Prompt Post 2
Welcome to the second round of the_eagle_kink .
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
- MORE MOD NOTES: Alright guys I know this fandom is really into historical accuracy and all that jazz but here's the thing. This is a KINK MEME and therefore historical accuracy is not ( Read more... )
He kept walking towards the town, slowing as he approached. The guards stared at him warily, hands shifting on their weapons.
He raised his own hand in greeting. And one of the men split from the others and strode a couple of paces forward. Liathan halted with a good space between them.
The man jerked his chin at Liathan. "Alone?"
"Yes." Liathan shrugged. "We were set upon by bandits, my party was scattered, they took everything I had, even the clothes of my back." And he smiled, inviting the joke.
The man did not smile.
"None made it here then?" Liathan asked.
The man shook his head. "No." And then a second later. "Sorry," he added, thawing a little.
Liathan sighed "I had hoped, but... thieves" He shook his head sadly.
The man nodded. "Honourless dogs." he removed his hand from the handle of his blade and swept it across his brow. "We've been plagued by them as well."
"Oh?" Liathan stepped closer,
The man nodded, and leant in, a glint in his eye. "Romans."
Liathan pasted a suitable expression of shock on his face.
The man nodded and continued, "They stole from our inn here, came in disguise, took a room, and stole..." He shrugged. "Gold, I heard it was."
"Gold?" Liathan asked, raising an eyebrow. His scepticism must have been obvious for the man shifted back, frowning.
"Well, so I heard."
Liathan nodded rapidly. "Of course, of course." He waited a second, then, when the man didn't seem inclined to provide anything more, asked, "What happened to them?"
"Oh, they were killed."
Liathan's heart stopped.
"All but three."
It started beating again. "Is that so?" he managed to choke out.
The man glanced at him and Liathan coughed, pretending to clear his throat. He waved his hand for the man to continue.
"They escaped over the wall before light. A party was sent out to track them, they probably have them by now. They left at dawn."
Liathan wasn't confident his face could lie convincingly enough and he turned to scan the tree line, raising a hand to rub his jaw. Once he was sure he had himself under control he turned back. "Best of luck to them then," he said shortly, and he nodded, stepping away.
"You aren't..." The guard gestured towards the gates.
"Oh no, I must search for others who travelled with me. Maybe some yet live."
The man nodded and turned to go back to his fellows. "I hope you find them," he said over his shoulder.
"As do I." Liathan muttered under his breath, turning back onto the road.
He maintained a steady pace until the town was hidden by a curve in the road, and then he began to run.
Esca and Aquila would have headed south for sure. But he had no idea if they'd keep to the road or turn off it. There were tracks leading away from the road every so often, but he had no way of knowing if they were the right ones. His ignorance crawled at his skin.
He passed a few travellers on his way, and each time he stopped and asked about the party from the town. The travellers all pointed south, and he followed, able to at least track them, if not the other two.
He rounded a curve and saw an old man sitting by the verge, his cart piled full of sacks of wool. Liathan greeted him and smiled, trying to contain his nerves.
"Tell me, have you seen a group come by this way? From the town." He pointed back the way he'd come.
The old man tilted his head, thinking. "No, no." He shook his head. "There was a farmer and his wife, with cattle for market, they were going to the next town over. No good for cattle this one." He pointed to his own cart meaningfully. "Good for wool."
Liathan shook his head, he couldn't care less for the buying and selling of wares. "You're sure they didn't come by here? You're sure?"
"Yes." The man nodded decisively. "I'm sure."
"Thank you." Liathan reached out to clasp his hand, then turned back the way he'd came.
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The tracks led him down a long, rolling slope into a valley, and then along the path of a stream, the moss covered ground springy and wet. Eventually the stream opened into a shallow lake.
He was lost for a moment there, scanning the bank frantically until he saw the path pick up again on the far side, and he waded over, the water-logged ground sucking at the soles of his boots.
The path wound then, crossways up the mountain side, and Liathan ignored it, scrambling up the steep rocks, gripping clumps of heather and grass tufting around the boulders to drag himself up the almost vertical slope.
He gained the top, stood, then ducked instantly, settling in amongst the plants and rocks.
