and pigs. The smell wasn't much to be proud of, but the animals were better fed then a good fourth of the country's population. Hiroto trekked past the occasional squeal and squawk of the penned animals until his feet found the familiar dirt path fraught with the occasional animal's droppings. Usually slaves hurried through here in the mornings, but at this time of the day Hiroto found himself completely alone.
Gladiators rarely had any business with the main house, however, if they did or their master had some business with them they left through the front entrance of the ludus and took the long, scenic route to and from the main house. This was mostly for security reasons and usually armed guards followed them along the way, especially for those like Ronon who hadn't volunteered for the arena. Hiroto had followed nervously behind, not sure what to expect, and now he tread lightly through the dirt and grass alone, unimportant, and slightly hidden by the tall grass. He wondered what their master's guest was doing and why he needed Ronon to stay.
Ronon was a formidable opponent, true, but he wasn't invincible. His mortality was never more present than when Hiroto had to watch him falling to the arena floor, barely avoiding the swing of a blade.
All these thoughts and more flooded his head as Hiroto picked his way towards the ludus. They at least gave him something other than his shamefully sticky clothes to think about and they were probably the most important thoughts to consider. Nonetheless, he grimaced at the reminder of his dirty clothes and veered back towards the shaded pigs' pen.
A long time ago, some unfortunate someone had cracked one of the giant urns meant for the inner courtyards. Now the urn sat in various pieces collecting rain water for the animals and holding their food. With no one but the pigs to see, Hiroto stripped down and stuck the most soiled bit of his clothes into a puddle of brownish water. Using a small rock, he scrubbed halfheartedly at the stain before taking it back out and squeezing it dry. Good enough.
The normal task of cleaning clothes was a pleasant distraction and he briefly considered returning for cleaning duties, but then Hiroto remembered just how fast gossip traveled in the house and decided against it. It was bad enough everyone thought they could treat him poorly. Half the slaves and servants in the house avoided him because of Ronon, the other half considered him even lower than a slave because he was owned by one. Not to mention most of them already looked down on his effeminately small frame and wide-eyed look. Hiroto seethed. What right did any slave have to judge another's misfortune? He shook his head.
If there was one thing slaves learned from their masters, it was how to be cruel.
For every one order a slave had to take, two more orders just as unforgiving were waiting to be bitterly dealt out onto the next weakest link. Apparently he was the weakest of the weak.
Hiroto however, found some solace in the nights when Ronon let him do all the ordering and maneuvering - albeit with a very patronizing smirk on his face - and moments like now, when he could accidentally elbow a pig while getting dressed without fear of retribution. The pig barely made a snuffling sound in the cool mud. Heaving a big sigh, Hiroto continued on his way with a heavy heart.
Gossip aside, no one washed clothes so close to dusk. He would be assigned to help with supper and right now he was just about fed up with taking orders or serving any high-browed dignitary. He spat distastefully at the grass.
He would stomach today with a grain of salt, no matter how long it took to digest - there was no doubt about that. Living an unprivileged life taught you a lot about making do and moving on, but that didn't make it any easier. He just hoped tomorrow wouldn't get any worse.
---
Deep within the villa, Ronon was once again bent at the knee, speaking with Tora in whispered tones, when a sudden knock sounded at the door. They exchanged a sharp glance - "There are steps along the way to ensure we are still in agreement" - before a guard was allowed entrance. It was clear neither man expected any guests and both suspected the other of an ambush; it was all very poor grounds for any alliance. The guard however, entered slow and unsurely, as if scared to walk in on anything too embarrassing for himself, before standing at attention.
"The master of the house requests gladiator Ronon's presence in atrium," he announced in a steady voice. He didn't say anything else, simply stood staring at the two with level eyes. Ronon stole a calculating glance at the slowly fading sunlight and waited for Tora's cue. Perhaps this was a third party ambush.
"He was just taking his leave," his host smiled without a single misstep. "Off you go," he added loudly, "Tell your master I certainly enjoyed myself and look forward to seeing him at supper." He did not give Ronon any lingering touches or meaningful looks or any helpful hint about what was to come. So the gladiator simply left.
Either way, everything seemed beyond his control now.
---
As he was led through a set of walkways towards the atrium, Ronon could not help but feel as if he were stepping away from one fire and into an even greater disaster. A disaster similar to the red mountain he had seen from far away once. Hades seemed to have erupted from a island's highest peak and spewed steaming, glowing blood all over the trees and land that lay beneath. Darkness had clouded the sky above the island and the next day nothing was left. Ronon felt like he was being led to the peak of such a mountain. What reason did his master have to call him to the atrium? Whenever his master or mistress sought him out personally it had never ended too happily. He dearly hoped Hiroto had made it safely back to their cell or was still working undisturbed in the kitchens or gardens or his other less favored places. Somewhere someone with too much power couldn't reach.
