Author's notes: Last chapter of this part. Parts II and III exist in fragmentary form; now that this chapter is up I will start working on finishing them. Hopefully I'll get Part II out before GRRM has WINDS OF WINTER out but no promises! XD

The song Arcade listens to in this chapter is "What He Wrote" by Laura Marling. It is anachronistic but I felt that the mood of it fit the chapter so well I decided to include it.

Thanks to LadyKate1 for a truly stellar job betaing!

The road back to Caesar's castrum felt ten times as long as it had on the way out. His feet dragged like lead on the broken concrete. The setting sun shone straight into his eyes as he headed west. Into the night, Arcade thought to himself with bitter sarcasm.

Thoughts of Samantha filled his mind. It had been so long since he had had such a conversation with anyone - a conversation that truly felt like one of equals, where the other person didn't hold the power to make him writhe on the ground with the twitch of a finger. The true decency in Samantha's face was something he had almost forgotten.

The memory of the Fat Man's weight sat on his shoulder. Power. He hadn't realized how much he had missed it. He'd shut his emotions down for so long that the force with which they came roaring back took him by surprise - even alarmed him. The savage joy that had risen within him when he imagined blasting Caesar's castrum and everyone in it still made him catch his breath. And she had promised ….

You know better than that, Arcade. You're never going to get out of here. Not even she can save you - and you know it. And he wasn't sure whether he should thank Samantha or hate her, for waking up a part of him that had been wrapped in numb sleep for years.

Everything in his being rebelled at going back. The thought filled him with loathing and made his skin crawl. He felt as if he were slowly submerging himself in a filthy bath from which he had briefly escaped, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to Samantha, to beg her for asylum. Why don't I?

Yet he knew why not: the collar locked around his neck reminded him with every breath. And, whether or not Caesar could do anything with it from this distance, Claudia and Daedrus were waiting for him. They're depending on you. He tried to hold that thought in his head. It didn't help much.

As he drew nearer the camp, the lowering darkness fit his mood exactly. He reached into his pocket and closed his hand over the tiny scalpel there. Claudia and Daedrus, he reminded himself. Claudia and Daedrus.

His mood was almost completely black by the time the gates of Caesar's castrum loomed before him. Arcade felt himself shudder as he looked at the opening in the wall of spikes that surrounded the camp. It looked like a hungry maw waiting to devour him. Even the sky over the camp seemed permanently dark.

The two sentries on duty aimed their pila at him as he approached. "Halt! Who goes there!?" called one. Arcade recognized him as a young recruit, Decius; and he thought the other one's name was Marcus. One of them blonde and the other had darker hair, but other than that, they could have been twins. Arcade shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

"Caesar's personal physician, returning from my mission to the camp of the Lone Wanderer."

The strict posture of the two guards slouched into insolence at his announcement. Marcus, the dark-haired one, snorted. "You'd better hurry. Caesar's been in a meeting with the tribunes for maybe half an hour now, and I don't think he'll be too pleased that you took so long to get back." He smirked unpleasantly.

Arcade quirked one brow and summoned his own hauteur. "That's fine. I'll simply tell him two lowly Recruits held me up and harassed me at the gate."

Marcus's smirk darkened into a scowl, but it was the sudden chill on Decius's face that got to Arcade; for a moment, he felt ashamed of himself. He knew all too well the brutalities to which the Recruits were subjected, and the thought that he had summoned those ghosts to haunt two young men who were just showing off made his stomach churn. This damned Legion, he thought tiredly.

Marcus gestured curtly with his spear. "Just get in there, Profligate wretch."

Arcade shrugged.

"And a pleasant day to you too," he said. The two guards stepped out of his way and let him proceed into the castrum.

As Arcade made his way through the camp, he seemed to see the whole thing again with new eyes. The tattered beige tents, the training grounds, the arrogant legionaries strutting with their hands on their swords, the slaves shuffling dispiritedly about their tasks. Suddenly it struck him as almost unendurable, unbearable. His hand closed again on the scalpel.

He passed down one of the broad center lanes of beaten earth, among the blocks of contubernia, to the large assembly area in the middle of the camp. The dais where he and the others had sat last night was at one end of it and Caesar's large command tent loomed at the other end, waiting. Arcade wanted nothing more than to turn and leave, but he steeled himself. After all, he thought grimly, I know my duty.