He could see the people from town. They were climbing the next slope over. As he watched, the last of them disappeared around the curve of the path. Her body obscured by a rocky outcrop. As soon as she was gone, Liathan straightened, skidding down the slope. He slipped and lost his footing, rolling the rest of the way. Mud smeared his bare skin and his hands and arms were scratched by all manner of brambles and rocks. His rapid fall slowed as he approached the foot and he managed to avoid striking any of the large boulders which peppered the slope.
He dragged himself to his feet and sprinted across the valley, wincing at the suck, suck of his footsteps in the soft mud. Then he was at the other side and scrambling again, pulling himself up and up towards the summit.
This face was rockier, and though he had the skill, it was made difficult by the wet smears of mud that covered almost every part of him. He slipped once or twice, knocking his knees and elbows as he grabbed for another purchase. But the pain meant nothing, the knowledge that he was running out of time spurring him on. He had to reach the others before the townsmen did. He had to.
The slope eventually became too steep to climb and he cast about for a path, finding a narrow strip of ground that wound its way upwards. Sometimes he leapt for a higher rock and levered himself up, arms straining. Sometimes there was no option but to follow the winding path around the next outcrop and he took it at a run, trusting in his balance.
He passed into the cloud as he climbed, the wet mugginess of it sticking to his skin and getting in the places the mud had missed. Still he climbed, higher and higher until finally, with an abruptness that made him stumble, the land levelled.
He could see no more than four paces before him. Everything looked grey, rocks and stones and fog. The air up here carried voices strangely, and he could hear the townspeople, hear the noise of talking so clear that he jerked, expecting to see them appear at his shoulder.
He began to study the ground, moving slowly and carefully over the stones, studying each groove, each smudge of mud on stone. And he began to follow the path they had made. Controlling the urge to run madly forwards until the fog cleared and just hope he was going the right way.
He could not leave this up to hope.
Finally the fog began to thin, and with it grass started to wind its way between the stones. He saw the bent blades and depressions left by feet and he picked up his pace.
The land here sloped down at a steady rate, not quite steep enough to slide down, but still Liathan had to watch his footing, not particularly wanting to stumble and fall directly on top of those he was pursuing.
The marks they left were fresh and his spirits lifted even as the sun began to break through the cloud. Perhaps he would overtake them at the next rise. On the heels of the thought, he heard a shout, one voice high and clear, then two, then three, each raised in victory.
The hunters had found their prey.
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The fog thinned to nothing and finally he could see. The land here curved into a scooped bowl. The depression in the centre carrying an almost circular pool. Rocks and boulders were gathered around the edge of it, bent, blackish trees huddling between them as if for shelter.
It was by those trees that Esca and Aquila stood, weapons out, facing the attackers that sped down the slope towards them. The three closest were the ones shouting, closing the distance between them rapidly. Behind them came two women, and behind them a man Liathan recognised. The great bushiness of his beard seared into his memory -- the slave trader. The metal of his blade glinting in the sun. Two archers stood on either side, taking position on the slopes, their bows aiming directly at Esca and Aquila's armour-less bodies.
Even as Liathan watched, the one closest to him loosed an arrow. Aquila ducking at the last moment, to let it strike harmlessly on the rock beside him.
Liathan moved, running low as he came up to the side of the archer, then leaping up onto his back. He gripped his face and snapped his head the the side before the man could even get a yell out.
Then he was scrambling off him, taking up his bow and aiming across the way at the other archer. She hadn't yet noticed him, and was sighting down her bow, into the hollow. Liathan drew back his string, aiming the arrow and exhaling.
Time stilled, the land around him seemed to fall silent.
He saw the archer draw her bow tight, saw the focus on her face, and then both their arrows were flying through the air.
Liathan's arrow seemed to disappear from his bow and reappear sticking perfectly out from the archer's neck. She crumpled to the ground. Liathan turned his gaze down to the others.
Aquila was locked in battle with the last of the closest three, his face clenched tight and pale with rage. He stumbled on his bad leg, and Liathan's heart leapt in his chest. But Aquila rose again, turning the fall into a lunge. As Liathan watched, his blade sunk home, he ripped it back out, blood gleaming wetly as the man fell to lie beside his fellows.
Aquila stepped forwards and Liathan saw Esca's body, lying still on the ground
Liathan did not remember how he passed the next few moments. Could not recall taking up the archer's blade and storming down the slope.
