Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/844829.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Comics), Under_the_Red_Hood, Nightwing_(Comics), Red_Robin_
      (Comics), Batman_and_Robin_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Dick_Grayson/Jason_Todd, Dick_Grayson/Bruce_Wayne, Jason_Todd/Bruce
      Wayne, Tim_Drake/Bruce_Wayne, Tim_Drake/Dick_Grayson/Jason_Todd
  Character:
      Dick_Grayson, Tim_Drake, Jason_Todd, Bruce_Wayne, Talia_al_Ghul, Ra's_al
      Ghul, Damian_Wayne
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Gladiators, Alternate_Universe_-_Roman
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-16 Chapters: 2/21 Words: 5153
****** Blood and Servitude ******
by vitious
Summary
     Gladiator!AU. Iuvenalis dreams of freedom, of the open sea, dreams of
     a time when his world wasn’t blood, death, and depravity, but he
     supposes his suffering is an adequate price for the treasure he has
     been given. See Chapter one to a guide to names. **Indefinite
     Hiatus**
***** F.A.Q. *****
Note: Most of the main characters are of Roman or mixed descent. Brutus is NOT
of Roman descent, but adopted a Roman name after certain events. Tullia and
Vitus are of mixed heritage, but Vitus was born in Rome. Decimus is also of
mixed heritage but adopted a Roman name as well for use in the arena.
Name Guide(This will expand as more characters are introduced - Also I’m sure I
butchered these pronunciation format things):
Bruce Wayne - Brutus [Broot-uhs]
Jason Todd - Iuvenalis [Ee-oo-veh-nah-lihs], Iuve [Ee-oo-veh]
Tim Drake - Tacitus [Tah-sih-tuhs]
Dick Grayson - Decimus [Deh-sih-muhs], Deci [Deh-see]
Damian Wayne - Domitius [Dom-ih-tee-uhs]
Talia Al Ghul - Tullia
Ra’s Al Ghul - Regulus
***** Chapter 2 *****
Iuvenalis remembered the smell of the ocean and knew that she would always be
his first love. Once he’d had true freedom, had been able to do as he wished,
but betrayal had left his crew dead and himself preparing for a more public
execution. It had been many years since he had last been in Rome, his
birthplace, but he hadn’t missed it, had never wished to return, and especially
not as entertainment for the Emperor. However he supposed that it was better to
die fighting than to die by being quartered, something which was practiced all-
too-frequently in the city. No, he hadn’t missed the ruthlessness and
hopelessness that was Rome at all.
They provided him minimal armor, most of the flesh of his torso and legs
exposed, and a low-quality sword and shield, battered and worn from previous
owners. His equipment smelled of blood and old death, obviously worn by some
criminal before him that had met a similar fate and probably not too long ago.
His helmet covered his face- better for the audience to distance themselves
from the fact that it was an execution of a person, allowing them to focus on
the fact that he was just a criminal. Really, all they cared about was seeing
someone slit his throat and, while a quick death was a good death, he would
still fight hard and well.
Two guards escorted him to the entrance to the coliseum, keeping him just far
enough out of sight. He could hear the roar of the crowd and the ring of metal
against metal, along with the sickening sounds that he’d come to associate with
death. There was thunderous applause and cheering, making him grimace in
distaste and move to lean against the side of tunnel leading to the arena, head
tipping back as he reminisced. If he was to die that day, it would be with the
memory of Crete and its blue waters in his mind and heart, of his crew, of the
spray of ocean water and of drunken nights. He would remember freedom even as
he was cut down as a slave.
Men appeared in the entrance, dragging a body carelessly behind them. Iuvenalis
watched them pass, staring at the smear of blood the dead gladiator left in his
wake, listening to the scrape of torn metal against stone, wondering what he
had left behind. Gladiators weren’t given proper Roman funerals, not when they
were no longer citizens of Rome, but part of Iuvenalis was indifferent to it.
