Title: Aristophanes' Redux
Author: br33_br33/Sparkylovesfire/taweesha
Pairing: Logan/Julian. Ancient Greek AU. Slave!Julian.
Rating: M (for later chapters)
Word Count: 4,497

Warnings: Historical inaccuracies. I'm afraid that while I know some things about Greek culture, I am far from an expert. And there will probably be some things I have to make incorrect for the sake of the story. Sorry in advance. Also, rating is because there will be sex later on, and might some light dub-con (really light, I promise).

Summary: Logan is the son of a wealthy aristocrat. One day in the marketplace, he meets a boy with sparkling brown eyes, and his life changes for good.

Author's Note: First chapter of the Greek AU! I really like how it's coming along so far. So, please, leave feedback. Maybe if you see an inconsistency I might want to try to correct or something.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Dalton, Logan or Julian. They belong to the lovely Miss CP Coulter. There will be random characters that I made up for the stories purposes. But most of them belong to Mama CP.

Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law.~Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius

On the morning of the twenty-sixth day of Gamelion, day of the marriage festival in Athens, Logan Wright was simply strolling through the marketplace with his best friend Derek Seigerson, on their way to take part in the late morning festivities. He was absolutely sick of the holiday already, like he was each year. Every being in sight was doting on their partner, desperately wishing for one, or, in the case of the performers and artists of the city, singing, crying, or professing the words of love onto those who pass by.

Logan, however, was not one of those. He had no lover to gush over, and though he did miss the feel and company of another person, he wasn't pathetic enough to whine about it. And while he was a musician—and a very good one at that—he had no intention of wasting his time flouncing about and pandering to crowds of people who didn't deserve to hear him in the first place.

"Look a little more enthused, Wright." Derek smirked. "You love the theater." Derek was being ironic, and the damn boy knew it.

"I have infinitely many more important things to be doing than watching some hogwash about make-believe people doing make-believe things," Logan said. "Why people enjoy watching other people play pretend is beyond me. If I wanted to educate myself on the vices and follies of man, I would simply read them. Not watch some bumbling idiot in a mask act it out for me." Maybe he was just unrefined and savage, but that was his true opinion, and he had no problem whatsoever telling it to whoever may listen.

He wouldn't even be out in public today if he could help it. The only reason he even bothered himself with it was because his father was adamant about his going and promised him whatever his heart desired most if he simply made an appearance and pretended to enjoy himself. Nothing was off limits, and Logan intended to use it well.

Derek brushed over Logan's words and veered towards his favorite topic: women. The boy had broken more hearts in his lifetime than there were gods to be celebrated. Logan rolled his eyes and ceased to pay attention; Derek had a habit of going in very in depth when he spoke of his various sexual encounters, and to be honest, Logan never enjoyed them very much. It was part of the reason Gamelia put him in such a foul mood. He would never be allowed to marry the type of person who drew his attentions, if not by law than by his father, who expected Logan to get over his phase of attraction to members of the same sex. But it wasn't as easy as his father made it out to be…

Logan was just beginning to pondering of this when he saw the boy.

He was arguing with the fruit vendor about the price of a pomegranate.

"That's quite an outlandish price for one pomegranate," the boy chastised.

"It's quite reasonable considering the recent shortage and…" But what else to consider was lost to Logan, as he was far too enchanted by the boy in the slightly frayed white tunic, hands on his hips and a look of thoroughly annoyed superiority gracing his handsome face. He had wavy oak brown hair that fell into his face and covered his bright sepia eyes several times over the course of Logan's staring, and he had to shove it away with an impatient hand.

He was beautiful.

"Logan?" Derek's voice echoed, but Logan's attentions were far too gone. He walked forward with a purpose, intent on somehow speaking to this boy, though what he would say once he got there he hadn't the faintest idea.

"Yes, well, it's still a big jump from yesterday," the boy said coldly.

"You can take it or leave it. I'm sure there are others who would happily pay the price. Hurry and make your decision. I would like to close up soon." At this the brown-eyed boy frowned. Then, with an exasperated sigh, pulled out two obols from a small cloth sack. The vendor smiled devilishly.

Trying to swindle another out of his money, eh, Bakchos? We'll see about that.