He did not know if he shouted, or if the three remaining attackers turned to face him.
Did not know how he might have looked all covered in mud and blood from the dead archer, eyes wild and black.
The next thing he remembered was being in the air, the drop from a great, angry leap and seeing exactly the path his blade would take. Seeing the shocked, terrified stare of the woman below him.
And then he was crashing into her, his sword stabbing into her flesh. He tore the blade out, blood-spray hot against his face.
The battle seemed to snap back into reality around him. Aquila was clashing swords with the last woman. The trader was between Liathan and Esca. Liathan charged forwards, ducking to slice at his legs but the trader was there to meet him, snarling viciously and shoving him back. The thickness of his arms straining under his tunic.
Liathan rallied and leapt forwards again, striking and stabbing in an insane flurry of blows. The trader had strength and skill, but Liathan was lit by madness and the trader could not withstand the onslaught, finally faltering and moving his blade, too slow.
Liathan plunged his sword forwards, blade parting cloth then flesh as it sunk into his chest.
The trader gasped, blood draining from his face, his skin suddenly pale under his beard, his eyes wide and shocked as the life slowly drained from them.
Liathan pulled his blade free and spun. Ready to meet the next attacker.
But there were none. Just Aquila, listing to the side a little, but with his blade held steady; and Esca, lying on the ground.
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Liathan stared at him confusedly for a second, before finally grappling with his emotions and starting to think clearly once more.
He stepped back, and then dropped his blade. Raising his blood stained and weapon-less hands.
Aquila let his sword point down, then he went to Esca, raising him carefully onto his lap.
He brushed the hair back from Esca's brow with painful tenderness. "Esca, Esca," he repeated his name, clutching him tightly. Esca did not move. Liathan felt his knees give way, a black cloud seeming to descend over the three of them.
Esca opened his eyes. Liathan stared in shock as Esca blinked, then coughed, body shaking. His face tightened in pain. He blinked again then focused on Aquila, staring up at him. Aquila's face was blank with shock, and he started when Esca raised his hand to his cheek, leaving a bright smear of blood on his skin.
Liathan forced himself to remain still, trying to get his breathing under control. Shaking with relief and adrenaline from the battle.
Finally the two broke apart and helped each other to their feet. Esca's thigh was red with blood, but the arrow that had lamed him was nowhere to be seen, it must have passed clean through.
He turned to look at the dead and only then did he see Liathan. His face went utterly white for a second and he swayed. Aquila grabbed him tighter, and, seeing where he was looking, began speaking rapidly, shaking his head.
Esca thought he had helped their attackers, Liathan realised, and he scrambled to his feet, hands outstretched. "No, no," he said hoarsely. "I was not, I- I came back."
Esca stared at him, then swallowed roughly, still gripping Aquila for support.
"Why?"
Liathan stared back, eyes flicking to Esca's leg.
"You need treatment-"
"Why!" Esca shouted, the words echoing off the slopes.
Liathan stared at him, breathing shallowly.
"I was a coward. I ran from you. Like a coward. I ran from you both." He found the weight of Esca's gaze to heavy to bear and he focused on a point beyond his shoulder.
"I am an oath breaker, A craven. Without honour."
He was panting, the words dragged up from the very pit of him.
"I had to try to... I could not live... I came to..." To fix it. He could see the hound from his dream, hovering at the edge of sight.
He took a step forward, dropping to his feet before them and raising his head to bare his neck.
"Kill me." He looked between them. "I don't deserve to live."
The painful symmetry of the moment was not lost on him. And he hated that he had brought so much shame on his own shoulders.
Aquila looked down at him, understanding his actions if not his words. Esca moaned and Liathan's eyes cut to him, seeing him sway against Aquila, hand pressing against this wound. But his eyes fluttered open again, dark as they met Liathan's.
"Swear to me," he said, and his voice was inhumanly harsh. "Swear you will never run again."
Liathan forced the words around the block in his chest. "I have nothing so swear on."
Esca's gaze was painful. "Swear on your son."
Liathan's blood turned to ice in his veins.
His son, whom he had killed for betraying his honour. His own son, who had died for a lesser crime than Liathan had now committed.
He shook his head sharply. "I cannot. I must die, I-"
"You ran from us!" Esca interrupted him. "You forfeit your honour, everything..." He paused and sucked in a breath, lines of tension appearing on his brow. Aquila said something but Esca shook his head, eyes snapping open. "... It's ours. To do with as we will."