While he wished that his body could go to the cradle of the sea, the afterlife
he went to when he heaved his last breath was far more important than whatever
the Romans chose to do with his corpse.
Suddenly he was being nudged roughly towards the mouth of the tunnel. He shot a
defiant look back at the guards through the slit of his helmet as he
straightened and strode out into the arena, wincing at the uproar from the
crowd, which drowned out the Emperor’s voice. Across from him stood a man who
was of slighter build than he was, but wore gleaming armor; obviously he had
won frequently enough to be rewarded with his own set. His helmet concealed his
entire face, except for the metal mesh that covered the eyes. An eagle,
screaming defiance, adorned the top of the helmet and a trail of black horse-
hair fell from the back. Striking at the head wasn’t much of an option,
especially not with the wide visor that stretched across the brow and ended at
the jaw.
There were other places he could strike, such as the exposed flesh of the inner
thigh, though that was the only exposed area. His skin was even darker than
Iuvenalis’ if the exposed flesh of his hands and thighs were an an example of
the rest of him: the bronzed skin spoke of a mixed heritage and extensive time
in the sun. Shaking his head sharply, Iuvenalis turned his attention to the
rest of the coliseum, listening as the Emperor announced his crimes and and
crowd booed. He bowed his head, eyes narrowed, not looking at any of them, not
even the warrior that was to be his executioner. Each offense was over-
exaggerated, made more extreme than it truly had been. Iuve’s hand flexed
around his sword and his jaw clenched. He wished that he had been swallowed by
Neptune, dashed across the rocks of Crete, anything but being demonized by
blood-thirsty spectators. Once Rome had had more honor than this, once he would
have been judged for his true crimes, once the coliseum had been better than
what it was now.
Iuve’s opponent shifted restlessly, turning to stare at the Emperor, the hair
attached to his helmet spilling like inky water over his shoulder. There was no
boasting from this man, this champion, no chest pounding or declaration of
victory that spilled from his lips. In fact it seemed more that the man who
stood behind him wasn’t necessarily a Champion, not a free one at least, but
perhaps more a cherished pet, covered in finery to appeal to his master’s
desires. He seemed as eager to be done with the match as Iuvenalis was, his
weight shifting like a stallion stamping his feet at the gate to his stable.
This gladiator reminded Iuve much of a horse, in fact: lean, powerful muscle on
a small frame, his entire body betraying that he was built for agility and not
force.
Iuvenalis’ musings were cut short by a cry from the Emperor, signaling the
beginning of the match. Eyes narrowing, Iuve immediately shifted into a
defensive stance, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him who had adopted a
similar position. It was obvious, then, why this man had been chosen to fight
him and he, grudgingly, had to give the Emperor credit for his choice in
gladiators. The man before him was clearly a skilled fighter, talented in the
art of war in ways that could only be learned from years of experience and
practice. They had not underestimated Iuve’s abilities, something which made
pride lick down his spine, made him eager for the fight, eager to challenge
this foe, to test his abilities. Iuvenalis supposed that that was the reaction
that the Emperor wanted him to have, but he couldn’t really bring himself to
care if he was being manipulated any longer; it would all be over soon enough.
They advanced slowly, circled one another and, as he got closer, Iuvenalis
could see a flash of his opponent’s eyes, a glimpse of blue like ocean water,
which simply made him more intrigued. When the first blow came Iuve almost
didn’t dodge in time, the blade coming close enough that he could feel the
passing of it across his skin. Deflecting the blow, he danced to the side, his
heart hammering in his chest, and his eyes wide. His opponent was fast, lethal,
and the thought made an adrenaline-drunk smile curve his lips beneath the
helmet he wore. Iuvenalis imagined the feel of wood beneath his feet, the touch
of the ocean breeze, but couldn’t imagine slaughtering the man before him like
he had countless before, not when he was so talented, so dangerous. After all,
whether or not Iuve won, he was most likely a dead man, but this man, this
warrior, he had survived for so long, it felt wrong to try to kill such a man
when it was no fault of his own that they were locked in combat.
