Fic Preview Time: Wild in a Rush of Wind
So, I have no will power. I know some people on tumblr are already invested in the character of Elill and Duro/Elill so, having decided this fic is NOT the one I'll be using for the Sparty Big Bang. Here's everything, so far, unfinished. Hopefully this will tide everyone over until it's done. It's 5k of unfinished, unedited, semi-rambling bits of fic
Warning: References to past non-con, slavery, and religious life. (Elill is one of the Corybantes of Magna Mater, considered neither male nor female among the Romans.)
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the Starz television series Spartacus.
Introduction:
The smell of death and blood was everywhere. It clung to the very air that flowed through the ludus. Everything was quiet now, since the Rebels barged down the hillside pass and into the city. Oenomaus would not, could not join him. This was his home and he had a penance to pay for what was done. He would attend to the body of Quintus, the least he could do to honor the friendship and memory of Titus. He never imagined, all those years ago, when Titus rescued a monster of a boy from the Pits; it would turn to this utter devastation. Ashur, the slithering snake, was around here somewhere. Oenomaus would hunt him again after this one final pass. He would force himself to remember what this house made him, what he’d become, how he was now a man without honor.
He started to cross the sea of blood and sand from the house to the cells when a distinct gurgling caught his ear. That wheezing suggested life still clung to one of the wounded. Oenomaus quickly passed through the mass of bodies and came to a halt.
Duro. One of the German brothers. Agron insisted he was dead; such a loss had unleashed a fearsome rage. A whole stack of beheaded bodies near the door spoke of that loss of sanity. Blood still seeped from the wound though his skin burned with fever.
Oenomaus placed a hand under Duro’s nose. The breath was still in him, stuttering but present. Oenomaus looked to the house and then back to Duro. There was nothing he could salvage here, no act of penance to make up for his treachery. He could save this life though, at least make the attempt.
He tried not to think himself a common thief as he still cloaks and jewels off the dead. He’d need to conceal them and where Oenomaus needed to go would require some sort of sacrifice. Spartacus was crafty enough not to take the more ostentatious jewels; they would be suspicious on those who spoke Latin with rough tongues and rougher manners. The temple he sought would have no qualms.
His legged throb from Ashur’s wound while his head throbbed from all the consequences of this night. It took him an hour longer than planned to reach the side door to the Temple of Magna Mater. The priests of the Great Mother were foreigners and former slaves by law; no Roman Citizen could dwell among them. Melitta always favored them for that reason alone. Outsiders, just like the rest of them she claimed.
He had not traveled this road since just after her death. He wondered how much had changed in five years. If familiar voices still dwelled within or if they had passed on to the next life. He shifted to Duro and knocked on the door. It was late but he knew they would always answer.
A hooded figured emerged from the other side.
“What do you seek of the Mysteries?” the priest asked.
“I seek nothing of them. Only Elill, if he is present.”
“You seek his favor or a witness of his devotion?”
“I seek his aid,” Oenomaus said through gritted teeth. “Tell him the husband of Melitta is at the door. He will give me entrance.”
The priest looked at Oenomaus and Duro then out into the empty streets. The moonlight glinted off the long-jeweled chains flowing over the visible strand of the eunuch’s hair. “Come inside to wait. I would not seek Elill’s wrath if you were to catch your death.”
There were hushed words that echoed through the stone walls of the housing section. Few saw this part of the temple where the priests, the Galli, and the fighting dancers, the Corybantes, dwelled. No self-respecting Roman worth his reputation would allow himself among the followers who were neither man nor woman in eyes of the Roman law. There were all eunuchs, either having undergone a physical or sacrificial castration. They prayed through the goddess through dance, magic, hallucinogenic herbs, raving madness, and sacred prostitution.
The Elill he last saw when Melitta still lived was a gangly youth still coming into his own form. Even then his face hinted to the beauty he would become, a nose and jawline he would grow into. Melitta always said any flaws in his looks would be forgiven when met with those eyes. They were all-knowing, even as a child, telling of horrors already lived. They shone with childish mischief then but now they met him with an altogether different knowledge. His movements were with a practiced paced and sensuality, one who knew he was forever to be an object of desire whether he willed it or not.