"We're not staying in the atrium," Ronon stated to no one in particular when the guards kept him walking past the open ceiling and rain-filled pools toward a set of double doors. They continued on through two other rooms and a smaller atrium before coming to a stop in front of a different door. Ronon had never seen this part of the house nor did he recognize the guards and strange marble statues manning each side of the door. To his credit, the gladiator rarely had reason to trapeze through the house memorizing every turn and tunnel and face passing by. He didn't know much of the layout and shuddered to think of just how rich and powerful his master was that he could own a villa - not even his permanent homestay - this size. He apparently owned an even larger domus on the other side of the country that he would return to when he saw fit. Ronon was just glad he wouldn't have to follow.
Recognizing the head of shaggy hair and scarred skin, the guards parted and opened the doors to allow Ronon into what he now saw was a large room protecting a separate household shrine - this one much larger, more elaborate and expensive looking than the small lararium at the heart of the villa. He entered cautiously and looked around the seemingly vacant room. For all its decadence, its interior was shrouded in a darkness that hid most of the room's contents and took the glaring shine off any golden, crystallized ornament. Even a thick veil of silence seemed permanently affixed to the air, like it could smother out the sound of clanking armor and any man's scream.
The guards left Ronon at the entrance and shut the door with an ominously final sound.
He stepped uneasily down a clear aisle to the open shrine. On either side of him hung long tapestries, deep reds and shades of wine, embroidered with family trees, pictures of battles, faces and houses. They fluttered emptily as Ronon edged past. Hollow flapping noises, as if the spirits of ancestors and betrayed ghosts lived in every stitch and seam. He had been brought here to die, they whispered. The perfectly bred sacrifice fit to both please the gods and save the household's name. Such were the morbid thoughts and images spinning like dust in Ronon's ears when a pale face flashed out from between two weathered embroideries. Immediately the gladiator was swerving into the offense, teeth bared and fists raised at the apparition.
"My liege," Ronon immediately dropped to his knee when he realized it was his master's face eyeing him incredulously. "My apologies. I thought I was seeing an undead spirit of your house."
The older man snorted and stepped out from his hiding place in a flourish of delicate robes. There appeared to be no immediate danger other than a slightly frightened gladiator. "Unfortunately it is only I - your owner - come to confirm that you have done your duty for my house," he replied in a sardonic voice. Not the whole truth, otherwise why meet his audience in such an unannounced, dark and confined space? "I trust you did not disappoint me."
"I did as he- as you pleased," Ronon replied astutely, keeping his head down and knees bent. Ever since Tora had pointed it out, he was becoming more and more aware of just how often he knelt and just how much he resented the position. Nonetheless, sensing his master's suspicion and knowing it was the right thing to say, Ronon added, "I fucked him on his hands and knees until he moaned like whore. He loved it so much I thought he would never let me leave." He bowed his head again and let an almost genuine smirk stretch across his lips, as if thanking his master for saving him from a distasteful courtship.
Standing with his hands clasped together and robes down to the floor, his master really did laugh then. He guffawed and roared with undignified mirth, turning towards the shrine and raising his hands to the ceiling. "Oh spirits, do you not hear this?! Great is the day when a mere gladiator can fuck the high and mighty Tora like nothing more than a dog. And under your blessful eyes, in my very own house! Oh, great is the day!" He continued on laughing like that, chuckling to himself as he lit more candles and set a golden goblet of wine on the altar for his man-sized statue of the house guardian Lar.
Keeping his eyes on the floor decorated lavishly in colored mosaics and the occasional precious gem, Ronon took the opportunity to also add, "Your guest expresses his thanks and looks forward to seeing you at supper. May I be so bold as to ask, did my liege require something else of me? I know it is getting late and you must prepare for the meal." He gave a meaningful look at the small slit of sky visibly darkening in a narrow window high above the altar.
"Ah, yes, yes," the master of the house hummed. He had almost forgotten himself in light of his gladiator's news and his own now subdued fears. "No, I did not have anything else to say other than to remind you to win your fight tomorrow," a sham of an excuse to interrogate Ronon and separate him from Tora's cunning presence. "If you lose, you will have to forfeit that slave of yours. Though you won't actually be alive to do the forfeiting and he really is more mine than yours… Though I do suppose you're already familiar with all of this." Ronon felt his blood surge angrily at the words.
It was like Tora said. Some things never changed.