Iuvenalis relinquished his hold on his shield, shaking his arm so the circle of
metal fell to the arena sand, kicking it aside. His opponent seemed perplexed,
his stance faltering, as Iuve lifted his freed hand to his helmet and tugged it
off, tossing it carelessly to the side to let sweaty, white and black hair fall
messily in his eyes. There were startled gasps and disgruntled murmuring from
the audience which simply broadened his smile as he settled into a more
familiar stance; the pirates of Crete had no use for shield or helm.
“You need not fear death from me.” Iuvenalis made sure his voice was loud
enough to be heard by his opponent but not by the crowd. “My death is certain.
I simply wish to die with the thrill of our battle still singing in my veins.”
Across from him his fellow gladiator canted his head to the side in curiosity.
“You seem certain that you will lose.”
“Killing you would not save me, so I will simply accept my end and pray that
Neptune guides me to the safety of his brother’s embrace.” Iuve lunged then,
faster now without the weight of his shield on his arm.
His opponent deflected the blow, their swords colliding over and over, the
force behind each blow vibrating down Iuve’s arm. “One would think that it
would be Mars you would pray to.”
“I am a man of the sea more than I am a man of battle,” Iuve retorted as their
blades locked, the iron shrieking in protest.
“Your skill says otherwise,” his opponent countered, his words strained. “Most
of my opponents of late have been desperate farmers or simple thieves. Most I
am forced to kill though they do not deserve my blade.”
“The fact that you feel guilt intrigues me even more than your talent,
gladiator.” Iuve grinned before shoving roughly at his sword, breaking the lock
as he twisted out of the way.
“Decimus.” The man was already back in his stance, already prepared to strike
once more. “You deserve to know my name if I am to be the one to kill you.”
“Iuvenalis.” Iuve flashed Decimus a shark-like grin, giving a small bow even as
he kept his eyes on the gladiator. “Feel no guilt when my blood stains your
blade, Decimus.”
“Guilt I may not feel.” Decimus lunged for a him, their swords ringing together
as he pressed the attack and the crowd cheered. “But I will mourn the passing
of a worthy opponent.”
“You do me an honor.” Iuvenalis’ breathing was heavy, sweat glistening in the
noonday sun as he blocked strike after strike. “One that I am not certain I
deserve.”
“You are the first to make my pulse pound like this in many months.” Decimus
locked their blades again and leaned in, their faces close, leaving Iuve
staring into eyes that constantly reminded him of the only place he’d ever
called home.
“Had we met in other circumstances, I’d make your pulse pound for other
reasons,” Iuve breathed, surprised by how easily those words fell from his
lips.
Decimus’ eyes widened and he reared back, which Iuve took as an opportunity to
kick at the other man’s legs, the sudden disruption in the Gladiator’s balance
sending him toppling to the ground. However, what Iuve didn’t expect was for
the Gladiator to catch himself easily and to just as easily sweep the former
pirate’s legs out from under him. Iuvenalis fell, landing hard, pain lancing up
his forearm as he caught himself awkwardly. Decimus was on him in a heartbeat,
knocking Iuve’s blade aside and putting his own blade against the pirate’s
throat, strong thighs bracketing the criminal’s hips. Iuve shouldn’t have found
it attractive, shouldn’t have found the strength and weight of the other man
arousing in the slightest, but he thought it better than to die bitter and full
of regrets.
Iuvenalis could hear the crowd cheering, could hear them chanting for his
death, but his eyes were only for his executioner. “I want to see your face.”
Decimus hesitated for a long moment before lifting his free hand to his helmet
and tugging it off. “I suppose I can give you that.”
To say that Decimus was not what he had expected was an understatement. In fact
his features were much softer, the lines of his face masculine yet elegant.