“I did not think you yet lived,” Elill teased. His long hair was unbound and he was without adornment or paint on his face. Few of the Roman worshipers would ever see him so normal.
“I have had duties,” Oenomaus said. “I have strayed from them now and seek your assistance. You know the art of healing here.”
Elill stepped forward suddenly, finally seeing that Oenomaus held up another. Duro was not the dearest to Oenomaus of his students and yet he still found it difficult to hand him over; to give up that final connection.
“He burns with fever. This one is almost for the afterlife.” Elill pulled his hand back and made a face at the blood. “He should see a medicus, Oenomaus. This may well lie beyond our skills here.”
“I cannot take him. There will be questions.”
“For you both, I see.” Elill pointed to the wound on Oenomaus’ leg. “Come, we will go back into the healing rooms.” He easily took Duro’s weight. “Solon,” he called to the priest, “do us a favor and clean this mess. If any guards should come turn them away.”
“And why should we risk such.”
“Oenomaus’ wife was a dear devotee of ours, long before your time.”
“I have payment,” Oenomaus said. He pulled the bag of jewels from his belt. “I suggest you dismantle those and loosen the jewels before any can ask their origin.”
Solon took the bag and made an impressed face. “We were in need of gold to melt down. This will do us well. Gratitude.”
Oenomaus knew here none would question any illegal activity. Many were forced into this service, taken as slaves and required to act as religious leaders. Even those who truly believed held little love for the Romans, not with their treatment.
“I know not what you’ve brought to my doorstep, Oenomaus,” Elill said as he laid Duro down on a bed of clean linen. “I fear it will bring nothing but death.”
“It may well bring worse,” Oenomaus admitted. He could not seek words of false comfort, not now.
Perhaps the morning would see him to a better light. He knew those words came from the last parts of him that still clung to Melitta’s memories for comfort. Oenomaus knew well the world was forever changed. There would be no rest, no safety, and no peace from this night on.
**********************
There were hands on Duro’s face. They were soothing, dabbing at him with a cold cloth. His voice struggled in his chest. He wanted to thank them, those comforting hands, yet no words formed. He could not even manage to open his eyes.
“Shh,” a musical voice whispered. “Calm yourself. You are safe. You will be well.”
Duro returned to the darkness before he could respond. He came to to hear a voice softly singing in words of a tongue he could not recognize. He smelled figs and balsam. Something soft drifted over his face and he inhaled a burst of cinnamon. “You still fight,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Such a spirit in you.”
He was out again before he could make proper response.
It felt a year passed until he finally forced upon his own eyes. He could sense someone else in the room but he did not know yet if he could turn his head. He cough, mouth and throat horribly dry.
“You awake,” a young man with blazing green eyes exclaimed. He leaned over Duro, patting his face and nodding. These were not the hands Duro knew and he wondered at that. “I shall find, Elill. He will be so pleased you are with us.”
The boy scrambled off, Duro listened as the echoing slap of his sandals on stone floor. He looked at the ceiling above him and gasped. It was glorious. Richly detailed paintings of another world. He could discern the shape of an unfamiliar lettering in the low lamplight. It was naturally dark here, no windows cut in the stone. They must be underground it was so cold. It would explain the piles of furs Duro could feel covering him.
There was the sound of rushing clothes, of clacking bells and beads, and suddenly the handsome face of a young man leaned over Duro.
“Oenomaus was correct; you were not destined for the afterlife yet.” He pressed the back of his hand to Duro’s forehead. “Fever is gone for now. Let us see how the wound is healing.”
Duro hissed at the sudden rush of cold air and it set off a round of coughing.
“Iodocus forget to give you a drink. Of course, he did. That boy.” The man disappeared and returned with a cup. “I am going to help lift your head now. You’ve had nothing but strained broth for five days. Drink slowly.”
Duro placed his rough hands over the soft ones that held the cup and took a slow and steady drink.
“My brother,” he rasped once the cup was removed.
“I do not know. You must ask Oenomaus.”
“Who is he?”
“I thought you not to have a head wound. Perhaps I was mistaken.” He reached out to touch Duro’s head again but Duro ducked. “Are you in pain?”
