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kathierif_fic) wrote2009-05-24 09:19 pm
kathierif_fic) wrote2009-05-24 09:19 pm
Fic: Barbarians Ante Portas (AU, CSI:NY, FRT-13)
Title: Barbarians Ante Portas
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairings: Mild Mac/Peyton, Danny/Lindsay, Don/Danny, past Don/Aiden
Warnings: wild historical AU
Challenge: AU100
Prompt: 96: Writer's Choice: Past
Disclaimer: The portrayed characters aren't mine. Nothing is mine.
Rating: FRT-13
Word Count: 1426
Summary: It's the night before the tribe attacks the Roman Empire, and Don is preparing to take his revenge on the man who killed his wife.
Author's Notes: The year is 9 AD, the place is somewhere just outside the Roman border. The title is stolen (Hannibal Ante Portas…). The whole thing is inspired by Arminius and his monument, and huge thanks go to Asterix and Arminius for the inspiration, Ginny because she's great, and Eve and Mer for the title guessing game. Thanks!
***
The man was standing on a hill, half hidden behind one of the old trees that had been here since the age of his forefathers. His cloak, made of grayish-green wool by the tribe women's hands, was wrapped tight around his body. The silver fox fur around his shoulders protected him from the cool night breeze.
His hair was dark like a raven's wing, and his tongue was sharp like a raven's beak. He was known for it throughout the tribes living in this area. His words could be as painful as the sword by his side.
He pressed tighter against the tree and stared down at the activity in the valley. The Romans they were fighting were smaller than him, but they were trained well and they had strong armor.
He took a deep breath and quietly crept back into the darkness of the forest. He didn't want to be captured by the enemy – nobody wanted that. They were too proud to end up as slaves, or in the circus for the amusement of the Romans.
When he returned to the camp, Mac was already awaiting him. Mac was their chief, their leader, and they followed him wherever he was going. He had grown up in Roman captivity; he knew how they were thinking, and so far, he had led them wisely.
Since the campaign against the Roman troops had begun, a few months ago, he had let his hair grow out a little. The men were amused by this, usually, Mac's hair was cropped short like the Romans', the length made it curl like a Greeks'. Mac was their leader, but he wasn't safe from their mocking, which he took with a calm attitude and a smile, especially when it came from Danny.
Hidden in the shadows of Mac's tent, the only thing visible the white of his eyes, was Sheldon, the Moorish doctor Mac freed from Roman slavery when he escaped. He was originally from Africa, or Egypt, Don knew, but he'd found a new home with their little tribe and formed a tight friendship with Sid, the druid, and his young apprentice Marty. Don bowed his head respectfully in Sheldon's direction before sitting down by the fire, next to Mac, and draping his cloak back around himself.
"Did you see anything?" Mac asked quietly.
Don shrugged. "They made their camp on the other side of the valley," he reported. "If we let them come to us, we have another day to prepare."
Mac nodded. "We need to attack them while they're in the valley and we have the higher ground," he answered. "To take their chance to spread out. Have you seen their cavalry?"
Don nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've never seen so many horses in one place."
The fire was throwing bizarre shadows over Mac's face. His eyes were gleaming with a feverish heat. "Imagine them all panicking," he said. "Trying to stick together in the dense woods…and failing, panicking more."
Don chuckled quietly at the delight in Mac's voice.
Peyton, Mac's wife, stepped up to them to put a coat around Mac's bare shoulders and to fill up their cups. She gave Don a small smile – their fathers grew up together, and if the gods had decided their fates differently, she probably would be his wife now – and brushed her fingers through Mac's curls.
His eyes followed her for a moment. "Danny's with Lindsay," he said quietly, watching the younger man by his side from the corner of his eye.
Don took a sip of his drink. "I know," he answered. He struggled a bit to keep his voice even and calm, but he already knew that Danny was going to share his bed with Lindsay tonight.
Mac sighed. "Don…" His fingers reached out to brush over Don's shoulder, over the silver fur, the talismans and the black feathers that dangled from his coat. "You know the history of the Greeks?"
"Why?" Don asked back, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mac was the one knowing all the stories, the history of the Roman Empire and the Greeks.
"Greek love?" Mac clarified and waved his free hand in Don's direction. "You know. Men."
Don felt the blood shoot into his face. "What are you saying?" he asked and put his cup down.
"Nothing," Mac said and held his hands up. "Just that it's suspicious."
"Are you doubting that Danny will keep his vows?" Don asked.
Mac shrugged. "The men are talking," he answered. "Is he?"
The sound of Don's fist connecting with his jaw was loud, but not unexpected.
"You should know best," Don spat as he climbed to his feet. "Aren't you the one of Greek heritage?"
"No," Mac answered and rubbed his face. "But I know the history of the Greek."
He sighed. "You probably should get some rest," he then added. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
Don hesitated a few heartbeats before he nodded once. "I will. The Roman called Prattus is mine. I want his head." His eyes narrowed slightly. "He killed my wife."