Sweat-soaked, black hair like the wings of a raven clung to his cheeks and
forehead , his eyes an even more pure, sparkling blue when not hidden beneath
the shadow of his helmet’s visor. His face was just as dark as the rest of him,
telling him that he spent as much time in the sun out of his armor as he did in
it. Iuvenalis cursed his luck, cursed whatever fate had let him find such a man
at such a time, when he only had a few more moments of breath left in him.
“I feel as though the gods have played a cruel joke on me,” Iuve breathed,
wondering if his face echoed the pain he felt.
Decimus’ expression was sad yet resigned, and devoid of pity. “You fought well.
I wish our battle had not ended so soon.”
“Is it too forward for a man who will soon be dead to request a kiss?” Iuve
questioned, joking.
“Yes.” Decimus whispered before leaning down and pressing their mouths
together.
Decimus tasted like sun and spice, like sweat and blood, and Iuve cherished it
while he had it. It was at odds with their fight, slow and chaste, the brush of
their lips together so sweet that it made the pirate’s chest ache. Too soon
Decimus was pulling back, his eyes heavy lidded as he stared down at the man he
would soon execute by order of the Emperor, yet he smiled, the curve of his
lips elegant and beautiful.
However it is not too forward for a man about to be free,” Decimus murmured
before looking up as the crowd fell silent.
Iuvenalis felt as if his voice had been stripped from him, the gladiator’s
words striking to his core with more force than any blade. He stared at the
lines of his face, the shining darkness of his hair, the purest blue of his
eyes, and felt at peace, gratitude rolling through him. Decimus was right, for
the only freedom he would ever have would be through death now that his former
life had been destroyed, like a ship dashed upon the cliffs of Crete. His eyes
slipped shut when the crowd cheered, waiting for the pain of the blade drawing
across his throat to bleed him out upon the sands, waiting for the embrace of
Pluto.
When he felt the blade leave his throat, he thought it was to give Decimus
leverage for a cleaner stroke. However, sudden, thunderous applause made him
open his eyes to stare at the gladiator on top of him, who was staring down at
him, stunned. Frowning, Iuve glanced towards the Emperor who stood, his thumb
turned upwards, looking pleased and proud. Shock spread through the former
pirate. Decimus climbed off him and offered him his hand which Iuvenalis
accepted without hesitation, staring at the crowd that cheered and made excited
gestures.
“…Why?” Iuve questioned, not feeling relieved in the slightest; a quick death
was easy, a life as a slave in the gladiator arena was not.
“You fought bravely,” Decimus answered. “Wave to the crowd, Iuvenalis.”
Iuve shot the other gladiator an irritated look but Decimus wasn’t looking at
him; he was looking at the Emperor. Hesitantly the former pirate lifted his
hand into the air to wave at the crowd, their cheers increasing in volume even
as guards marched across the sand. Iuvenalis expected them to escort him back
the way he had come, to be thrown in some dank cell to be forgotten, but
instead he was ushered after Decimus once the gladiator had retrieved his
helmet. As they slipped within the cool confines of the Coliseum, keeping to
the area in which the gladiators prepared, Decimus shot a warning look over his
shoulder before he was escorted down another hallway. That alarm made wariness
and a small amount of panic to claw at his insides. Iuve had a feeling that he
would not enjoy his fate now that he had left the arena.
“Kneel, slave. The Emperor is coming to see you,” one of the guards barked,
kicking at the back of Iuve’s knees, sending him toppling to the floor.
Iuvenalis shot a narrow look at the guard but remained silent, his hands
bloody, though he wasn’t certain where the blood had come from; he had been too
engrossed in thoughts of his demise to register pain. Both guards moved away
from him to stand at the entryway of the Coliseum, remaining alert but leaving
him alone on the cold floor. Once again Iuve felt low, dirty, like an insect
that didn’t deserve the attention of those higher than him, and, suddenly, he
resented the Emperor greatly for sparing him as he had. At least in death he
would have held onto his honor. If he had been killed he would have gone to the
afterlife with the taste of Decimus on his lips and visions of home behind his
eyelids.