"Here—"

"Allow me." The boy's eyes widened marginally as Logan promptly pushed his hand away before pulling a single obol of his own from his money purse he kept strapped tightly to his thigh. "There's your payment, Bakchos. And my father will be informed of this attempted price gauging, and I'm sure the officials won't be pleased."

"My apologies, Logan, sir…" Bakchos dipped for a low bow. "I had no idea—"

"That I was standing nearby? I assumed so, since I'm fairly certain you wouldn't have been trying to take advantage of this boy had you known. Now give him his fruit. In fact, I believe you'd do well to give him twice what I paid for, as an apology. I might not tell my father if you do so…"

"Here you are," Bakchos said, pushing two of the largest pomegranates into the boy's hands. "And accept my sincerest apologies. My behavior was quite unbecoming."

"…Thank you." The boy accepted the fruit with the curtest of nods, placing them in a woven basket hanging from his arm. "And I suppose I owe you a thank you as well." His eyes turned to Logan and, shining in the bright of sun, were like hard chips of tiger's eye gem, with a multitude of different browns mingling together in an almost hypnotic swirl.

"You're very welcome," Logan said as debonairly as he could muster.

"I said I suppose I owe you one. Not that I was going to give it to you." The boy quickly turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving Logan standing with a gaping mouth and scrunched up eyebrows.

It wasn't until the boy rounded the corner and Bakchos snickered that Logan gained his wits back and set off after him.

It took hardly any time to catch the boy, whose casual strut spoke volumes about the arrogant pride lurking beneath the drab clothing.

"It's very rude to just walk away from someone after he not only paid for your fruit, but scolded a family friend on your behalf."

"And it's very rude to just insert yourself into someone else's business," the boy chided, eyes never leaving the path ahead of him. "If you think for one moment I need your pity just because I may not be as well off as you—"

"I never said anything like that," Logan scoffed.

"You didn't need to," the boy said. "It was evident in your cocky grin and the way you walked as though the ground didn't deserve to have your feet trample on it."

Sharp tongue. "I wasn't trying to offend you. Pardon me for trying to be considerate."

"I don't need your help," the boy snapped. "In fact, you've probably just made things worse than they needed to be."

"What?"

"Nothing. You're obviously one of those leap-without-thinking types, and you probably don't care if it ends up costing others. Not so long as it gets you what you want." The boy whirled around to Logan, eyes blazing. "Now, you're obviously not the kind of person who does things out of the kindness of his heart. What do you want?"

Logan had to actually stop and think for a moment. He couldn't very well say, "Beautiful boys are my undoing," without scaring his companion away.

"I'm not very fond of Bakchos, and his son is loathsome brat. Any opportunity I have to make him look foolish is an opportunity I relish." It was a fairly accurate statement. Bakchos happened to be a disgrace of a human being, and his son had always rude to Logan and his family (though never outright). It wasn't the real reason, but it was true enough for his purposes.

"Right. Well, you've done what you set out to do. Now you can leave me alone."

"You're still not going to give me a "thank you very much, kind sir, for going out of your way for me," for my trouble?" The boy sighed.

"Thank you," the boy nearly spat. Logan smiled, and he knew it was an arrogant sort of a smile, one that said he'd once again gotten his way. "And I'll thank you even more when you cease to be in my breathing space."

"Boy! Do you have the pomegranate the master asked for?" A fat man a little further down shouted, and the boy immediately turned, bowing his head slightly.

"Yes. I'm on my way. I was giving this young man directions."

"Hurry up, then! The master isn't going to be happy you've kept him waiting this long." Then the fat man disappeared into the crowd of people making their way to the amphitheater for the performance.

"You are a slave," Logan said stupidly.

"Astute observation. Your parents must be so proud to know they've raised such a bright boy," the boy hissed. The comment stung more than even Logan was prepared for. "But yes, I am a slave of the man who runs the theater production. Now if you'll excuse me, some of us actually have work to do." Then he too mixed with the exiting crowd, but Logan somehow managed to keep him in sight until Derek clapped a tight hand on his shoulder.

"Well, that went over well. I think he likes you."

"Oh, shut up Seigerson," Logan grumbled. "What do you know about courting boys? You've had your hand reaching for a breast from the moment you realized they were there for more than just decoration."

"Courting him, now are you?" Derek's sly grin slid into place. "You don't even know the boy's name, and you're attempting to bed him? Even I have higher standards than that."