Mac stared at him from his place on the ground. Don's high cheekbones had reddened with anger, his eyes, usually the bright blue of a summer sky in Egypt, had darkened. Mac didn't doubt the feelings the young man had had for his wife, Aiden, and the rage that still filled him when thinking about her murderer, a Roman legionnaire called Prattus. Don had vowed revenge, and he wouldn't find rest until Prattus was dead by his own sword. Right now, Don held his head high, as if he waited for Mac to challenge his words, but Mac didn't plan on doing that.
"Prattus is yours," he promised quietly. "I promised you that."
Don nodded sharply. "Don't forget," he said darkly before bowing his head, turning on his heel and leaving the tent.
Sheldon sat down next to Mac. "You think that was wise?" he asked and pressed his fingers against Mac's jaw gently.
Mac shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "But he's angry enough to fight well tomorrow."
Sheldon shrugged and pulled a small bundle of herbs from the pouch at his belt. "Anger is never a good friend," he said while pressing them against Mac's face. "You'll feel that tomorrow."
Mac only sighed.
Don stomped through the camp, still angry about Mac's accusations. Danny was his brother in arms, Danny had his back in every fight they went to, and Don had Danny's. It was as simple as that. They were as close as brothers; maybe even closer.
He glared a bit at Adam, even if the young man wasn't at fault for his mood, and crawled into his own little tent. Danny was with Lindsay, he had known that – Danny had told him before Don had left to explore the Roman camp. He was alone.
He took off his sword and placed it next to his sleeping fur. Wrapping his cloak and another fur around himself, he lied down and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he knew, he would finally get his revenge for Aiden's death, like he had promised when he'd held her broken and lifeless body in his arms.
Prattus would pay.
With this thought, he fell into a light sleep.
He woke up again when a strong, well-muscled arm was slung around him, and the bronze pin that held his cloak in place was pulled off.
"Move," a quiet voice ordered roughly, and Don rolled to the side, making room on the fur for the other man. His cloak was spread over both of them, together with another one Don knew had the same color as his, but the fur collar was from a dark wolf the owner had killed with his bare hands and a small knife. Different charms were attached to this second cloak, and one single black feather – the raven's feather Don had given him.
A kiss was pressed to his neck, directly under his ear, and the hand that was resting on his chest pulled him back into a tight embrace.
Don smiled softly. "Lindsay?" he asked.
"Asleep," came the answer. "I'm tired."
Don chuckled and turned his head slightly to press his mouth against the bearded cheek. "Sleep, then," he said softly, his voice scratchy. "Tomorrow, we will fight."
"We will," Danny promised. "Side by side."
Don smiled in the darkness and let sleep claim him once more, the sound of Danny's breathing soothing him.
Tomorrow they would fight. And they would win against the Romans…
…or they would die.
The End.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: CSI:NY
Pairings: Mild Mac/Peyton, Danny/Lindsay, Don/Danny, past Don/Aiden
Warnings: wild historical AU
Challenge: AU100
Prompt: 96: Writer's Choice: Past
Disclaimer: The portrayed characters aren't mine. Nothing is mine.
Rating: FRT-13
Word Count: 1426
Summary: It's the night before the tribe attacks the Roman Empire, and Don is preparing to take his revenge on the man who killed his wife.
Author's Notes: The year is 9 AD, the place is somewhere just outside the Roman border. The title is stolen (Hannibal Ante Portas…). The whole thing is inspired by Arminius and his monument, and huge thanks go to Asterix and Arminius for the inspiration, Ginny because she's great, and Eve and Mer for the title guessing game. Thanks!
***
The man was standing on a hill, half hidden behind one of the old trees that had been here since the age of his forefathers. His cloak, made of grayish-green wool by the tribe women's hands, was wrapped tight around his body. The silver fox fur around his shoulders protected him from the cool night breeze.
His hair was dark like a raven's wing, and his tongue was sharp like a raven's beak. He was known for it throughout the tribes living in this area. His words could be as painful as the sword by his side.
He pressed tighter against the tree and stared down at the activity in the valley. The Romans they were fighting were smaller than him, but they were trained well and they had strong armor.
He took a deep breath and quietly crept back into the darkness of the forest. He didn't want to be captured by the enemy – nobody wanted that. They were too proud to end up as slaves, or in the circus for the amusement of the Romans.
When he returned to the camp, Mac was already awaiting him. Mac was their chief, their leader, and they followed him wherever he was going. He had grown up in Roman captivity; he knew how they were thinking, and so far, he had led them wisely.
Since the campaign against the Roman troops had begun, a few months ago, he had let his hair grow out a little. The men were amused by this, usually, Mac's hair was cropped short like the Romans', the length made it curl like a Greeks'. Mac was their leader, but he wasn't safe from their mocking, which he took with a calm attitude and a smile, especially when it came from Danny.
Hidden in the shadows of Mac's tent, the only thing visible the white of his eyes, was Sheldon, the Moorish doctor Mac freed from Roman slavery when he escaped. He was originally from Africa, or Egypt, Don knew, but he'd found a new home with their little tribe and formed a tight friendship with Sid, the druid, and his young apprentice Marty. Don bowed his head respectfully in Sheldon's direction before sitting down by the fire, next to Mac, and draping his cloak back around himself.