It was hard for Iuvenalis to tell how long he’d been kneeling on the cold
floor. It felt like an eternity, each cut and scrape he had acquired during his
battle with Decimus making themselves known, one by one. Iuvenalis was dirty,
bloody, and felt far more miserable than he had since entering that sun-soaked
arena, knowing that death waited for him. But he’d been wrong, hadn’t he? Mercy
had been what awaited him in the Coliseum; mercy, when all he had wanted was a
swift death at the hands of a beautiful stranger that he could have believed
was an embodiment of the ocean, a creature of Neptune’s making.
He heard footsteps approaching but didn’t raise his head. He knew not to look
at the Emperor unless he was bid do so, thus he kept his eyes on the floor.
Three sets of feet entered his vision, all of which he could tell belonged to
nobles, and he forced himself not to look up, not to stare at them defiantly.
Death in an arena was a good death, but defying the Emperor and dying on the
floor of a changing room after being run-through by a guard’s sword… That was a
terrible death for a man such as Iuve.
“This is the one, Emperor?” the voice was young but cold, mature beyond its
years.
“Yes, my son. I believe this one and Decimus will serve you well.” the
Emperor’s hand reached out and gripped Iuvenalis’ lower jaw, turning his head
one way, then the other. “This one has several fights left in him, should you
know how to… break him.”
“Of course, Father. But, if I may ask, is Decimus not your favorite?” the
second voice questioned.
“He is, but I grow weary of him. Fresher blood is being trained as we speak. I
will choose from them. Brutus?”
“Your Majesty?” the voice of Brutus was deep and rich, the sound tantalizing
despite the fact that it would soon, he was certain, be the source of torment.
“Assist Tacitus with his new slaves. Make this one take the oath,” the Emperor
ordered before turning on his heel and retreating back the way he came.
There was a long moment of silence before a large hand gently cupped his chin
and lifted his head, causing Iuvenalis to avert his gaze. Brutus let out a soft
chuckle, the sound still full and deep, making Iuve clench his jaw and narrow
his eyes, staring at nothing, hands flexing at his sides. Perhaps he had cursed
the gods too early and, to toy with him further, they had condemned him to
slavery and humiliation, prolonged punishment instead of death.
“Look at me, pirate.” Brutus’ voice was quiet but wielded authority like
legendary warrior wielded a spear.
Iuve obeyed, his eyes fixing on the man’s face, staring at the square jaw and
pale blue eyes, the dark hair, and the complete lack of malice on his feature.
It was obvious that this man was a soldier of some sort, his skin sun kissed
and his eyes haunted by memories of battle and dead friends. Immediately
Iuvenalis was struck by how odd it was for such a man to be at the Emperor’s
side during Gladiatorial games, let alone left alone with the Emperor’s only
son.
“There is a fire in you,” Brutus mused before looking to the man at his side,
turning Iuvenalis’ head to look as well. “This is your master, Tacitus.”
Iuve stared at Tactius, at how cold his eyes were, how small he was and yet how
he commanded authority with his entire being. There was indifference in those
ice blue eyes as well as resignation. Iuvenalis wondered if perhaps this
Tacitus even wanted gladiators or if he simply was accepting to appease his
father. Either way, Iuve couldn’t help but feel like livestock, which made him
close his eyes and take a calming breath to keep from lashing out. Perhaps he
could find a way to escape from his imprisonment if he endured such
humiliation.
“Brutus, can you take care of this from here? I’m needed at an important
meeting.” Tacitus’ words made Iuve open his eyes and glance at the large man;
he wasn’t certain if he wanted to be left to Brutus’ whims.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Brutus inclined his head respectively and watched
as Tacitus turned and walked away, quieting his voice. “My, but Tacitus does
not understand what an opportunity you are.”