The chief of the praetorians, a man named Licinus, met him at the door. Licinus was a large, generally humorless man with deeply bronzed skin, jet-black hair, and deep-set dark eyes; Arcade had often thought he looked more like an ancient Roman than Caesar himself. "You're late," the praetorian said curtly. "The rest of the tribunes are already inside and the briefing's commenced. Caesar was asking about you."

Arcade only nodded. Drawing a breath, he stepped past the guard, brushing the hangings aside. Caesar looked up to greet him, his bulk sprawled as usual in a camp chair, with the rest of his chieftains gathered before him.

"An' where've you been, iuvenis?" he slurred. "Startin t' think y' weren't comin."

"My apologies, Lord Caesar," he said. "Samantha kept me later than I had originally intended."

"Well ... don' make a habit of it," the imperator slurred with what was probably meant as a good-humored laugh. "Jus' in time f'r th' good part anyway. We were ... w'r discuss'n what we'd do wh'n the Wasteland c'... c'... c'pitulates t' us. 'Relius, y' had s'm good ideas, didn' ya?"

He waved his one good arm vaguely in the direction of the tribune.

Aurelius swelled with pride as he answered. "You know what I think, Lord Caesar. The first thing we should do is to go straight into the ruins of Washington DC. Round up some of these Wasteland profligates as slaves, put them to work excavating the ruins of the capital. Within a year, we'll have the White House for our headquarters. Then we start pushing outward. Once we've reduced the other Wasteland settlements to tributaries, the entire Eastern seaboard will be ours for the taking. Alerio!" He stabbed one thick finger at the unassuming man. "Your frumentarii have spoken of a 'Commonwealth' to the north. Bringing them to heel should be our next goal. Show them and their 'Institute' the might of Caesar's Legion." His face twisted into a brutish grin as he clearly relished the prospect of future victories.

Caesar narrowed his one good eye at Aurelius.

"'Kay," was all he said. "'N you, 'Lerio?"

Alerio regarded Caesar with a distinct lack of emotion. That little youth stood behind him, dark eyes haunted. At length, the frumentarii leader settled back in his chair.

"Aurelius has some interesting ideas but they're somewhat premature. It will take time to consolidate your control over the Wasteland - get them used to knowing that they are now under the Legion. In the meantime, I can send my agents north to infiltrate the Commonwealth. Let us be sure we know the lay of the land there before we begin our conquest."

Caesar snorted. "Think y' - y'r spies c'n crack this Institute, 'Lerio?"

Alerio gave a cool nod. "I see no reason why they should not. Like Aurelius, I find it almost impossible to believe that the Commonwealth will be able to stand against us, if we move correctly. Are we not your Legion, Lord Caesar?"

Christ above, Arcade thought mordantly. They're so obscenely confident, they're already making plans for their next move - or are they? Aurelius of Phoenix was a thug and nothing more, Caesar's attack dog. But Alerio and especially Vulpes were much more intelligent. Don't they know … ? He stole a glance at Vulpes, but the Legate's face was expressionless behind his black sunglasses. As much as he detested the man – a deep and mutual loathing that went back a long way - he respected Vulpes's intelligence, in the same way that he respected the cold reptilian cunning of a Night Stalker. But if they do know, then why don't they say something - unless of course, they think there's no chance that speaking up will do any good. His gaze rested on the boy behind Alerio. The boy met his eyes briefly, and then looked down. Or have their own reasons for remaining silent.

Caesar gave that awful, slurred laugh again. "W'll s'd, 'Lerio," he said. "W'll s'd indeed. 'N you, Inculta? Let's hear it, Savage Fox. Whaddaya got f'r us?"

Those dark sunglasses lifted to study Caesar; Arcade could only guess at the expression in the hazel eyes behind them. "Regarding your alliance with the Profligates," he began, choosing each word precisely in his high, reedy voice.

Caesar glowered at him. "Y's?"

Vulpes hesitated for a moment, clasping his hands behind his back. Arcade wondered what thoughts were going through his mind; Vulpes had borne the brunt of Caesar's increasing instability and unwillingness to brook contradiction more than once, though not to the extent Arcade had. For a brief moment he felt a flash of unwanted sympathy.

"Certainly," Vulpes said, "I believe that an alliance with the Profligates will be advantageous. Should we settle here and bend them to our will, that would put us in a position as strong or stronger as we had back in California - and with no NCR to challenge us. We would be very close to the ancient capital of the Old World, and able to explore the ruins at our leisure in search of secrets to give us strength.

