The tall raven haired man sat quietly on the edge of camp sharpening his blade and blending in with the shadows. A sharp blade in the world he'd been born into often meant the difference between life and death, and while he had been traveling with this band of Barbarians for some time now, he didn't trust them.

In this world you could trust no one, but yourself. In this world no one had your back, and the raven haired man was all too painfully aware of that.

While he'd always told himself it was the world he'd been born into and it was simply life, the truth was he wasn't exactly sure what kind of world he'd really been born into. He had spent the majority of his life as a slave in a foreign land.

He knew he had been born far from where fate saw him now. Someone had once told him the intricate tattoo he'd had since as far back as he could remember, which stretched across his chest and continued down his right arm meant he was from a land called Samoa. He didn't remember Samoa or his parents, or if he ever really had parents, or any family.

He assumed he didn't, because it was easier than believing he did and they had let him be taken away or sold him to pay a debt, though he'd seen that happen time and time again with his own eyes. He had been a house slave until he was 14 and a Praetor of Rome had purchased him to be trained as a gladiator.

Ten long years he lived, ate, slept, and breathed by the sands of the arena. His life had been nothing but sweat and blood all for the enjoyment of the citizens of Rome, and they had the nerve to call the men he was with now Barbarians. When as a mere child he was raised under the whip and constant threat of pain and death.

That was till the day his chains had been broken and he was offered a choice, not much of a choice, but a choice none the less; to be executed along with his Dominus as a Roman, or to fight and possibly die alongside the Visigoths as a free man.

He had hesitated but a moment when given the choice, and it had made some of his new comrades question him when he'd chosen to join their ranks in the end. His hesitation hadn't come from fear of death or loyalty to Rome; it had come from somewhere inside of him that was afraid of that freedom.

He had chosen to live and fight another day, though he had grown weary of fighting; still the damage had been done. While he had proven himself a skilled warrior in battle there were still those who questioned his resolve and or his loyalty, so he kept to himself, and bid his time till he would be free of them as well.

Most of his life had been spent focused on survival with no time for what could have been, but now that he had been freed from actual shackles the errant thought to seek the mysterious land of Samoa popped up more often than he cared to admit.

In the darkest hours before the dawn he wondered where it was and attempted to calculate his chances of making it there before the gods took pity on him and ended his suffering once and for all. As a child or even an adult he never dared dream of such things, but this small taste of freedom had given him such dreams. He had spent most of his life convincing himself he had no family, but now he imagined he knew what they looked like and sounded like, though he'd never heard their tongue.

He imagined his mother had a beautiful voice and soft gentle hands, and his father as a proud hard man who possessed wisdoms he wanted to pass on to his beloved son. He pictured brothers and sisters he could have shared late night secrets with, laughter, and even pain, but those were dangerous thoughts, because although he no longer wore chains he was still a slave.

The raven haired man's life belonged to the chieftain; it was not his own. The possibility existed that one day it may truly be his own, but that was not this day, so he would bide his time until it was so.

"You have some skill with a blade, Roman, I'll give you that."

He needn't look up, nor was he startled by the presence of the man who spoke, because his presence was always accompanied by some sort of aura that made his hair stand on end: Ambrose.

Ambrose was a strange man, a hard man, and the most vocal concerning his lack of faith in his final decision. He had taken to calling him Roman so as to remind the others of his hesitation or so he assumed.

It made no difference to him; he couldn't recall his given name. As a boy he had been called Aer, which in Latin meant light blue, due to his shocking eye color in contrast to his pigmentation, and later they had chosen Coracinus, which in Latin meant raven black, due to his Dominus's belief it was much more befitting of a Gladiator.

Roman was as acceptable to him as anything, though he preferred he called him nothing and left him be.

He was certain Ambrose hadn't been freed and given the same unnegotiable option as he had, because the man seemed to be unable to fathom his hesitation, it was something Roman felt couldn't be understood absent the experience.

While it seemed Ambrose had made it his personal mission to seek him whenever there was a lull and disturb him, judging by the way he always seemed to be near and constantly testing his patience, Roman had to admit he was a skilled warrior, though quite unconventional at times. There was something about him that seemed to draw Roman's eye, even in the heat of battle, which he found very disconcerting.

It was something he found so disconcerting, that while he rarely spoke to anyone he took extra care to avoid Ambrose especially, yet somehow the other man always found a way to ensnare him as he was now, making it very difficult to ignore him without causing disruption.

He could feel the other man's eyes boring into him, and it caused goose bumps to break out over his skin, though the last snow fall had been months past. Roman concentrated on continuing to rhythmically run his whet stone along his blade in the hope his lack of response would make the other man give up, though it rarely did.

"Are you deaf as well as craven?" Ambrose challenged unused to and unhappy with being ignored.

Roman did his best to rein in his irritation with the other man, and looked over at him, which he was loathed to do.

Ambrose was as tall as he was, with messy reddish blonde hair he wore shorter than was customary, blue eyes, Roman often felt could see into his soul, which was just another reason he avoided the man, and small divots in his cheeks that only appeared when he smiled, which Roman had come to know was on very rare occasion.

His eyes met other man's, and his heart seemed to stutter for a moment making him glad he had chosen to hide in the shadows as he felt his face flush. The fire light was barely illuminating either of them, but it only served to make Roman's heart beat a little faster as Ambrose seemingly glowed, though he had noticed the other man often glowed absent the trick of faint fire light.

Beautiful; was the first word that came to mind, and it stunned him into forgetting what he had planned to say to make him go away. Ambrose seemed to read his expression, and while Roman prayed he hadn't actually spoken aloud the other man's features softened for the briefest moment, before morphing into something he couldn't describe as he lunged at him.