Liathan could 't look away from him. "Yes," he breathed.
"Then swear it."
"I swear," Liathan said, "I swear. I'm yours."
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So um, needs more work, clearly. I'm going to take a short break to plot before getting back to the post-a-day format, so part two will hopefully be starting on the weekend.
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OMG JUST - Esca is so fucking fierce and Liathan made me shed some tears. Such a perfect way to tie up the first part.
INTRIGUE. VIOLENCE. EVENTUALLY SEX.
You already had me hooked and then this, well, damn. I may faint again from happiness. <3!
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Your descriptions are vivid and playful at the same time because a majority of the focus has been from the Seal Prince's POV. The novelty behind this is fantastic and you've done a great job of presenting everything in a way that really draws the reader in. The emotional development though sometimes sparse when combined with the descriptive action of the plot, is nevertheless so heart-wrenching that it creates a great balance and I thoroughly enjoyed that interplay. The characterization of Esca and Marcus feels spot on and I must praise you for drawing in the bitterness of the circumstance Liathan is in with his growing sense of purpose. The interactions feel natural to the imagination. :)
I have to know because I want to be emotionally prepared. Is this fic Esca/Marcus/Seal Prince paired or is it Esca/Marcus focused with some Seal Prince on the side? I'm not going to lie, I'm hoping for the former rather than the latter. You've set it up well that I could believe not only a sexual threesome between these three characters, but an emotional one as well. The loyalty that is growing between the three is very dramatic, but could give way to adoration and lust in my opinion. Please dear writer, end my misery by letting me know the truth. :)
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To be honest I'm not 100% sure. I had been going for Esca/Marcus and Esca/Liathan. But I'm starting to think that might change to Marcus/Esca/Liathan.
I'm only plotting the bare-bones and mostly writing it as it comes. Sorry I can't be more specific.
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Obviously you know what this reader!anon is wishing and hoping for, but really you also know that I as well as every other one of your fans will be cheering you on to just know how it all turns out regardless of the endgame. The pairings aren't everything, it's about everything you put in the pairings, as cliche as it sounds. :)
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Esca collapsed as soon as Liathan finished speaking. His eyes rolling up to show the whites. Marcus tightened his grip, bearing against the strain, but the flash of pain from his leg was too strong and in second he was on the ground next to Esca. Esca's breathing was faint, his skin pale and clammy. Marcus pressed his hand to Esca's forehead - he was too cold.
He let his head drop for a second, pleading silently that the Gods would be merciful. That they hadn't lived through everything, only to die now. Then he dragged himself up, and looked over at Liathan. The man was still kneeling, but he was leant forwards, as if he wanted to rise.
Marcus pushed himself back to his feet.
They needed to get to the wall, They needed treatment.
Liathan watched him rise, stood along with him, then he turned away. Marcus resigned himself to the sight of Liathan leaving them, again. But Liathan didn't leave, instead he walked to one of the bent trees between the boulder, and began hacking at it with his blade. Marcus stared at him for a second in confusion, then shook his head. If he wanted to waste the sharp edge on wood, he was welcome to it.
Marcus limped to where he had stashed the packs before the attack, and from them, drew out the tunic Esca had been shredding to provide a binding for his leg. He ripped off a couple of lengths and began to bind Esca's wound as best he could, pulling the knots tight to staunch the blood flow. Esca didn't wake as he worked, though he moaned, each time making Marcus wince, and whisper apologies under his breath.
Liathan returned from his inexplicable rage, and Marcus saw, he hadn't been taking out his anger on the tree, he'd been cutting a staff. The stick was a little curved, like an unbent bow, but sturdy, and it held fast when Liathan put his weight on it, before handing it over.
"Thank you," Marcus said, eyes wide, and he used the staff to push himself back to his feet. Liathan watched Marcus lean on it, measuring it's strength and avoiding Marcus' eyes, then he turned to Esca, and, careful of the wound, lifted him onto his bare back.
He glanced back at Marcus, and then bent stiffly to grab the packs and swing them onto his shoulder. The heaviness of the eagle pulled down on his shoulders and it took him a second to find his balance. Then, looking up, he pointed towards the south. Liathan turned silently, and they began to move up the slope, past the dead bodies on the ground and over to the next hill.
