by Alex Faure
Darius watched Fionn as they rode. He followed just behind Ellish, a slim, straight-backed figure who rode as if he had been born in the saddle. He maintained a quiet conversation with Bedwyr throughout most of the journey, though at times Sedd would join them, jocular and loud, or Ellish would drop back to communicate something. He gave the impression of ease and authority, though something in his posture—a certain stiffness—made Darius wonder if there was something underneath the surface. Bedwyr seemed to notice it too—he kept shooting Fionn searching looks, which Fionn, to Darius’s unsurprise, ignored.
Darius easily kept pace with the Celts throughout the afternoon, but he was nevertheless relieved when the sun sank behind the mountains and Kealan informed Darius that they were going to make camp for the night. Picking one’s way through such a rough landscape with an ill-trained horse was not a comfortable experience.
After some scouting, Ellish led them into a gully that would shield them from the eyes of any travellers approaching from the opposite direction. Darius glanced at Fionn—the sky was clear, and the moon would be rising soon. He wondered how Fionn would deal with the predicament, how he customarily dealt with it, but it turned out that he didn’t need to. Bedwyr raised some objection to Ellish’s choice of location, and they descended deeper into the valley until they were beneath the boughs of a small forest.
Darius offered, through mimed gestures, to help unload the supplies, and Sedd agreed good-naturedly. After countless campaigns through treacherous territory, Darius had little difficulty making camp efficiently. He assembled the bedrolls (there were no tents, of course, or other civilized accoutrements) and asked Sedd about his plans for posting sentries. With a chuckle, Sedd directed him to Bedwyr. The blonde man narrowed his eyes at Darius and informed him that they would post two sentries in three-hour shifts. When Darius asked if he could suggest a different rotation, he was informed that he could not.
Recognizing that his helpfulness had strayed too close to presumption, Darius retired to the fireside, where one of the men handed him a bowl of smoked cod mixed with some sort of gruel. It was burnt.
Fionn joined them at the fireside a little later, moving on quiet feet. Several Celts startled at his appearance. No one asked where he had been. Sedd made another jocular comment, and Fionn said something dismissive that roused a few chuckles from the other Celts—and sideways glances in Darius’s direction.
“What?” Darius asked Kealan, who was seated at Darius’s side.
Kealan smirked. “Sedd says that you are more helpful than any hostage he has known. The king says you are just trying to ingratiate yourself to us, in order to increase your opportunities for escape.”
Darius’s face heated. It was true that his philanthropy was partly strategic. But he hadn’t expected Fionn to lay his motivations bare in such a way before the company.
The evening passed uneventfully. While Sedd was friendly, and Kealan favoured Darius with his usual disdain, the rest of the Celts treated Darius as they had in the village—as if he were one of the horses, or a piece of freight. For the most part, they ignored him, including Fionn.
Fionn’s presence was like a light amongst the gathering—he drew the eye simply by rising to his feet, or turning his pale head to speak to someone. The others deferred to him unthinkingly and with respect, though Darius sensed a certain unease among members of the company when they bore the weight of his silver gaze. Bedwyr and Sedd alone were easy in his presence, with glances passing between the three of them that suggested an unspoken language born from years of companionship.
Darius wondered if it was Fionn’s strange looks, which marked him as somehow foreign even among his own people, or his fearsome physical abilities that inspired wariness. He guessed it to be a combination of both. And, of course, Fionn was new to kingship. His people could not yet know what to expect from him.
While the others settled easily into sleep, Darius tossed and turned. It wasn’t the discomfort of the bedroll—it was something he couldn’t name, an unease that had nothing to do with his captivity. He watched the wind toss the branches overhead. The night sky was a carpet of stars.
After a time, he rose. Kealan, beside him, gave a snort but did not stir. He let his feet take him past one of the sentries, who called out a sharp question. Darius sheepishly gestured to his stomach then mimed lifting his tunic, and the man gave a dismissive wave, no doubt recognizing that fleeing horseless and weaponless into this barren wilderness was nothing short of suicide.