"Yes, you prefer to know the girl's name, so as you don't make her angry by calling out another when you've reached your peak,: Logan shot back. They glared at each other for a few moments longer before Derek looped Logan's neck with his arm and pulled him down to ruffle his hair.

"You know I only tease," he said. "And he was quite something to look at, so at least you have some taste."

"More than I can say for you," Logan laughed, shoving Derek's arm away playfully and hooked his own beneath Derek's arms to lock him in a full nelson "Or need I remind you of Tabitha?"

"That was a grave mistake, and I'd appreciate it if you never spoke of it again. She's Medusa in disguise, that one." He broke free from Logan's grasp, ducking as the blond threw a light punch his way. "Now come on. We're not going to get good seats if we don't hurry. Everyone's probably already there, including your lover boy." Logan shot daggers Derek's way, but said nothing in retaliation.

Instead, he simply said, "Let's go then."

Derek had been lying when he said they wouldn't have seats for the performance. Logan's father and mother (though they loathed each other, and Father would much rather bring his favorite concubine Michelle with him instead) were waiting in the best section of the theater, where everything could be seen and heard with little to no effort.

It was going to make ignoring the show so much more difficult.

There was light buzz of chatter going throughout amphitheater, and it made Logan crinkle his nose in annoyance.

"I'm very glad you're here, son," John Logan Wright II whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "You know how they talk about you anymore—"

"Yes, that I am a conceded brat who knows nothing of refinement and delicacy," Logan drawled, a repetition of his father's words on many occasions. "I am well aware of how the people of Athens view me, Father." To be honest, they were fairly accurate.

"Then you know it is very unbecoming, even of a scholar, to act in such a way," his father's voice turned low and dangerous. "You must shape up. I will not be able to claim it is simply adolescent arrogance refusing to release its grip on you. This behavior must stop."

"Of course, Father," Logan answered politely. "Now hush. The show is about to begin." As if on cue, a small boy rushed forward and began speaking, setting up the setting and plot for the play Antigone.

Logan feigned interest at first, watching closely as the actors playing Antigone and her sister Ismene spoke outside the castle. Though it started out decent and as something that might hold Logan's attention, it quickly faded into the typical tragedy Logan was expecting. Cries of woe, declarations of love, desperate pleas for forgiveness. He'd seen it all before. Same premise, different packaging.

The play lasted longer than the ones Logan usually attended, because he made an effort to stay awake and even gasped when King Creon found the dead body of his wife, life taken by her own hand. He gave a rousing round of applause as the actors took their bows on stage. Overall, he had to say, he gave a pretty damn good show of his own. Father looked pleased, anyway.

Once the play concluded, it was midafternoon. Just enough time for those preparing for guests later in the evening to rush home and oversee the affairs. Logan's mother happened to be one, escorted home by his father.

"Don't be late for dinner," his mother said curtly. "Your father is in one of his moods, and I am not going to listen to his complaining if you aren't on time."

"Yes, Mother," Logan said. She smiled at him, tight-lipped and bitter. She really had no love for this boy, though she birthed and nursed him. She merely saw a reflection of his father, a repetition of his terrible deeds. Logan simply had not met the girl to make it so.

I wish she'd stopped looking at me like that. Father has little more love for me than he does for her. But, he supposed, a little more than none is still more than none.

She left him on quick feet, dancing through the crowd with such grace and swiftness his father had a difficult time keeping up.

Logan ran to the outer edge of the amphitheater as quickly as he could manage. He couldn't go too far, because he promised Derek he would wait, but he could get away from all the people chatting and laughing. They were probably discussing their plans for the afternoon, before dinner would be served. Derek and Logan would be off in the woods instead, as far away from everyone as possible. Hunting wasn't his favorite activity, but it beat the hustle and bustle of the city streets, with so many people packed together that you couldn't be sure where your hand was going to end up. Any other festival, Logan and Derek would be thrilled to join. But the idea of marriage made Derek queasy and Logan feel bleak. So they partook in what they absolutely had to and avoided what they could. It was the way they'd done it for the last few years.

A distant murmuring filled Logan's ears. Had he been talking to someone, he wouldn't have noticed it. But once he did, it was hard to let it go.