He let Liathan walk ahead, even with the staff, the going was slow, his leg protesting each movement. The wound wasn't bleeding much, the places where it had reopened were shallow. But it had caused the entire area to swell up, and bending the knee was difficult and painful.
Swinging his leg in a stiff walk was impossible on the steep slopes, but he trod where Liathan trod, trusting the other man to choose his footing carefully under his own burden. Strange, that he was trusting him again. True, he had no choice, and he could see they were heading south, but still, he wondered if he was making a mistake.
He paused for a second at the top of a rise, panting, and looked at Liathan as he moved ahead down the slope. He had a firm grip around Esca's middle, and was watching his footing as they navigated the steep decline. But as Marcus watched he paused and turned to look up at him.
He had to squint his eyes against the sun, and likely he couldn't see much more of Marcus than a silhouette. Marcus wondered what he saw, whether there was something there that had drawn him back to save them, or whether all his reasons were being carried on his shoulders.
He shrugged off the thought, rolling his shoulders under the packs, and followed Liathan down the hill.
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Distracted, Marcus tripped, the staff slipping on a stone, and he hissed, breath catching in his throat as pain went screaming up his knee. The leg stiffened and he collapsed, falling to the ground in a broken mess of limbs. Winded by the fall, it took him a second to draw breath into his lungs and raise his head. When he looked up, Liathan had halted and was staring back at him.
Marcus tasted frustration at being unable to communicate, but still. "Keep going," he said, guessing Liathan would understand the sentiment, if not the words. He gestured to the path with his free hand. After a second Liathan shook his head. Marcus tightened his jaw. Liathan couldn't carry the both of them and Esca had to get treatment. "Keep going," he repeated, gesturing more sharply at the path. Liathan only shook his head again and stood there. Standing tall despite the heat and Esca's weight on his shoulders.
How far had he ran from them? How far had he come back? Marcus had seen him leap onto their attackers, appear out of nowhere -- utterly terrifying in that moment, like all the tales of wild barbarians come to life. But he had been panting too, chest rising and falling almost like a heartbeat. Like it had in the inn when Marcus had cut through his ropes.
He blinked away the memories. Liathan was still standing there, and Marcus, in painful increments, pulled himself back onto his feet. He swayed, white knuckled grip on the staff, waiting for the world to stop rocking. Then, resettling the packs on his sweaty back, he began to walk. One foot in front of the other, slow and steady, bridging the distance between them.
Liathan waited until he was almost alongside, before turning and continuing on down the slope.
The land began to level into an open plain, hawks and buzzards crying out and wheeling above them. Their crowing sounding through the air, slick with satisfaction.
He was sure, from the journey north, that the wall was less than half day away, but their pace was slow, and the sun began to descend as they walked, setting the hillsides alight with yellow orange fire.
His world narrowed down to step upon step, punctuated by his breath and that of Liathan's ahead of him, the both joining in a steady harmony. The thump of their feet and the thundering of blood with each heartbeat counted out the time. The crying of the birds above was the tune, and everything was music. He was so focused that he didn't notice Liathan's hoarse shout at first, mistaking it for a heavy breath, It wasn't until Liathan shouted again, that Marcus raised his head from his tired study of the ground.
Liathan was pointing in front of them. He pointed more forcefully and spoke again, "Look."
Marcus looked, and his breath caught. In the distance, a thin grey line bisected the view, extending along the ground like a snake, struck dead. And like a snake, a lump for the head stood far to their right. The breath held in Marcus' lungs ripped free. The wall. Relief showered down on him like cool water. The wall. Help was here.
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The gates opened as they reached the road, and legionnaires filed out, two, then four, then six, each with their shields and short swords in their hands. Men lined the wall above, and still more looked down from the watchtower. A seventh man stepped out from the gates, the red plumes of his helmet moving in the wind.
Liathan halted, wavering, a little, and as Marcus came level with him, he could hear even clearer how ragged Liathan's breathing had grown. He glanced at Esca too, noting the paleness of his skin, but then he was in front of them, raising his free hand.
"I am Marcus Flavius Aquila, previously Commander of the Fourth." He pitched his voice to carry.