Iuve couldn’t help but grimace. “I’m not certain what you mean… my Lord.”
“That title tastes like ash in your mouth, does it not?” Brutus questioned,
looking amused. “I was a slave once. I had another name once. Behave, Pirate,
and things will improve for you.”
Iuvenalis frowned at Brutus before giving a small nod. “What… would you have of
me, my Lord?”
Brutus chuckled, releasing Iuvenalis’ chin to run his fingers through his bi-
colored hair, almost like one would a loyal dog. “Your name.”
“Iuvenalis.”
“Roman. I see. You are not a native of Crete, then. Perhaps one day you will
tell me what drove you to piracy. For now, you must take your oath.” Brutus
gestured for the former pirate to stand, something Iuve was more than happy to
comply with; his knees ached. “Swear that you will endure to be burned, to be
bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword.”
Iuve stared at Brutus, his eyes narrowing. He had little choice, really, if he
had any hope of escape. “I… will endure to be burned, to be bound, to be…
beaten, and to be killed by the sword.”
“Good. Now, come with me, Iuvenalis. We must go retrieve Decimus and relocate
you both to Tacitus’ estate. You will be tended to you there. You are now a
gladiator of the royal family,”
——-
Tacitus’ estate was small compared to Vitus’ palace, but it was bigger than any
place Iuvenalis had seen before. Decimus seemed unimpressed with his
surroundings, his entire form relaxed and calm, as if he wasn’t being passed
from owner to owner like a prized animal that outgrew its welcome. Brutus left
them with two servants who escorted them to the baths located in the center of
the estate, shoving both Iuve and Decimus into the almost too-hot water, making
the new gladiator hiss and Decimus chuckle.
“I am glad that I didn’t have to kill you today,” Decimus began, scrubbing at
his arms with the soap that had been provided to them.
“I am not,” Iuvenalis muttered, sinking into the water; his aching muscles felt
better than they had in months.
Decimus grew serious, pausing in his bathing. “This is not a bad life,
Iuvenalis. You will see.”
“Will I?” Iuve questioned, cracking his eyes open, and watching the other
Gladiator as he moved closer to him. “I would rather die than be a royal’s
lapdog.”
Decimus rolled his eyes before beginning to rub soap into Iuvenalis’ shoulders.
“Bravery in the arena can be cause for freedom or pardons.”
“I will not be pardoned. I was a pirate.” Iuve leaned into the scrubbing, his
eyes fluttering shut.
“Now you are a gladiator,” Decimus answered before suddenly cupping his hands,
filling them with water, and dumping it over Iuvenalis’ head, making him
splutter. “Now stop being an ass and bathe yourself.”
Iuve glared at the other Gladiator before muttering and beginning to scrub the
dirt and blood from his skin again. “You are much more agreeable in the arena.”
“The same could be said about you, Iuvenalis.”
“Iuve.”
Decimus tilted his head, offering Iuvenalis a perplexed look. “What?”
Iuvenalis didn’t look at him. “I trust you more than these nobles. You… can
call me Iuve.”
“Ah… My friends call me Deci sometimes.”
“What caused you to be a gladiator, Deci?” Iuvenalis questioned, running his
fingers through his hair.
“You are not quite friend enough for that,” Decimus answered, dipping down
beneath the water of the bath.
Iuve frowned at the other gladiator when he came back up. “You cannot have done
worse than I have.”
“I do not wish to speak of it,” Decimus answered, climbing out of the bath and
taking one of the towels the servants offered him.
Iuvenalis rushed to finish, rinsing himself and climbing out of the bath as a
servant provided Decimus a simple, cream-colored tunic. “I didn’t mean
offense.”
“I have been in the arena too long to take offense from a simple question,”
Decimus replied, tying his tunic in place with a thin sash. “Why are you so
interested in me?”
Iuvenalis grimaced as his own red tunic was tugged over his head and a sash
shoved into his hands. “You are one of the few I have met here that seems to
have honor.”