"Aurelius and Alerio have spoken of turning north to strike against this ... Commonwealth, as a first step for an eventual conquest of the entire Eastern Seaboard. Such a venture would be truly an ambitious goal worthy of the name of Caesar. This area would prove an advantageous launching point for such a conquest, and the strength of these Profligates added to our own would give us a large advantage. Such are my thoughts, Lord Caesar."

Arcade, who had been listening carefully, had noticed that Vulpes had never once actually said he thought this was a good or even achievable idea. He thought with inward cynicism that Caesar might have noticed as well, for the old man snorted, and rumbled in his slurred voice, "V'ry ... w'll spoken, Inculta. But as y' c'n see, we got one more person t' hear from." He turned to look at Arcade. "Iuvenis. We b'n ... doin a lot o' talkin' 'thout you. So, now that we're ... g'nna have 'n alliance ... what'd she say? Y' have some good news f'r us?" And that single eye drilled into him.

Even after all this time, Arcade felt a chill at Caesar's one baleful eye gazing at him. It was an automatic reflex by now, one that he couldn't shake. But under that, he had to admit to a certain savage pleasure at what he was about to say. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect himself, feeling the scar tissue on his back pull.

"Not to rain on anyone's parade," he said coldly, "but about that offer of alliance: I have Samantha's answer. The gist of it was – ahem." He cleared his throat. "'None of us have any interest in doing business with someone like Caesar. We will resist him to our dying breaths. Because it is better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees … or worse.'" He paused. "Or words to that effect."

His voice died away into a stunned silence. Arcade ran his eyes over the room, taking in the reactions. Outrage had spread across Aurelius of Phoenix's face, turning his heavy features red and blotchy. Enraged, he burst out, "How dare she, this Profligate female!? When great Caesar does her the honor of offering an alliance with her - "

As Aurelius ranted, Arcade glanced toward Alerio and Vulpes Inculta. Alerio was expressionless and unreadable as ever, but Arcade detected a hint of - something he couldn't make out - in Vulpes's face. The reactions from both of them convinced him that they had expected this outcome.

Caesar, on the other hand, clearly hadn't. He looked - almost hurt, Arcade thought. Did he seriously think this had any chance of succeeding?

"'Relius, silence," he slurred, with a gesture of his good arm. His brow furrowed. "Can' be. 'S she not understan' what we're offerin'? Iuvenis," he slurred with growing anger, "Y' mus' not 've ... not 've said it right. Doesn' she understand? She hasn't seen - "

"My impression was," Arcade said, "that she felt she'd seen more than enough of your operation to make an informed decision."

"No. No," Caesar was shaking his head. "Y' mus' 've said it wrong, iuvenis. Didn'tcha - didn'tcha tell her wha' 'vantages it'd bring with us? How much we had t' ... t' give the wasteland?"

He still sounded hurt, Arcade thought. It's as if he can't believe that anyone is capable of rejecting an alliance with Caesar's Legion. Arcade felt his shoulders tighten. "I honestly don't think it would matter. She made it clear that she felt the disadvantages far outweighed any advantages an alliance might bring."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alerio nod to himself. Vulpes's lips were pressed into a narrow line. Caesar's ruined face contorted like a child being told "no" for the first time.

"But ... bu' I don' understan'. She can' possibly think tha'... that it's not worth it, havin' an alliance w' us." His brow furrowed more deeply, and anger began to creep into his expression. "Wha'd y' say t' her, iuvenis? Wha'd y' say t' her t' make her think - "

Arcade shook his head dourly. "I didn't have to say anything. She could see everything plainly enough for herself. She'd decided by the time I got there, there was nothing I could have said to change her mind."

That anger was beginning to bloom into rage now. "But ... but doesn' sh' see wh' we c'd do f'r her? Her 'n the Was'elan... If you ... 'F y were t' go back t' her, iuvenis," he demanded doggedly. That single eye blazed. " G... g'wan back t'her. Tell 'er that we'll ... we c'n pay f'r an alliance. Gold, food, slaves, wh... whatever sh' wants. Make 'er - 'F y' were t' make her an offer she c'dn' refuse - "

"No!" Arcade insisted - and he realized he was shouting. He didn't know how it had happened, but suddenly, he felt as if he had been pushed past endurance. I will get this out, dammit, by Mithras I will say exactly what I feel - Something about the time he had spent with Samantha fired him and put steel in his spine. "I said, no! Don't you understand?" he threw at Caesar, not caring. "Samantha will never, never, never negotiate with you - why the hell should she? What the hell does your Legion have to offer her? A position as an officer's slave-wife if she's lucky? She - they -- may not know the phrase "hostis humani generis" but you can bet that's just what they see you as." He gestured furiously at the assembled chieftains. "They see you as a pack of brigands because that's exactly what you are. You've read all the classical literature; why don't you try some Machiavelli, for Christ's sake? Samantha and those with her will fight you to their dying breaths because to them, death is preferable to belonging to your Legion!"