After a second, the helmeted Centurion saluted back. "Gaius Menius Libo." He clearly hadn't expected to be greeted by someone of such high rank. Marcus guessed he must look about as bad as he'd suspected.
"We were set upon." He waved his hand behind them. "Half a day's walk back. We're in need of medical attention. My friend..." He gestured at Esca. "...is wounded, an arrow to the leg."
The Centurion glanced at Esca and Liathan, a hardness in his eyes, hidden when he looked back at Marcus, and then he was ordering his men to take Esca inside.
Marcus allowed himself to relax, and he hefted his packs on his back. He was walking towards the Centurion when there was a sudden shout behind him. He spun to see the legionnaires, gripping their swords, ranged in a loose circle around Liathan. He had drawn his blade and was stumbling back, tightening his grip on Esca's body.
"Liathan!"
He jerked his head to look at Marcus, and Marcus hoped the meaning of what he said would be clear in his face. "It's all right. They will help. Liathan. It's all right." He nodded and mimed handing Esca over.
There was a moment when Marcus thought it wouldn't work, when they'd have to take Esca from him by force, but finally Liathan lowered his blade, turning back to the legionnaires and pulling Esca from his back. The men, still looking wary, sheathed their blades and came forwards. They passed Esca between then, Liathan swaying a little at the sudden loss of his burden.
"Liathan," Marcus called again, gesturing for the man, who had stood transfixed as they took Esca away, to join him. Liathan approached slowly and Marcus turned to follow the others. But the turning twisted his leg and he gasped, falling sideways. In a second Liathan was there, catching Marcus' fall and sliding under his arm, as he had in the town.
"Sir?" The Centurion's eyes travelled between them, then focused on Marcus.
"I'm fine. It's an old wound."
The Centurion seemed unconvinced, Marcus didn't blame him, he'd felt the blood rush from his face as he fell, and was still blinking the dizziness from his eyes. He attempted to straighten as they passed through the gate. But his leg shook, and he didn't release his grip on Liathan's shoulders.
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"Have you seen fighting here?"
The Centurion nodded shortly and again he glanced at Liathan.
"My slave," Marcus explained, and he felt Liathan jerk at that, a twitch of muscle under Marcus' arm, but no other outward show of emotion.
The Centurion nodded. "And the other?"
"A freed slave," Marcus replied. "He served me well across the wall."
The Centurion seemed sceptical, curling his eyebrow upwards.
"He saved my life," Marcus added. Of course, now that was true of Liathan as well.
They'd walked through the wall as they spoke, and now emerged into the barracks, wooden walls extending away from them. The camp was a good deal smaller than that of the Fourth. Marcus, counting tents as he walked, estimated sixty to eighty men in all.
The Centurion lead them directly to the doctor's tent, where Esca was already laid out.
A thin, balding man approached, waving Marcus towards a bed. Marcus sat, dropping the packs to the floor by his feet and Liathan slipped free, stepping away, then freezing as the thin man approached.
Marcus glanced up at him, but he was soon distracted by the man moving to unwrap the binding on his leg. "No," he said, blocking the man’s hands. "See to Esca first." He gestured towards the other bed.
The man looked up at him.
"His wound is worse, he took an arrow to the thigh," Marcus insisted.
The man straightened.
"And your wound?" His voice was high and reedy.
"An old wound, it's simply overworked. I just need rest. Please. He'll bleed out if you don't treat him."
Finally the doctor nodded and turned towards Esca, "Lucius," he called as he turned, and a younger man unbent from where he had been heating water by the stove. "See to this patient," he said, pointing at Marcus.
The young man, Lucius, approached, ducking his head a little as he caught Marcus' gaze. Marcus glanced up at Liathan, they looked about the same age, though under all that grime Liathan was wearing, he could be mistaken for almost anyone. As if the thought was a signal, Liathan swayed suddenly, muscles locking as he jerked himself back upright.
"Is there somewhere my slave can go to wash and rest?" Marcus turned to the Centurion.
"Sir." The man nodded, going to the tent flap and calling out.
Marcus hissed as Lucius began to unwrap his leg, the blood having congealed and stuck the fabric to his skin.
"Sorry, sir, sorry. " He cringed.
"It's fine, fine. Continue."
The Centurion returned with another legionnaire "Decimus will show your slave to the slave's quarters."
Marcus nodded. "He speaks no Latin."