“Who are you? Where am I? And who the fuck is Oenomaus?”
The man’s lips quirked and it was clear he fought a smile. “I was correct; there is a spirit within you. I am Elill, the one who has spent many an hour at your side trying to entice you back to the living. I see that may have been a mistake. And here I am giving up my bed for an ungrateful barbarian.”
“Apologies,” Duro muttered. “I did not mean offense.”
“You did yet I care not. I have too much honeyed lies in my life to not appreciate honesty even if it comes from a coarse tongue with even coarser language. You are in the temple of Magna Mater in Capua. Oenomaus is the man you called Doctore. You are healing from quite the wound to your abdomen thanks to a solder from what I’ve come to understand. The city is currently in a state of chaos thanks to your little uprising and here we are, under the temple, exchanging pleasantries and greetings.”
“You lack reason.”
“I have been accused of worse.”
Duro wanted to laugh. His eyelids started to close instead.
“Do not fight it,” Elill advised. “You need rest.”
“Will you be here when I awake?”
“Yes, and while you sleep, whether you like it or not.”
“I do. You were the one who sang.”
“I did.”
“Will you do it now?”
“I might, if you agree to sleep.”
************************
Oenomaus was there when Duro awoke again. He tried to force his limbs out of the bed, to demand to see Agron, but he could not move more than an inch.
“On your back again,” Oenomaus said. “Elill will have my head if you reopen that wound.”
“My brother-”
“Thinks you have already left this world. You will not survive with the Rebels, Duro. You must heal. The Gods saw fit to spare you from certain death. A man without honor stands before you, but I will not besmirch a blessing of life returned.”
“Is that why you brought me to this temple?”
“I brought you here because the officiants are no friends of the Romans. They will hide you here and no Roman would expect to find an escaped German slave among the Galli.”
“I must find Agron.”
“You will once you are capable of turning your head without aid.”
********************
Iodocus and Solon were forthcoming with some information but Elill still remained largely a mystery to Duro. Whenever they spoke it was about Duro’s healing. He was often too exhausted from a day of attempting to sit upright to stay awake for long once Elill returned from his duties. Tonight, though, he was determined to have answers.
“You are a eunuch,” Duro said when Elill entered the room.
Elill undid his long braid “No, this temple is more Greek than Roman. I am a Corybante.”
“A what?”
“I dance, and drum in worship. We are Galli and we are not. The Galli physically castrate themselves in this temple. The Corybante, we use symbolic sacrifice.
“The real difference?”
“Corybantes can bear arms in the temple and therefore the head priests don’t need to pay for and house hired guards.”
“No one would suspect you of being so deadly. Your eyes, they glow like gold.”
Elill laughed. “Your tongue appears in working order, though perhaps not your mind.”
*****************
Each day Duro’s strength returned and each night brought more revelations. He was interested in hearing Elill’s tale, how he came from Syria with his friend Adad. Elill intrigued him, so different from Ashur.
He was also a creature of grace and Duro would not deny how it distracted him. Elill’s hair was long and well groomed. He was not as effeminate as the Galli, his jaw far too strong and his clothing reminiscent of armor. His form and manner spoke of masculinity, even when he painted his face and donned the bright colors Duro only saw on the noble women. He was handsome, Duro could recognize the beauty in him, but there was deadliness to Elill. Duro had no doubt he could, and had, taken a life. The Galli and the Corybantes protected themselves since no others would. They knew how to use influence and reputation to keep the Roman shits silenced.
“I should’ve been a Galli,” Elill confessed that night. “Back home, before I was taken, I was already promised to Ishtar. When we came here, me and Adad, the head priest decided to give us to the Corybantes. They revived the tradition here to gain more coin during the rituals.”
“Rituals?”
Elill tapped Duro’s forehead. “Think, German. This is a temple to Cybele, the Great Mother. We practice sacred prostitution here.”
Duro knew little of their worship before being enslaved in Rome. He understood more now but still was confused on just how Elill came to be acquainted with Doctore. None of their rituals ever occurred in the ludus, he was certain.
“How did Doctore come to know you?”
“His wife, Melitta.”
Duro gaped. “His wife?”