Darius wandered down to the creek he could hear in the distance. He stopped.
Fionn perched on a boulder, one leg folded beneath him and the other dangling over the water. He stared moodily at the creek, which sparkled with moonlight where it pierced the overhanging trees. Darius was reminded powerfully of another body of water in another forest where he had spent days under Fionn’s care. Fionn had often sat in the same attitude by that river, the firelight dancing in his hair.
Darius moved cautiously, his footsteps drowned by the babble of the rapids. Yet before he could get much closer, Fionn turned his head and fixed his gaze unerringly on Darius.
“Making a run for it, are you?” Fionn said. “The coast is the other way.”
“I’m aware of that,” Darius said, keeping his tone as even as Fionn’s. “Perhaps I planned to kill you before I left. Do you really think it’s a good idea to wander off, alone and unarmed, in Robogdi lands? You’re a king.”
“I’m never unarmed,” Fionn said. “Not in any way that matters. And these lands are still mine. I thought you would come looking for me. You took your time about it.”
“You’re angry with me.” Darius paused to allow the ridiculousness of it to sink in. “You destroyed our forts. You’re holding me captive, parading me around for the Robogdi to crow over. And you’re angry with me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You’re angry that I didn’t promise to stay with you. That I wouldn’t consider turning mercenary and selling myself to my people’s enemy. That I’m an honourable man.”
Fionn spoke with his gaze still on the creek. “But we’re no longer enemies with Rome. Rome has left Hibernia and is not coming back. You can’t fight a corpse.”
Darius forced himself to unclench his jaw. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I do.” Fionn stood, facing him finally. There was a cold glint of amusement in his eye. “You don’t understand, do you? Your mighty empire has been thoroughly and completely humiliated at every turn. Have you ever suffered a more ignominious defeat?” He paused, eyeing Darius’s flushed expression. “I didn’t think so. And worse, it was at the hands of barbarians. Do you really think your esteemed general will make another attempt to tame the savages of Hibernia?” He used the Roman name mockingly.
“If he chooses, he will,” Darius said, forcibly restraining himself from grabbing Fionn and shaking him. Fionn’s mockery was infuriating, but a small part of him was also angry that they were doing this now, when it was the first time they’d been alone together in days.
“Your honour means so much to you,” Fionn said slowly, as if savouring each word. “Does it mean so little to Agricola? Of course it doesn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if he buries this entire thing. If he pretends he never came here, if he forbids his chroniclers from mentioning it. It wouldn’t be difficult—after all, most of the witnesses are dead. And I also wouldn’t be surprised if your emperor abets him. Who would want Attervalis associated with their legacy? Or, worse, Sylvanum? Men fucking each other into oblivion—what a noble race of cultured philosophers.”
Darius’s urge to shake Fionn was rapidly turning into the urge to strangle him. He forced himself to breathe. Fionn’s pale face was flushed, his breathing uneven.
“I’m sorry,” Darius said finally, “about your father. And I hope you haven’t lost anyone else dear to you in the war between our peoples.”
Fionn blinked, off-balance for once. “My father,” he began, and then stopped. �
�My father wasn’t dear to me.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“You’re full of contradictions, Darius Lucilius,” Fionn said. “You come here all puffed up about honour and the strength of your general, then you apologize for his casualties. You say you love me, yet you can’t conceive of a future for us.”
Darius stared at him. “What future could there be? I’m your captive. We’re enemies. Even if that weren’t so, your people would flay you alive—and no doubt do worse to me—if they knew what was between us.”
“I have a plan.” Fionn’s gaze grew unexpectedly earnest. “I told you. Even now, it’s underway. Can’t you believe me?”
Darius held his gaze for a long moment. He turned away, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t mean that. This—this is fantasy. There is no way for us to be together, Fionn. Perhaps in Rome…perhaps.” Briefly, Darius imagined how it might have been—if Rome hadn’t been chased from Hibernia, if she’d subdued the Celts as easily as she had so many other barbarian races. If Darius had taken Fionn captive, convinced Agricola to let him have Fionn as a war prize.