"There are slaves who can translate."
Marcus turned to Liathan, who, perhaps recognising the word slave, was looking at him. "Go with Decimus." Marcus pointed.
Liathan turned to look at Decimus, then over at Esca.
"Esca will be fine. Go."
He kept his gaze steady. Here then, was the first test. Marcus felt almost sorry for him, thrown into this situation -- no language, in the military camp of his enemies.
Finally Liathan stepped forwards, head high as he followed Decimus out, looking nothing like a slave.
Marcus stayed watching the tent flap after they'd left.
"You don't trust him?"
Marcus jerked his head to look up at the Centurion, frowning. "Of course I trust him."
"Forgive, me." The Centurion bowed his head. "You just seemed..."
"He doesn't speak the language," Marcus said. "And he's not been in a camp before."
Then he shrugged, and tried to put it from his mind, looking instead over to where Esca was being treated.
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"Stitches?" he asked.
The Centurion looked over. "Our doctor knows what he's doing, don't worry."
"He'd better," Marcus muttered, and Lucius jerked a little. Marcus glanced down, catching the man’s wide eyed look, and tempered his expression to something slightly less dangerous.
"Sir, if you'll permit me to ask. What were you doing over the wall?"
Marcus looked up at the Centurion, then casually looked over to the doctor and his assistant, aware of Lucius crouching by his leg. "Perhaps we can speak once my leg is seen to?"
"Of course sir. Shall I have someone take your belongings to your tent?" He gestured to the packs Marcus had brought in with him.
"No." Marcus said, after a moment, aware this was staring to look odd. "Once my leg has been seen to, I will find you in your tent." And he looked up at the Centurion steadily.
"... Yes sir." The man saluted, then walked to the flap and exited the tent.
Marcus bore the treatment of his leg silently, Lucius taking some of the heated water and cleaning his wound carefully. The split skin was clearly along the line of the old wound, but it was messy more than deep, and the flesh around it looked healthy. Esca's bindings had kept it from dirt or infection. Lucius, taking new bindings, wrapped the leg securely, then stepped back.
"Good work. Thank you."
Lucius' eyes flicked up to meet Marcus' and he ducked his head again, red staining his cheeks. "You're welcome, sir."
"If you're finished you can help here." The doctor's voice rang out and Lucius jumped, quickly taking the blooded water to the tent flap. There he directed someone outside to dispose of it and the dirtied dressings. Then he turned back and joined the doctor at Esca's bedside.
The doctor had finished with the stitches, and between them they wrapped his thigh tightly, Lucius and the assistant holding the dressings secure. Once bound, the doctor checked Esca's pulse, opening his eyelid to stare into his eye, then he came over to Marcus, placing a cool, dry hand on his brow.
"No fever. Good."
"And Esca?"
The doctor looked down at Marcus, pursing his lips. "Your friend will be fine. He lost blood, but the wound is clean and goes only through the outer flesh of the leg."
Marcus felt a flash of irritation, but didn’t protest the insinuation. Perhaps it would ensure Esca had better treatment.
"I've given him poppy."
Marcus looked away from where he'd been staring at Esca's sleeping form, battling down the curl of embarrassment at being caught out.
"He'll sleep the night through."
The doctor then showed him to the fire, and Lucius provided him with cleaning implements, with which he did his best to scrape the worst of the dirt and blood from his skin, tiredness making his limbs heavy.
"There are baths," Lucius said, taking the strigil when he was done. "If you wish to use them, I can call someone to show you where."
"No," Marcus said, wanting to talk to the Centurion before he collapsed from exhaustion. "It can wait until tomorrow." He glanced sideways at Lucius, "I don't smell that ripe do I?" Lucius blushed and stuttered, and Marcus almost felt bad for teasing him. He finished washing quickly, before pushing himself to his feet with the aid of his staff.
The doctor turned to look when he saw him leaving. "What are you doing? You need to rest as well-"
"I have to speak to the Centurion. Then I'll rest," he promised.
The doctor stared at him, opening his mouth to continue, when his assistant, replacing the needle and thread, accidentally knocked a case of instruments to the floor. The case fell open and the metal tools scattered across the ground. The doctor rounded on him, shouting in his reedy voice, and Marcus took advantage of the confusion to grab his packs and duck out of the tent.
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