Elill nodded. “She died years ago. Horrible scene I heard, choked to death on her own blood thanks to wine laced with poison. She was, she was beautiful.”
“I did not think Doctore had such a life.”
“He was not always Doctore. He was not always Oenomaus. It’s time you met the man behind the titles. He is a great one, though lost now without purpose.”
**********************
“It is the fever,” Elill said. He dabbed at Duro’s forehead. “You must fight it, my friend. I would see another dawn with you.”
****
Duro was never uncomfortable with nudity; this felt different. He was seeing the preparations, witnessing the donning of the masks and persona, and it felt far more intimate than bare skin. His eyes traced the bright swirls of color Elill drew on his body.
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“The dance and its meaning does not shame me. I have always seen it as an expression of life, of joy and a fleeting moment of freedom. It is when those who watch it take something full of reverence and turn it into something base. They do not watch for the sake of true devotion. They watch us with lust in their hearts and hands on their cocks. Months later they will make decree over how we are the animalistic ones and yet they see the ritual as nothing more than a sexual act on display.”
**********
Duro woke to hushed voices in an argument.
“Oenomaus, you do not have to do this. Stay here. Serve the Goddess if you seek a return to honor. Do not descent into that portal of the worst depths of the Underworld. It is not meant for a man such as you.”
“I am nothing better than a beast. It is where I began and it is where I shall make my end.”
“Oenomaus,” Elill pleaded.
“No words can sway me on this, Elill, not even yours.”
**************
Most of Duro’s hours passed in a haze. The wound was slow-healing. Infection set it on from the hours he lay in the open air without treatment. Each day it felt as if he battled another fever, the only anchor to this world was his pain and the cool touch of Elill’s hands.
He had grown used to the visions of horrible and nonsensical things. Still the haze had never brought this, Elill propped next to his bed, hair unbound and furiously writing on scraps of paper.
“If this is your goddess’ idea of eternal punishment, then she leaves me confused.”
“She is a goddess of healing, rebirth, and immortality, Duro. She would not see you to an afterlife so mundane.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Spending eternity on a goat farm sounds like joy to me.”
“All the wishes for eternal bliss and you pick a goat farm.”
“It is a satisfying life. Or Afterlife.”
Elill’s eyes widened as if Duro was a particularly interesting bug.
“Duro, you are truly a gift. You seek not fame or riches. You only wish to return to the life you once had.”
“It was a good life. I enjoyed it before the battles.” It took an effort to raise his hand, but he was determined. He pointed at Elill’s work. “What do you write? I did not know you could.”
“More than one of the Galli were teachers before seeking or being forced into service. They taught me.” He shuffled his pile. “I write letters seeking the former Champion of Capua, hoping he will return and save Oenomaus from his honor.” Elill’s expression soured at those last words.
“I doubt Crixus will answer such a summons.”
Elill laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling under the dark kohl lines. “Not the Gaul. I seek Gannicus, of course.”
“Who?”
“Gannicus,” Elill repeated.
“Never heard of him.”
“Never-you come from the House of Batiatus.”
“Yes.”
“You understand the Common Tongue.”
“Quite well.”
“You do not know of Gannicus.”
“No. Barca, Crixus, Oenomaus himself. A few other scattered names of former heroes. I recall tales of an Auctus and a Dagan. Never a Gannicus.”
“He is the only gladiator of Capua to ever earn his freedom from the Arena. He won it at the opening match. He is a legend; some even seek to call him a god.”
“Then that god needs a better reputation. I never heard such a name uttered in the ludus.”
*******************
“We must help him.”
“What would you have me to, Duro? I cannot break into that ludus nor can I bring the arena down. Save an act of the gods, there is nothing to be done.”
“Let me go then.”
“No,” Elill commanded. He turned around, the glass and wooden beads in his hair clinking as quickly forced Duro back down. “You must gain strength. The wound is healed, let your body rest before you throw yourself at death again.”
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“You should go, now. With the chaos and all those bodies, you will not be missed. The current magistrate is too new to know you never favored the games.”
“Solon.”
“Go,” Solon urged. He pushed Elill through the doorway. “Go and live for us, Elill.”
“I will not be able to return.”