"The kitchens are preparing the customary banquet in honor of my gladiators." A fitting last meal if you do not survive. "I'll send some equally delectable young thing over to call you lot when everything is set. You may return to the ludus now."
A wave of relief eased its way through Ronon's limbs, though it was followed closely by suspicion. He stood nonetheless, as his master returned his attention to the house shrine. It was a blessing to be rid of the almost suffocating room - although the guards on either side of him gave little illusions of freedom.
---
Ronon found Hiroto curled up on his side when the guards finally shoved him back into their cell. The sun was mostly set, but a coarse blanket was thrown over his fluffy head in that way he always did to try and hide from the world. The little mound of limbs didn't even move a muscle when creaky bars opened and closed.
Watching them lock the door and leave, Ronon peeled off his dusty sandals and joined Hiroto on their sleeping mat. They didn't get actual beds here or even wooden platforms some of the house slaves liked to share; gladiators were made of tougher stuff apparently. That and the fleas and ticks made it much more practical to give the hefty, expendable men sweet straw mats they could throw out when the time came. For Ronon, that was good enough. He let out a loud sound of content as he sank to floor and rest his back against the cold stone wall. Sometimes their familiar cell seemed heavenly in the isolated ludus, though they owned neither the cell nor any of its contents. But after a long, stressful day it was easy to forget and revel in one of the few comforts he had.
In the long silence that followed, Hiroto wiggled around beneath his blanket and turned into one big, mat-hogging lump. It was such a pouty, unhappy, Hiroto thing to do Ronon almost smiled. Distracted by Tora's propositions and his little scare in the shrine, he had almost forgotten the gnawing need he'd felt to run after Hiroto and comfort him. He probably tells you less than half of the things that go on behind your back. Hiroto who put up with so much and yet still tried to protect a fearsome gladiator from painful things he couldn't fight off. Hiroto who was actually the one in need of protection. Shaking his head, Ronon gathered up his moping bundle of trouble and cradled it too his chest.
Hiroto wanted attention and Ronon would be the last deny him any of it.
Guiltily, he wished he could give more. But this was all he could give. Ronon was a realist. He couldn't wipe away the past, couldn't stop the impending future. Like his battles in the arena, all Ronon could do was grit his teeth and live through it. It was a chanting line many slaves adopted. Just live through it.
With a kiss to the top of a blanketed head, like magic, the small body melded to his and pressed another kiss to his scruffy chin in return.
It was for sweet moments like this however, that Ronon's rebellious mind spoke of different tomorrows, thought for a flickering moment that he could move mountains and slaughter armies in their favor.
He considered telling Hiroto everything. The other had a right to know but, at the same time, perhaps the less he knew the less incriminating it would be if all Tora's plans failed. Though his ignorance would probably mean nothing in light of Ronon's betrayal. If everything went wrong they would find anything Ronon ever cared about, torture and kill it, make Ronon watch, then force him to end his own life or worse. He shivered.
It wouldn't matter if he knew or didn't know. For just a slave, Hiroto's life was about as entangled in main house politics as their most worthwhile gladiator - and it was a worrying thought.
Glancing out from between the bars, Ronon eyed the fading light. Tugging Hiroto decidedly closer, he cupped the back of his head and whispered into one round ear, "Tomorrow may very well be the day we walk free." The small body stiffened immediately.
Rubbing his free hand up and down a slender spine, the gladiator worried over the details of how much he should or could say. How good was Hiroto at playing it cool? There was really no way he could act suspicious even if he was forced into cleaning duties, sweeping up the unfinished scraps of food their master dropped to the floor. But then again a single look could give away everything.
It wasn't until Hiroto impatiently pinched Ronon's side that he realized he was taking too long. "Demanding, aren't we?" The large man whispered with a wry twist of his lips. Though really he felt his blanketed imp had every right to be. "Tora," Hiroto flinched at the name, "has informed me that there will be an invasion tomorrow following the arena fights."
---
"You will keep it hidden in your cell until after your fight." Tora pushed the blade out of sight.
"I want your master's head."
Ronon's own head shot up to meet Tora. That was impossible! His master was usually surrounded by any number of guards and servants and, even if he did manage to kill him, he would die trying and Hiroto would certainly be next. Regardless of any outcome, Ronon would rather live to see the next day than try to drastically change his standing in society.
"Ah, ah, ah," Tora interrupted, holding a finger up to silence the disbelief about to tumble from between cracked lips. "I'm not done. You seem to forget that, along with my troops filling your inns, I brought with me a large number of staff. All of them are loyal fighters, they are trained for battle and have experience, no matter what they may seem incapable of." Then why couldn't one of them do it?