Aurelius of Phoenix growled in fury, his angry flush deepening to brick red. "Lord Caesar, will you stand for this slave's insolence?" he demanded. "This is unendurable. Let me beat him. I'll beat that arrogance out of him-"

Caesar waved at him. "Quiet, Aurelius." The chieftain fell silent, though he was seething. Caesar looked back at Arcade, frowning. "If I were to ... t' offer t' make this S'mantha my empress," he began.

"No!" Arcade almost shouted. "You don't get it! She won't join you for anything! She has too much integrity - too much pride in herself - too much honor -- " He broke off, breathing hard, clenching his fists at his sides.

Caesar's frown deepened; the hurt was still there, and it was growing. Good, Arcade thought viciously. At last, he tried, "Iuvenis - "

"Don't you 'iuvenis' me," Arcade snarled. "Negotiate with her, don't negotiate, offer her marriage, do whatever. You always do anyway. But know this: I just gave you the truth. The truth that nobody else in this goddamned parliament of fools will give you. They're all too afraid of you, or too brainwashed. So … " He shrugged; his anger ebbed away, leaving him exhausted and bitter. "There it is. Do whatever you want to me. I don't care. Nothing you do to me will change anything, anyway."

Caesar was silent for a long time; Arcade could read almost nothing on that ruined face. At last, the other man nodded. "And now, you've just r'minded me why it is that I keep you, iuvenis."

Arcade said nothing. His throat was closed tight; there was nothing to say - or perhaps, too much. Caesar studied him for a moment longer, his brow furrowed, as if searching for something, but Arcade had nothing to give him - at least, nothing he was either able or willing to give. At last the imperator turned away.

"W'll, can' ... be angry with ya, y' jus ... said what I asked you to," Caesar slurred. "Y' did good, iuvenis, an' y'll ... be r'warded."

"Sure," Arcade said sourly, unable to stop it from slipping out. But Caesar didn't seem to notice, even though Aurelius looked even more scandalized than before, and Vulpes's white face paled even further behind his sunglasses. Caesar gave that harsh, choking laugh.

"I do b'lieve that y'r right. Negotiat'n isn' in order here … besides," he gave that slurred laugh again, "Caesar does not low'r 'imself to negotiation anyway. 'M I right, boys?" he asked, looking around at his chieftains for confirmation. They all laughed with him, an unsteady, nervous tittering. "No. Negotiation ... not gonna win this one. Time to ... t' c'nsider other methods." His single good eye roamed the tent, and then fixed on the chief of his frumentarii. "'Lerio."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Gonna need ... t' speak wi' you. Rest of ya ... you too. Need t' ... do s'me thinkin' about this. You." His single eye turned back to Arcade. "Y'r dismissed. G'wan back t' yer tent. I'll send f'r you if I need you." That eye narrowed. "Git!"

Sick at heart, Arcade managed a sardonic bow in response, unacknowledged by Caesar. Then he fled the tent into the night outside.

As Arcade stumbled out into the darkness, he was almost shaking with a terrible, frustrated anger. He reeled around the big command tent to his own little shelter at the back; he barely had the strength to draw the flap before he collapsed into his camp chair. He just sat there, striving for calm. His mind was filled with Samantha, her strength, her sureness, her power.

"God damn it," he muttered through his teeth. He drew a breath, then another, trying to push back the bleak sensation that was filling him, but to no avail. He buried his head in his hands for a moment, then pushed back his chair so that he was leaning back, and stared at the medicine chest he kept under his camp table.

Along with a limited supply of chems, Arcade had a stash of liquor that Caesar allowed him to keep - strictly for medicinal purposes, of course. He knew many of the other officers had something similar even though, to them, it was strictly forbidden. Sometimes he thought that was the one facet of Legion life that he found the most intolerable: just the complete and utter hypocrisy of it all. The chems, the boys … Christ, the whole Legion is just rotten from top to bottom. Vulpes Inculta, he thought, was perhaps the only one of Caesar's chieftains that partook of neither; he had no puer, at least that Arcade had observed, and he had never spotted any of the tell-tale signs of chem usage in the man either.