If he’d taken him back to Sicily. He could have shown him the olive groves, the turquoise waters.
He turned back to Fionn. “Asking me to stay with you is childishness.”
“Childishness.” Fionn’s gaze hardened. “That’s how you see me, is it?”
Darius looked at him. At his dark-lashed silver eyes, wide as a boy’s, the faint marks of blemishes across his forehead, the lean lines of his body. Fionn was young. Darius felt a rush of sadness. He wasn’t like Fionn, and never had been, but he had been young once, and had believed a man could alter the unalterable. He had believed that ancient enmity could be defeated with words, that any obstacle could be overcome with hard work. He might even have believed that the world could admit a love like his and Fionn’s.
“Fionn,” he murmured. “One day, you will—”
“Oh gods, do shut up, Darius,” Fionn said. “Do you think I’m one of those poor fools you can twist to your purpose with your smile and your honey tongue?”
And Fionn kissed him.
It was a savage, unyielding kiss that bruised Darius’s lips and stole his breath. “Fionn,” Darius said, but now it was half a groan. Fionn pulled him deeper into the shadows, into a copse of trees. He shoved Darius against one, the anger in his eyes mixed up with desire.
He sank to his knees, and Darius let out an involuntary groan before Fionn even touched him.
“Do you love me?” Fionn murmured, his eyes glittering in the darkness like glass shards.
“Fionn,” Darius began again. Fionn tugged down Darius’s trousers and lifted his tunic, and Darius felt the warm caress of his breath.
“Say you don’t love me,” Fionn said. He placed his hands on Darius’s thighs. “Say it.”
“Fionn, I’m—” His words were swallowed by a groan as Fionn placed his mouth on him. Darius’s body was moving as if independent from his mind. His limbs trembled, and he cupped Fionn’s head, marvelling once again at the downy softness. His thumb stroked his hair as if of its own accord.
Fionn withdrew just as Darius began to feel it rising inside him. “Say you don’t love me, Darius.” The words were calm and precise. An order from a prince who had recently become a king. He took Darius into his mouth again.
Darius made another involuntary noise. He was thrusting now, his body in complete control, yielding to Fionn’s skill like iron to a magnet. The words spilled from his lips, only half articulate. “I love you, Fionn. I love you more than I’ve ever—Fionn—”
He came in a rush that left him dizzy. He sagged against the tree and Fionn caught him up in his arms. They sat like that for a long moment, Darius’s breath hot against Fionn’s neck. Then he pressed Fionn onto his back among the grasses and pinecones and ran his hands down his body. Fionn sighed, his back arching, surrendering to his desire with that familiar sweet, animal ease. Darius put his mouth to his cock and Fionn reached down to twine both hands in his hair in a gesture that felt like ownership. It wasn’t long before he was moaning, thrusting into Darius’s mouth, and then it was happening, and he spilled his warmth across Darius’s tongue.
They kissed for a while after that, slow and sweet, their limbs tangling together. Darius marvelled at how he felt when he was with Fionn. As if he was absorbing some of the man’s wildness into him, his otherworldliness. He felt capable of anything.
“You have—” Darius brushed the leaves and needles from Fionn’s hair. “Wait. I missed one.”
Fionn laughed. He rolled onto his side, and they gazed at each other. Darius’s arm was around Fionn, his hand stroking his hair. Fionn had one leg hooked comfortably over Darius’s. Darius wondered if it would it always be like this between them—this cycle of enmity and affinity.
“Why am I really here?” Darius said.
“I told you. I have a plan.”
Darius searched his silver eyes. “And what is my part in this plan?”
“Just stay close to me. Protect me.”
“Protect you.” Darius let out a breath of laughter. “When have you ever needed protecting? And from the likes of me? I seem to recall a comparison to a blind squirrel.”
Fionn snorted. “I said all Romans fight like blind squirrels. It wasn’t meant to be taken personally.”
“Thank you. I feel much better.”