Decimus finished fastening his sandals, tapping the toe of each against the
stone floor. “Honor? Honor will not help you here.”
Iuve shook his head and fumbled with his sandals before finally managing to
secure them. “No, but the fact that you have it at all makes you… different.”
Decimus arched a brow before shaking his head. “Your pride and your honor may
kill you here, Iuve.”
Iuvenalis frowned, following his fellow gladiator as he headed out of the
baths. “What do you mean?”
Decimus offered him a sad, tired smile over his shoulder. “You will find out
soon enough.”
Iuvenalis frowned at the cryptic words, his eyes fixed on the back of Decimus’
head. He seemed so different from how he had been in the arena, so much more
stand-offish, and Iuve wondered if, perhaps, everything had been an act. After
all, gladiators were known for the performances that they gave and, if it had
been a performance then, well, Iuve had fallen for it all too easily. Iuvenalis
wasn’t certain which was worse, the thought that Decimus had been acting, or
the thought that he hadn’t before and felt the need to act now that they were
within the safety of an estate. If it was the latter then Iuvenalis dreaded
finding out what made a brave warrior such as Decimus fear showing any sign of
weakness.
They walked in silence as the servants escorted them to their room. Iuvenalis
was actually surprised by how large it was, despite the fact that it was
obviously meant to house multiple people judging by the beds lined against the
wall. It was far different from how he had envisioned housing for slaves to be
but, then again, he also supposed that official gladiators of the royal family
were treated in a different manner. Decimus had already flopped down on one of
the beds, his hands folded behind his head and his eyes slipping shut,
seemingly at ease in such an environment. Hesitantly, Iuvenalis sank down on
the next bed to him, smoothing his hands over the plush blankets; it had been a
long time since he’d slept in a decent bed.
Once the servants had left Decimus’ eyes slid open and he sat up, leveling
Iuvenalis a narrow look. Frowning, the pirate shot his fellow gladiator a
disgruntled look, which caused Decimus to sigh and shake his head, moving to
sit on the edge of his bed. He reached out and shoved at Iuvenalis’ shoulder,
causing the former pirate to snarl; this sudden change in attitude was
beginning to agitate him.
“Why are you-” Iuvenalis began, his tone annoyed.
“Brutus likes you,” Decimus murmured, glancing around the room, his eyes
narrowed. “Be wary of that. Also stop behaving like a territorial lion, it will
not serve you well here.”
“Your constant changes in intent would confuse even the muses,” Iuvenalis
muttered, still irritated.
“You cannot expect to act freely here, Iuve. Any weakness you show will be
exploited, any defiance you have will be beaten from you, and any sort of
interest or affection you show any of the nobles… That will take you places you
do not wish to be.” Decimus’ voice was quiet, his eyes still scanning nothing.
“You should trust nothing.”
“Why tell me these things? I am not a babe that needs protection.” Iuvenalis
followed Decimus’ gaze when it stopped, noting the edge of a tunic in the
doorway; a servant was listening to them.
“I am not here to protect you. A simple warning,” Decimus answered, his tone
cool once more. “Rest. They will bring us food when it is time to eat.”
With that, Decimus laid back down, rolling onto his side with his back facing
Iuvenalis. Frowning, the former pirate glanced back at the doorway, but the
servant that had been listening had either hidden themselves or left.
Hesitantly, Iuvenalis laid down and stared at the ceiling of their room,
curiosity niggling at his senses. It was obvious that there was much that
Decimus wasn’t telling him, much that he quite possibly couldn’t tell him,
about their new master and his house. However, considering how they were being
watched, he doubted that he could ask and get an answer out of the other man.
So, with a disgruntled sigh, Iuvenalis closed his eyes and hoped that when he
woke, everything that had transpired was simply a bad dream, a twisted joke of
the gods. Part of his mind promptly told him that to wish so was folly.
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