Which may explain why he's the way he is, Arcade thought sardonically. No way he could be that much of a prick if he were getting any sort of relaxation regularly. He had often wondered about Vulpes and his slave wife Vipsania ….

He reached under the table and took the bottle of whiskey from his medicine chest; then he retrieved a glass and, sitting at his battered camp table, methodically began to pour himself shots. He had rarely indulged even in his pre-Legion days and not at all since his captivity; he couldn't afford to lose control – or risk getting caught. Now, though – now, he no longer cared.

If Caesar finds you drunk, a little cautionary voice murmured in the back of his head. Arcade hissed through his teeth, dismissing it. So what? The chance of that was minimal; and furthermore, he was … reasonably certain … that Caesar would be willing to look the other way if he did, though less certain than he had once been. But even if he didn't …. Screw it. I need this tonight.

He reached out and clicked on the radio, hoping to drown out the sounds of the camp around him, yearning vaguely for Three Dog's fiery self-assurance. There was something incredibly bracing about the DJ's confidence; perhaps it was just the fact that the disc jockey seemed to see things so clearly and had never had to make compromises or accommodations to the existing order. He sensed the same thing in Samantha: that she was just so strong that she didn't need to make compromises, to betray her fundamental sense of self, as….

He quickly gulped down a shot, wincing as the whiskey burned a fiery trail down his throat. It wasn't Three Dog on the radio; instead, a woman's voice mourned out of the darkness, singing a melancholy song of loss and defeat:

Forgive me, Hera, I cannot stay
He cut out my tongue, there is nothing to save
Love me O Lord, he threw me away
He laughed at my sins, in his arms I must stay….

Arcade left it on. It suited his mood.

Another shot, and then he pushed the bottle and glass aside, burying his head in his hands.

I could help her.

But what could he do? He was no hero, no Wasteland Messiah. He was an aging, broken man, already past his prime: a slave, powerless and long since defeated.

Samantha … God, Samantha …. He could see her, standing on the hill, alone and commanding; lit up by the sunlight and almost shining. The confidence, the strength he had seen in her, the absolute self-assurance .…

He'd seen something similar in Samson once - in the years years ago, before time had settled on his shoulders like chains, when he still had believed it was possible for a person to change the world. Goddamn it, I know better than that now. I know better than that. He passed one hand over his eyes. It didn't help. Something in him that had not been crippled by servitude was responding to the image of her, of the Messiah, like a compass needle orienting toward magnetic north.

She wants me to be better than I am.

No she didn't, he told himself. He seriously doubted Samantha had given him a second thought after leaving the camp. That wasn't the way the world worked, and he was old enough by now to know that. I know better ….

The woman's voice mourned on, filling the inside of the tiny tent:

He wrote: I am broke, please send for me
But I am broken too, and spoken for, do not tempt me….

Arcade's shoulders shook. Behind his hands, he felt dampness trickling down his face.

Where were you years ago, Samantha? Where were you then? Why didn't you come to me when I was young and strong? When I still believed - I would have followed you anywhere, if only I had known ...

But it was too late now. Too late for him, too late for her, and too late for the Legion, this hellish carnival of the damned.

He folded his arms on his desk and laid his head on them, tears burning on his cheeks. Outside, the sounds of the Legion encampment rattled on - the harsh tramp of marching soldiers, the sentry's challenge and response, the sound of a soldier shouting at a slave, the clash of arms drifting from the training ground.

Night lay heavy over the legion encampment. To the east, the Brotherhood of Steel knights and paladins continued to man the small outpost, watching unceasingly against the brooding tents of the legion. Samantha had taken her leave early that afternoon and her small party, with Darius in tow, was making its way across the Wasteland, under the twinkling stars of the heavens, back to the tall dark spire of Tenpenny Tower. Beyond lay the whole of the Wastes - Megaton, Rivet City, The Republic of Rosie, Oasis, Underworld, the Citadel, Little Lamplight, Canterbury Commons, the realm of Crystal's Raiders. Even now, plans were being laid and people were being dispatched. Samantha's radioed warning had been transmitted. The Legion would not find the Wasteland unprepared.

End of Part I.