"Did you see anything?" Mac asked quietly.
Don shrugged. "They made their camp on the other side of the valley," he reported. "If we let them come to us, we have another day to prepare."
Mac nodded. "We need to attack them while they're in the valley and we have the higher ground," he answered. "To take their chance to spread out. Have you seen their cavalry?"
Don nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've never seen so many horses in one place."
The fire was throwing bizarre shadows over Mac's face. His eyes were gleaming with a feverish heat. "Imagine them all panicking," he said. "Trying to stick together in the dense woods…and failing, panicking more."
Don chuckled quietly at the delight in Mac's voice.
Peyton, Mac's wife, stepped up to them to put a coat around Mac's bare shoulders and to fill up their cups. She gave Don a small smile – their fathers grew up together, and if the gods had decided their fates differently, she probably would be his wife now – and brushed her fingers through Mac's curls.
His eyes followed her for a moment. "Danny's with Lindsay," he said quietly, watching the younger man by his side from the corner of his eye.
Don took a sip of his drink. "I know," he answered. He struggled a bit to keep his voice even and calm, but he already knew that Danny was going to share his bed with Lindsay tonight.
Mac sighed. "Don…" His fingers reached out to brush over Don's shoulder, over the silver fur, the talismans and the black feathers that dangled from his coat. "You know the history of the Greeks?"
"Why?" Don asked back, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mac was the one knowing all the stories, the history of the Roman Empire and the Greeks.
"Greek love?" Mac clarified and waved his free hand in Don's direction. "You know. Men."
Don felt the blood shoot into his face. "What are you saying?" he asked and put his cup down.
"Nothing," Mac said and held his hands up. "Just that it's suspicious."
"Are you doubting that Danny will keep his vows?" Don asked.
Mac shrugged. "The men are talking," he answered. "Is he?"
The sound of Don's fist connecting with his jaw was loud, but not unexpected.
"You should know best," Don spat as he climbed to his feet. "Aren't you the one of Greek heritage?"
"No," Mac answered and rubbed his face. "But I know the history of the Greek."
He sighed. "You probably should get some rest," he then added. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
Don hesitated a few heartbeats before he nodded once. "I will. The Roman called Prattus is mine. I want his head." His eyes narrowed slightly. "He killed my wife."
Mac stared at him from his place on the ground. Don's high cheekbones had reddened with anger, his eyes, usually the bright blue of a summer sky in Egypt, had darkened. Mac didn't doubt the feelings the young man had had for his wife, Aiden, and the rage that still filled him when thinking about her murderer, a Roman legionnaire called Prattus. Don had vowed revenge, and he wouldn't find rest until Prattus was dead by his own sword. Right now, Don held his head high, as if he waited for Mac to challenge his words, but Mac didn't plan on doing that.
"Prattus is yours," he promised quietly. "I promised you that."
Don nodded sharply. "Don't forget," he said darkly before bowing his head, turning on his heel and leaving the tent.
Sheldon sat down next to Mac. "You think that was wise?" he asked and pressed his fingers against Mac's jaw gently.
Mac shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "But he's angry enough to fight well tomorrow."
Sheldon shrugged and pulled a small bundle of herbs from the pouch at his belt. "Anger is never a good friend," he said while pressing them against Mac's face. "You'll feel that tomorrow."
Mac only sighed.
Don stomped through the camp, still angry about Mac's accusations. Danny was his brother in arms, Danny had his back in every fight they went to, and Don had Danny's. It was as simple as that. They were as close as brothers; maybe even closer.
He glared a bit at Adam, even if the young man wasn't at fault for his mood, and crawled into his own little tent. Danny was with Lindsay, he had known that – Danny had told him before Don had left to explore the Roman camp. He was alone.
He took off his sword and placed it next to his sleeping fur. Wrapping his cloak and another fur around himself, he lied down and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he knew, he would finally get his revenge for Aiden's death, like he had promised when he'd held her broken and lifeless body in his arms.
Prattus would pay.
With this thought, he fell into a light sleep.
He woke up again when a strong, well-muscled arm was slung around him, and the bronze pin that held his cloak in place was pulled off.
"Move," a quiet voice ordered roughly, and Don rolled to the side, making room on the fur for the other man. His cloak was spread over both of them, together with another one Don knew had the same color as his, but the fur collar was from a dark wolf the owner had killed with his bare hands and a small knife. Different charms were attached to this second cloak, and one single black feather – the raven's feather Don had given him.
A kiss was pressed to his neck, directly under his ear, and the hand that was resting on his chest pulled him back into a tight embrace.
Don smiled softly. "Lindsay?" he asked.
"Asleep," came the answer. "I'm tired."
Don chuckled and turned his head slightly to press his mouth against the bearded cheek. "Sleep, then," he said softly, his voice scratchy. "Tomorrow, we will fight."
"We will," Danny promised. "Side by side."
Don smiled in the darkness and let sleep claim him once more, the sound of Danny's breathing soothing him.
Tomorrow they would fight. And they would win against the Romans…
…or they would die.
The End.