“No, you will not.” Solon gestured to the young slave brought from the market not a week before. “Yet in your passing you will perhaps give opportunity to another’s life. They will need a new Corybante.”
And not another Galli. Duro understood the significance there. In this temple the Galli underwent true castration; for the Corybantes it was ritual. If a Corybante gained freedom they could go somewhere else in Rome and still be counted as man. A Galli could not do that, forever marked a eunuch and therefore something in-between. The fucking Roman shits. They required worship of this goddesses and yet forbid any of their own citizens from becoming priests.
****************
“He is only dear friend.”
“Who has sacrificed the comfortable life in a state-sponsored temple to see you here? That is a very good friend.”
“He has experience in the healing arts. Something you are in short supply of.”
“We do not trust Syrian shits.”
“You can trust this one. Just as well as you can trust your own. Why would he bring me here, only to betray me?”
“To lead the Romans to us.”
“You are unfucking believable, brother. Is your boy not a Syrian?”
“He proved his dedicated to our cause.”
“But first made attempt on Spartacus’ life.”
“He was a slave. He knew no better.”
“And Elill well remembers what life was like before his village was destroyed and his whole family taken captive. His only true loyalty is to to Ishtar, or Cybele, or Astarte, whateverthefuck he calls her.”
“He would do well to start praying to Freyja.”
Duro shook his head. “He carries the word and approval of Doctore.”
“Who currently hangs between life and death.”
“When he awakes, which he will, you will hear true word spoken. He has my word, Agron. Can you not let that be enough?”
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“I was taken from my homeland, stripped of my identity, and forced into a worship that makes a mockery of all I hold dear. If you think I do not desire to see the ground choke red with Roman blood, you are very fucking mistaken.”
“Well, we can clearly see your influence on him, brother.”
Duro slapped him on the side of the head.
**************
“We were all orphans but I, at least, knew of my family history. It’s why I was promised to Ishtar, my family line had roots going back to one of the original Akkadian families. Nasir and Adad were the children of one of the respected healers, Tiamat. She died giving birth to Nasir so Adad promised himself to the priests if they would help in the care and raising of his baby brother.
When the Roman fucks came we were handed over as an appeasement; a sacrifice to the Roman state gods. Nasir was still too young, even for their tastes, only five years in this world. While Adad and I were sent to the temple, Nasir was sold. I consider that the last hint of Roman kindness I ever witnessed.”
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Elill’s lips twisted in a cruel smile. “Adad was a favorite of one of our devoted worshipers. When he passed, he left farmland in Gallia to Adad. The Romans wouldn’t let him take it saying, as Corybantes, as Galli, we were not men, nor women, and could not inherit. Our head priest was determined to have that land though. They bought Adad’s manumission and attempted to erase his life as a Corybante. I do not know if he yet lives. Suspicion told me he was killed on the road to Gallia.”
“Yet you believe he might have escaped.”
“Adad, like Nasir, always found a way to survive. He would’ve suspected treachery on the road.”
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Duro was waiting for Elill’s calm demeanor to break. It was coming soon, with the way the Rebel leaders spoke of him. There was a commotion off the healing room in the temple, and ah, there it was.
“Did it ever occur to any of you ignorant fucks that all the Syrians you’ve met were treacherous for a reason? That it is the only way they saw to advance in a world where, even among slaves, they are belittled? So you’ve met one dishonorable man and you condemn his whole country? Clearly the gods skipped the coast from Gallia through Greece when they were passing out sense.”
Elill stormed out of the room and right into Duro’s path.
“I see you’re bonding with the Bringer of Rain.”
“Bringer of Shit is more plausible,” Elill yelled down the hall. “How Nasir can stand to live among these bastards.”
“To them, Nasir has proved his loyalty. That and my brother has a temper. Nasir has a temper as well from what I’ve heard. Honestly, I pity the stupid fuck who thinks to insult either or both of them.”
“Aside from you.”
“I have special privileges.”
**********************
Nasir slapped him. Hard. “Do not be such a fucking idiot, brother.”
Duro patted his head and checked to make sure there was no blood. Wild little dog, indeed.