"Before the night is through, I will appear before your master with a single request." Tora paused and looked the gladiator straight in the eye for full effect. "Should the gladiator Ronon survive his fight, I would like to purchase his slave Hiroto. I will pay the ludus a very generous sum."
That - Hiroto's name - really did push Ronon to the edge then.
"NO," he roared, slamming his fist down to the marble floor and feeling a resounding thud crackle up through his knuckles. "Whatever game you are playing here this is clearly a trap." He hissed his words out through deathly clenched teeth at the sharp look Tora gave him. Despite how angry he was, it would spell certain death for them all if anyone caught a single word of their conversation.
---
"He wants me to join sides with him."
A small hiss of breath escaped Hiroto's lungs and his face finally popped back into view.
"You can't be serious," he whispered just as quietly, lips barely moving and so close to Ronon's own.
Ronon gave them a small peck. He wished he wasn't. "I have no control over the games these people play. But, if it helps us survive, we can't just ignore it."
Silence ticked the evening away and they could hear footsteps beginning to exit the ludus, one pair at a time. Hiroto nodded thoughtfully, his head returning to its position on the gladiator's shoulder. He was scared. He didn't want to risk losing Ronon over something that might not really happen, that might not work, because that was surely to happen in every coup. He didn't trust Tora at all. His bubbling anxiety grew even more prominent when Ronon gently tugged his head back up and gave him a strange look.
"Hiroto… he is going to ask to purchase you."
No. No, no, no. He shook his head desperately now, eyes wide and clinging to his one comfort left in the world. "Please, Ronon. No. Don't let them. Please." For so long he'd managed to stay in Ronon's shadow, keep himself tied down to this villa and its master. Now he was pleading, panicky tears starting to well up in his eyes, and the big warm hands on his side were only making him shake harder. He didn't want a new master, especially Tora and his cruel eyes. He knew Ronon absolutely couldn't do a single thing to stop them. He knew it, but he wanted him to try harder.
"Shhh," Ronon hushed softly, rubbing his thumbs up sharp cheekbones and planting another more lingering kiss to trembling lips. "He doesn't mean to keep you. Buying you will be an excuse to lure our master to me." Hiroto could see where this was going and just how bad and incredibly wrong everything would go. "Tora wants his head," Ronon whispered, running a tender hand through dark locks of hair.
---
"You seem to forget where you are slave," Tora mouthed in a deceivingly soft voice. The house of my enemy. Ronon held fast his tongue, though he had to bite it until he tasted blood. His eyes flared fiercely. "You will survive your fight. Your opponent is one of my own and he will not strike to kill and neither will you." He said it all in an enragingly calm and self-assured tone. "I will offer a price your master cannot turn down. I will convince him to go to your cell and negotiate on my part, though I suspect he will simply state that you can no longer own a slave." Ronon's face twisted in anger, his mind a fury of images he did not want to imagine.
"At the least, he will visit you in your weakened state, relieve you of your ownership, and deliver this tunic and a small fraction of what I will pay him." Rising from the bed, Tora threw on his own thin garments before stepping towards a ratty chest piled in amongst a sea of others. From within it he pulled out a brand new tunic, pure white with stitches so small it looked like a single sheath of cloth.
"When you see your moment, take his head."
---
"He said he wouldn't touch us if I did it. He said that once I deliver the head he will hand you over and grant us safe passage out the city." Ronon tried to put a firmness into his words, but even he could hear his own incredulity and doubt.
"How do you know?" Hiroto choked out, shoving his fists into Ronon's chest and trying to leave the embrace he just wanted comfort from, not more bad news. "How can we trust him? Why should we trust him?"
Ronon tsk'd softly and pulled Hiroto back down. He didn't know, of course he didn't; how could he? He was just as torn over the decision, just as worried and scared and suspicious. He didn't have the power to protect anyone. Tora had showed him that. He didn't even have enough time to think it through. The guards finally reaching their cell and unlocking the door were now even making even that decision for him.
"Dinner time," one of them announced with a bark as the other massive guard entered carrying shackles for Ronon's hands and feet.
The gladiator hauled Hiroto up as soon as the door clanked. He gave him a hard look up and down before carefully wiping the last bit of wetness from unhappy eyes. "No more," Ronon mouthed before holding his hands out and allowing himself to be chained and pushed out the cell. Hiroto merely received a small glance and then they were all gone. The cell doors remained ajar. Because of his small size, half the men in the ludus hardly acknowledged Ronon's little slave. The other half knew better than to tease or taunt him in anyway. Sometimes Hiroto really felt like a ghost here. Other times he was just grateful.