Roman's instincts kicked in and he wrapped his arms and legs around Ambrose, seeing as he had dropped the sword he had been making certain was properly maintained for such occurrences in his surprise. Maybe it wasn't just in surprise, because even as he tried to pin the other man down he felt himself trying to be careful as not to actually hurt him.

Ambrose on the other hand didn't seem to care if he injured Roman what so ever, as in a surprising and impressive display of strength he bucked his hips and used his legs to propel Roman off of him causing Roman to smack his head on a nearby rock. Just as Roman dizzily scrambled to his feet he realized Ambrose hadn't been attacking him, he had been protecting him.

Shouting and the clang of metal on metal rang throughout the camp as Raider's from a nearby settlement sought to do as much damage as possible while restocking supplies by capturing theirs. Roman froze for a split second in shock at his realization, which almost cost him dearly. Ambrose barked out a warning just in time for Roman to dodge what would have surely been a fatal blow before driving is blade through his attacker.

In his distraction Ambrose had neglected to see his own danger, and without a second thought Roman knocked Ambrose out of the way just as the Raider's stroke fell. Unfortunately that meant Roman had taken his place, and while he was used to the sting of a blade he let out a pained cry as it lacerated the flesh of his left shoulder.

Ambrose scrambled to his feet looking if possible even more livid that Roman had ever seen him driving his own blade into the gut of their enemy before Roman could even fully raise his own. They looked at each other for a moment, and while Roman was sure his face registered nothing but shock, Ambrose's face was contorted in fury.

Roman had no time to contemplate the man's bizarre behavior as two more Raiders attempted to dispatch them. Ambrose and Roman positioned themselves back to back so as not to be caught unawares. He reached behind him with his non sword hand and gripped Ambrose's thigh so as to be sure to keep him near.

The fighting was fierce but only lasted a short while longer as the Raiders accepted defeat and hastily retreated, and while the skirmish would be counted among their victories, Roman could see several of his fellow soldiers lay dead or dying.

The Chief called for a casualty count, and while Roman disliked seeing life snuffed out based solely on principal, which was in direct contrast with the way he'd been forced to live, he was relieved that Ambrose remained mostly unscathed with the exception of a gash above his right eye brow. Ambrose, however, was still quite angry and was soon causing Roman to call his relief into question.

While Roman wished to respond to his anger in kind he settled for narrowing his eyes as the infuriating man continued to berate him as he bound Roman's wounded shoulder. He wanted to snap at him, but Ambrose had risked his life to save his own, so he simply grit his teeth against the pain and irritation.

"Keep it clean, Roman," Ambrose snapped when he was finished and abruptly stood to walk away.

Roman was unsure what to say or do, but felt he should thank him in some way. Without thinking he reached out and grabbed the other man's wrist and did his best to ignore the spark that accompanied the touch.

"Your head needs tending to," Roman said though it was rather obvious, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"No thanks to you," Ambrose snapped back, though his voice lacked some, but not all of its previous venom. "Next time fucking pay attention so my head won't need tending."

Roman felt his heart sink in shame. Though he couldn't fathom motivation the man who seemed to spend most of his time belittling him had done something Roman never expected, something he could only ever remember one other person doing for him his entire existence; he had protected him.

Ambrose must've seen his heart sink, and his face softened a bit like it had before the raid.

"I suppose you wouldn't mind tending to it, seeing as how I saved your miserable life," Ambrose kept his voice hard, and accusatory, but his eyes showed none of that so it kept the sting Roman had felt before from returning.

A man of few words by nature Roman only nodded in agreement, before Ambrose switched places with him. He tried to be gentle, and while it was only at Ambrose's insistence he make sure the wound was free of all dirt and debris before he bound it, it didn't stop him from snapping at him. Roman did his best to ignore that and his inexplicable goose bumps along with the fact that his touch seemed to make the other man tense considerably.

He was relieved and disappointed at the same time when he'd finished. The way Ambrose remained seated along with the way he was staring at him made him feel they were of a similar mind. That was until Orton, who rarely left Ambrose's side appeared.

"Ambrose," it was one word, but full of relief and concern, which caused Roman's chest to tighten uncomfortably.

Roman was unsure whether it was due to his desire to have someone speak his name laced as such when finding him no worse for wear after even such a small skirmish, or because he knew it meant Ambrose was going to leave and he would once again be sitting in the alone in the shadows.

"Just a scratch," Ambrose assured with a gentleness Roman never knew the man possessed nor had Roman ever experienced.

"Getting slower old crone?" Orton raised an eyebrow which told Roman most of his worry had been quelled.

"Distracted," Ambrose's features hardened once again as he turned to glare at Roman. "The Roman froze just as he was about to be run through. We're fortunate we only suffered insignificant injuries, though that might change without proper care."

Orton who hadn't seem to realize Roman was there until Ambrose spoke to him narrowed his eyes as he met his gaze. Roman suddenly felt angry, and while he had been grateful for what the other man had done, he now resented it. Why would he go through with the hassle if he was only going to resent it as well?

"By all means, next time don't interfere," Roman snapped scooping up his sword and tucking it away. "You would never have been distracted nor would I, had you not come to pester me. I suggest you leave me be, before I run you through."

Roman didn't bother to wait for a reply, and while he considered himself a patient man, he had none left when it came to Ambrose or Orton for that matter. As he stalked around the out skirts of the camp to find a different shadow to hide in Roman promised himself he would break free someday soon without looking back, but until then he would avoid both Ambrose and Orton as though they were lepers.

A/N: Weird I know... just go with it lol... just a heads up this probably won't be updated as fast as my other story, which is updated nearly everyday, so yup! Thanks for the support *Loretta*