After a few moments contemplation, Logan decided to find where the murmuring was coming from. Derek was probably too engrossed in some girl to notice if Logan wasn't waiting for him right after. He'd be a little ticked, at worst. So Logan sneaked off down the sloping hill, coming to a halt near the edge of the stage.

The boy from earlier was standing off to the side. His eyes stared at the empty stage longingly, as though he'd love nothing more than to jump up there himself and act in front of the bare theater seats.

Logan would have said something to him, asked him what in the name of Zeus he was doing, when the boy opened his mouth and these words came spilling out:

"Tomb, bridal chamber, eternal prison in the caverned rock, whither I go to find mine own, those many who have perished, and whom Persephone hath received among the dead! Last of all shall I pass thither, and far most miserably of all, before the term of my life is spent. But I cherish good hope that my coming will be welcome to my father, and pleasant to thee, my mother, and welcome, brother, to thee; for, when you died, with mine own hands I washed and dressed you, and poured drink-offerings at your graves; and now, Polyneices, 'tis for tending thy corpse that I win such recompense as this. And yet I honored thee, as the wise will deem, rightly. Never had I been a mother of children, or if a husband had been moldering in death, would I have taken this task upon me in the city's despite

"What law, ye ask, is my warrant for that word? The husband lost, another might have been found, and child from another, to replace the first-born; but, father and mother hidden with Hades, no brother's life could ever bloom for me again. Such was the law whereby I held thee first in honor; but Creon deemed me guilty of error therein, and of outrage, ah brother mine! And now he leads me thus, a captive in his hands; no bridal bed, no bridal song hath been mine, no joy of marriage, no portion in the nurture of children; but thus, forlorn of friends, unhappy one, I go living to the vaults of death. And what law of Heaven have I transgressed?

"Why, hapless one, should I look to the gods any more-what ally should I invoke-when by piety I have earned the name of impious? Nay, then, if these things are pleasing to the gods, when I have suffered my doom, I shall come to know my sin; but if the sin is with my judges, I could wish them no fuller measure of evil than they, on their part, mete wrongfully to me."

It was a speech from the play, delivered by Antigone herself, but even the actor who recited this very monologue on stage put not the amount of emotion and sincerity into that this boy with brown eyes and tattered tunic did. He spoke every word as though it had been torn from his lips, a shattered remembrance to the loved ones mentioned. And in that moment, Logan understood why he detested the theater so; he'd never seen it done correctly. Or so beautifully. The passion and the intensity was nearly intoxicating. The words spoken were said with such maddening conviction, Logan had to resist the urge to reveal himself and beg the boy to do no more. His poor heart couldn't handle such a beautiful boy speaking such sad things.

"You!" a shriek caught Logan's and the boy's attention. The fat man from the marketplace was stalking towards him, fists clenched at his side and face purple with anger. The second he reached the boy, he reared back and punched him. The boy fell to the ground, lip bleeding. He didn't try to stand, only raise himself from the vulnerable position of being sprawled up on the ground.

"You stole that fruit, didn't you! That's why all the money was there!" He brought down a fleshy, hefty fist, rocking the boy back to the dirt.

The boy said nothing, just allowed the man to continue raining blow after blow against him.

"I gave you more than enough money to pay for the fruit the master ordered, and you're pathetic enough to resort to stealing?"

"I didn't steal it," the boy choked out. His voice was still as brash and bold as when he spoke to Logan before, defiant even when he had no right to be. "The vendor was trying to swindle me, and some guy told him off and paid for it."

"Liar!" This time the man kicked the boy's chest, hard enough that Logan could hear the whoosh of hair leaving the boy's lungs.

"I'm not lying, you great pig!" the boy gasped, but all it earned him was a slap across the face.

Logan had had enough.

"Excuse me!" The man turned around to see Logan marching down the hill with righteous fury smoldering in his green eyes.

"What do you want, sir?" the man said politely.

He actually has the audacity to act like nothing's wrong, that bastard.

"I just came to inform you that he's not lying," Logan replied. "The vendor tried to charge him twice the cost of a pomegranate, and I stepped in to stop it. By my request as an apology, the vendor gave him two for the price of one." The man's demeanor swiftly changed. He paused for a moment, looking between Logan and the bleeding boy.

"Just be lucky I'm not going to the master about it," growled the man. "Instead, I'm going to have you running chamber duty for the next month." The boy reverted back to his earlier tactic of saying nothing, head bowed low and eyes trained on the ground. The man spat at him.