But now he threaded his way quietly through the barracks and maze of cells and storage rooms. Peeking around the entrance, he spotted Ronon amongst the last of the gladiators being chained together and hustled forward into the night. Unaware of the watching slave, the guards finished their work and pushed the thick front doors shut in Hiroto's face.
Sighing, he returned to his cell to wait in a dark corner he hoped no one would see.
---
The gladiators returned just before their usual curfew with a string of raucous whoops and loud clatter. They filed through the ludus laughing uproariously, slapping each other's backs and tripping over their own feet as pairs, fours, threes, and individuals were shoved into their various cells just a bit tipsy from all the wine. Ronon was no different. He stumbled towards their sleeping mat humming, stomach filled with good food, and collapsing in a heavy mess on top of Hiroto.
Snorting, the smaller man shoved the goofy, grinning, smelly face away from his nose and immediately groaned when Ronon took the opportunity to latch his lips onto a bare chest. Hiroto's back arched up minutely and he sighed softly. "Ronon. Don't. We need to sleep for tomorrow."
"Mm-mm," the big oaf huffed, burrowing his face into Hiroto's neck and pouting. The feel of stubble scratch-scratching his sensitive skin made the smaller man roll his eyes and shiver all at once. If he could help it, Ronon never had sex before a fight; most of the men considered it bad luck. But he had already been coerced into pleasuring Tora today so why not? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hiroto shied away from Ronon's touch.
"Not tonight," he breathed over wine tasting lips, tugging the lion's mane back and patting his cheek. "Sleep." Ronon was slow to comply but he did, stealing one last kiss, tongue delving almost painfully deep as he claimed and tasted and took. His roaming hands finally settled atop slim hips and Hiroto snuggled closer, ready for sleep.
Stillness filled their cell. Just outside the ludus, little bugs chirruped and animals snorted as the moon slid behind a violet grey cloud.
Ronon was once again mulling over his options and thinking back to everything Tora had said. He wasn't the least bit drunk; any good gladiator knew better than to acquire a hangover the night before a fight. He just wanted some last minute affection before risking life and limb for a cause he knew nothing about.
Hiroto was perfectly aware of it all. In the gladiators' absence he had thought long and hard about what needed to be done and focused on first. Everything he'd been forced to do today, the constant shame he couldn't get away from, all of it was tucked away in the back of his mind so he could concentrate on tomorrow. On Ronon's fight. On Tora's war. On his Plan B.
---
Silence permeated the villa grounds as a hardened pair of feet flit soundlessly through the marble halls. Exiting through a creaky kitchen door, the shadowy form slid effortlessly through tall grass, dodging sheep droppings and jagged tree stumps. A dirt path finally appeared in the moonlight and he edged along it towards the ludus.
With a single nod he was granted entrance into the dusty barracks and the night guard turned his back. Not sparing them another glance, the figure stepped down a hall with only the smallest of candles lighting his way. On this wing of the ludus holding cells, only one wall was lined with living quarters to allow the special few a certain amount of privacy. Snores rumbled reassuringly through the night as he neared his destination.
In the last cell.
Blowing out his flickering light, the stranger set his candleholder down and reached into the folds of a loose tunic.
Whether it was the smell of smoke or the sound of footsteps, a metal hilt sliding through fabric or the scrunch of leather straps tightening, Hiroto didn't know what roused him.
He was only conscious of the short second he had to inhale before a rough hand clapped over his face and he was silenced completely.
A/N:
Good lord that took too long to post! I'M SO BUSY! SORRY!!! Half of this doesn't even make sense and turns out I'm not even getting to the good part until the next post. LOL *sweats* Just thought I'd go ahead and post this because it sounded like the next one would be long...
Now have some researchy notes!
- a gladiatorial school was called a "ludus"
- in many Roman homes there was a small family shrine called the "lararium"
- atriums in these houses were usually open and included a sunken pool called an "impluvium" to collect rainwater
- a rich person would often at least own one summer villa in the countryside and their "domus"
- the wealthy especially ate while lounging on couches during fancy get-togethers lol butwomen weren't allowed to do much lounging until later
- when you lounged and ate you threw whatever you were done with onto the floor so the slaves could sweep up
- gladiators were usually either volunteering freemen or conscripted slaves, criminals, and POWs forced to fight for entertainment
- before big arena events, gladiator owners would hold banquets in their honor as a sort of last meal
YUP. Ending my shpeel of facts there! This story is complete fiction though so I probably ignored a lot of things about Ancient Roman culture, I just thought I'd share some of the things I read about lolol. Seems like there will be a Heat V that will take equally long to post…
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