“Oh, I’ve insulted your precious honour again.” Fionn’s eyes glittered as he twined his arms around Darius’s neck. “Show me how to apologize.”
Darius groaned against Fionn’s mouth. They kissed for a time, their hands sliding over each other’s bodies. Fionn pressed himself sinuously against Darius.
Darius drew back. “Won’t you be missed? You’ve been gone for a while.”
“Who cares?”
Darius touched a finger to his lips. “It seems to me that you regularly forget you’re a king, with men and women relying on him. Isn’t that so?”
Fionn’s expression darkened, and he sat up. “I promise you, I haven’t forgotten.”
Darius sat up beside him. He wasn’t quite sure how to ask. “Are you all right?” he said at last.
Fionn turned to him with a wry look. “Am I all right? How could I not be? My life has been nothing but trivialities and stifling routine since your empire came to our shores.”
“Fine. I just mean…You’ve been king for what, a few weeks? It can’t have been easy, taking over from your father that suddenly. And you’re so young.”
“I’m nineteen,” Fionn said. “My father was two years younger when he was crowned.”
“All the same.” Darius curved his hand around Fionn’s hip and drew him back against his chest. “I know what it’s like to be thrust into leadership before you’re ready. Maybe you were ready. Maybe you’ve thought about it all your life. But I doubt it’s been easy. I’ve never met anyone who’s found it easy. I know I didn’t.”
For a moment, they just breathed together. The creek’s murmur was gentle and lulling, and the wind whispered through the dark trees.
“I never wanted to be king,” Fionn said. “Actually, I hated the idea of it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a…lover of company. I prefer to walk alone. I don’t want men looking to me for orders. I don’t want to have to flatter my rivals, or inspire my followers. I find most people’s society exhausting.” He met Darius’s gaze. “And yet I’ve known since I was a boy that I would be king. That there was no way out. And that is what my life has been.”
Darius placed a gentle kiss against Fionn’s head. He had the sense that Fionn was rarely as open with anyone as he was now with Darius, and he felt humbled by it. “What would you do,” he said, “if you weren’t king? If you could do anything?”
Fionn made a dismissive noise. “That sounds like a depressing game.”
“No, really. I’m curious.” He kissed Fionn again. “Please.”
Fionn watched him. There was something oddly hesit
ant in his gaze, as if he was unsure what Darius’s reaction would be. “I would see everything.”
Darius smiled. “Everything?”
“As much as I could.” Fionn looked at their interlaced fingers. “I would see your empire. I hear it stretches to a desert world, a place of sand and strange animals, and stranger people. I would go beyond your empire, to where your spices come from. A Britannian king gave some to my father once. He got it from the Romans, a strange red powder. It made me sneeze for nearly ten minutes straight. I would see the land that could grow such a plant.”
Darius brushed his hair back. “We are so different, you and I. You dream of seeing the world, I dream of returning home and burying my feet in the soil so deeply I could take root.”
Fionn started to say something, then stopped. He kissed Darius gently on the mouth. “We are not as different as you think.”
“Perhaps,” Darius said. “I was like you once. I left my father and my olive groves, as much as I loved them, because I wanted to see the world.”
“What changed?”
Darius let out a long breath. “I’ve always wanted both. To see the world, and to settle in one place. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to leave my father that first time, to watch our villa shrink in the distance as the horse bore me on. As I grew older, the latter desire simply grew, and the other shrank.”
“Is that all that it was?” Fionn said. He touched Darius’s hand, ran a thumb over the scars that criss-crossed his knuckles. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you came by these. You touch them sometimes when you’re thinking.”
Darius stifled the urge to pull away. After all these years, the scars still hurt sometimes, though he knew it was his imagination. “I’ve been captured before. Once in Britannia. And before that, in Gaul. One of the Gallic chieftains…Decided to use me to further his own ends.”
Fionn’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
Darius’s jaw clenched briefly, but he got himself under control. “We arrived in the middle of a war. That’s often the case with tribal lands, and one of the reasons we can always find at least one tribe to ally with us when we enter new territory.”