"Clean yourself up. You need to look presentable for this evening meal—at least as presentable as you can manage. I'll expect you back within the next half hour. Don't be late." He turned to Logan and with faux politeness, said, "Have a nice day, sir." Then he stalked off.

Logan immediately rushed to the boy's side and helped pull him into a standing position. Brown eyes turned, steely and agitated.

"What are you doing here?" the boy hissed.

"That's the second time today you've spoken to me with contempt when what I deserved was gratitude."

"I thought I made it clear earlier that I didn't need your help." The boy brushed the dirt away from his tunic. "I will ask again: what are you doing here?"

"I heard you reciting the lines from the play. I came to listen," Logan explained. The boy's face broke into a hot flush.

"Oh."

"Yes, you're very good. Better than actors on stage." When he received nothing in return, Logan ventured, "Does that man always hit you?"

"Only when I've done something in his eyes to warrant it. Otherwise, he just pretends I don't exist."

"He shouldn't be allowed to do that," Logan said, his anger building again.

"If you think the worst he's done is knock me around a bit, you're in for a bitter surprise," the boy almost laughed.

"Someone needs to protect you—"

"You are not some hero from the stories, and I am not the pretty maiden you swoop in to save. Those are just the ramblings of old men who have nothing better to do than fill young men like you up with hopeless idealism."

"This is unfair! You did nothing to deserve such treatment."

"No, I did not. I won't disagree with you there. But neither you nor I can change it. It's the hand Fate dealt me, and I must make do." His voice wavered slightly, as if he didn't believe his own words. "Now, go. Laze about your room, read your scriptures, play with your javelins—I don't care. Just make sure, whatever it is, it doesn't involve me. I grow tired of these foolish encounters."

"We've only met twice," Logan reminded him.

"And it's two times of my life I wish I could redo," the boy answered. "Goodbye." Then he followed the path the fat man took. It took only a few moments before he was gone from Logan's sight.

In that moment before the boy disappeared, hips swaying and arrogant strut back in his slightly limping footsteps, Logan knew exactly what he was going to ask his father as payment for sitting through that abhorrent play.

"You'd like a new slave?" John asked the next morning. Dinner the previous night had gone very, very well. After he hunted with Derek for only half the time they planned, he had hurried home, changed, and been the perfect son at the banquet. He asked all the right questions, and he acted thoroughly engaged in every bit of conversation that came his way. He even used his wit to charm quite a few of his father's friends and colleagues, so much so they made a point to tell John after dinner what a pure delight Logan was and how they were pleased to see him finally emerging into a man.

After that display, Father couldn't possibly say no to his request.

"Not just a new slave. My own personal slave. One who does only what I want, not the daily chores about the house," Logan elaborated. Then, puffing out his chest and talking the way he had last night, "I feel, as I am growing more independent and older, I ought to have someone to tend to my needs. Someone I hand select."

"I suppose this means you already have a particular one in mind?"

"Very much."

"It's not a female, is it? Because I will not have any illegitimate pregnancies in this household—"

"No, he is male. I like him because he's smart, tactful, and good to talk to. So he'd be more of a companion than a slave really."

"Derek is not enough?"

"Derek is always leaving me to chase after the next prettiest girl to bat her eyes at him. I'd like someone to talk to who has more on the brain than just…his relations with women. Plus, Derek wouldn't be there to carry my things, now would he?"

His father drew in a long suffering sigh. Logan knew he had him nearly pinned.

"It means I'll be out of your hair a bit more," Logan added. "I'll have someone else who can go with me to the things like the Olympics and those different sports matches. Please, Father. You said I could have whatever I wanted if I went to the theater. And I was a model son at dinner. Of all the things I've asked of you, can't you just grant me this?"

To anyone else, his father's posture would have seemed like he was bored, but Logan could see his resolve break.

"All right. If that's what you want, then that's what you shall have. You know where he resides, of course?"

Logan feigned a slightly pleased outer shell, but his insides were twisting with excitement. "Yes, Father. He is the slave of the man who does the theater production."

"Antipatros? He is a reasonable man who has more than his fair share of slaves. I'm sure he would be willing to part with one. Plus, he is a dear friend of mine. We will go this afternoon and speak with him. Until then, find a way to entertain yourself.

"Yes, Father."