“Elill, like myself, has never had choice in matter of body or heart. He’s been commanded when to fuck, when to come, when to kiss. He knows not how to initiate a romantic or a sexual relationship between two willing people. You must clear the path, Duro.”
“I have never done such with a man. Not that there weren’t urges, but one of us needed to marry and Agron was always inclined towards men.”
Nasir patted his hand. “It is no different. Elill may require a little more finesse and caution since he knows who you truly are. One of your smiles won’t get him into your bed.”
“Perhaps I should follow my brother’s path.”
“By all means. I never knew your desire for castration was so near. Elill still identifies strongly with our homeland. Please, go and tell him how our people are all treacherous fucks while plying him with drink. I crave to see the outcome.”
“My brother did that?”
“I am to understand he was not in his right mind.”
**************************
“You and your brothers have similar taste in companions,” Mira said.
“Yet our bonds are of a different kind.” He rolled his eyes at her look. “Elill and I are friends.”
“For now,” Mira said with certainty.
Duro nodded, not bother deny his truth. “I confess I do not know how to approach him in a different manner.”
“He has spent his whole life subjected to other people’s desires, performing on command like a trained animal. If he ever pursues desire for how own reasons, I will fully support him.”
There was a loud cheer and they both looked to see Nasir knock Elill on his ass.
“It seems you win this round,” Elill admitted.
Nasir laughed and held his hand out. It was a mistake; one Elill took advantage of, easily pulling Nasir down to the sands with him.
It was a marvel to see Elill out here, absent the familiar kohl around his eyes and the perfume in his hair. His chosen colors were still brighter than those of most the rebels, a lifelong habit not easily broken.
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Agron was pacing like a wild cat, fists clenched in rage. He pointed to the sands outside. “He called you less than a man!”
“Which is how I’m defined under Roman law.” Elill patted Agron’s arm. “I do welcome this change of heart towards me, Agron, but do not start useless fights. If I tried to defend myself each time such a taunt was hurled at me, I’d be more exhausted than Atlas himself.”
Agron turned to Nasir in confusion.
“It is believed Atlas carries the world on his shoulders,” he explained.
*************************
Duro looked around the camp and found all but Nasir and Elill. He heard soft voices, barely above a whisper, from behind a large boulder.
“Do you come to protect us,” Nasir teased.
“You two need no protection. As much as I’d like to see that treacherous fuck finally get his, I think there are enough witnesses.”
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“Do you remember the first time a man forced himself upon you?” Nasir asked. It was obvious he couldn’t recall his own.
“No,” Elill said. “I do not remember the first man or the first woman. I just knew hearing the very word beatufiul caused me to flinch. I hate that fucking word.”
Nasir nodded. “Agron could not understand why I panicked when he first called me such.”
“In Rome beauty is a curse for a slave.”
***********************
Duro knew all around him were cheers and roars of victory but he could hear none of them. Elill had Duro’s face in his hands and was studying him in a mixture of fear, awe, and reverence. Duro let instinct take over, titled his head up into those familiar hands. He felt a swell of pride when Elill’s eyes dropped to Duro’s neck, then up to his mouth and lingered at his lips.
“Duro,” Elill pleaded, “if you do not want this you must step away now.”
“There is nowhere else I’d rather fucking be. Either you kiss me right now, so I can know, without any fucking doubt this is your choice, or I swear to both of our gods I will not be held accountable for the words that come out of my mouth in the next moment.”
Elill smiled, his true one, worn on early dawns when he told of a life and history not forgotten. From the times when he shared with Duro the myths of his childhood.
*******
Duro gasped, hands slick with sweat sliding across the floor as he tried to push up. Elill’s insistent hands on his hips pushed him back down, pinning him there. It was too much, too much heat, too much touch, Elill’s dark hair covering him, teasing across his thighs with each suck and stroke of Elill’s tongue.
“Shhh,” Elill breathed into his skin. “You make such beautiful, broken sounds. It will not last if you do not stop.”
“I can’t,” Duro said. His feet found purchase on the floor and he tried to buck up, to do something. There was heat, frustration, and desire all curling within him. He couldn’t stand it. “Elill, please.” He begged. He knew it. He didn’t care. He would always beg for this man. There was no pride to worry about here. Not with Elill.