A Fine Addition, by MissMishka

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

The slave had great passion to make such an attempt on Spartacus's life. Misdirected, but present and useful passion. He had youth and strength, as well, all traits which the Thracian sought in his cause.

All signs indicated that the young man had been enslaved for far too long.

Tiberius had clearly adapted to the servitude for survival, rising in rank quickly for his age, yet he immediately balked at the opportunity offered by Spartacus. The boy was suspicious of motive and defiant at invitation which indicated that the slave had a functioning brain beneath that silky black mane.

Spartacus saw great promise in these things; in this rebellious slave. A weak willed and truly subservient being would have made no such attempt nor shown contempt to their apparent new master.

It did not surprise him that neither Agron or Crixus saw such potential. The Gladiators envisioned warriors to only be creatures of brawn and bloodlust. His brethren had long shed the memories of youth and the time in which they had had to be molded into the fighters they now were.

No matter his stature, Tiberius had the will of a Gladiator and Spartacus would see the boy's potential realized.

This one would be a fine addition to their ranks, could he be but swayed to join them.

...

Training the freed slave proved quite entertaining.

His resistance to the teaching was worn like a mantel to keep Spartacus at a distance yet it did not conceal the want to learn that Tiberius clearly had. The Syrian took up the sword and shield without the Thracian commanding it; showing himself to be receptive to the training offered.

His muscles were lean, but could be built upon to give his thrusts of blade more force in battle. His body was nimble and wiry which would be of great aid in a fight to allow him to evade injury from opponent.

Spartacus was well pleased with this find.

The other slaves freed from this villa were taking the training, but it was simply another task to them. They fell in with the rebels because they saw no other option; no reason to reject the offer to join Spartacus.

Tiberius, though, continued to bite at the proverbial hand the Thracian offered.

Spartacus had no doubt that the body slave sought to excel at training so that he could make another attempt upon his life. The fire of intent burned in those dark eyes as they looked upon the him, but Spartacus felt no concern at the thinly veiled threat.

With time and patience, this 'wild little dog' could be brought round to their cause.

Tiberius exposed his flank once more in training and Spartacus slammed the hilt of his sword against the young man's back to illustrate the fatal move. He grinned openly when the slave hissed in fury and swung around to glare retribution at his trainer. Spartacus had not been gentle in the blow and a lesser man would have fallen face first to the dirt, but this one maintained his feet.

The boy resumed first position without instruction, ready to try again for a different result. He was tireless in his want to best Spartacus in their sparring and it drew the attention of many.

The Gladiators had seen many a man trained at the ludus and as they watched they had begun to realize the potential in this one that Spartacus saw.

With each blow he received, Tiberius learned then demonstrated a way to defend his vulnerabilities. With each failed strike, he took time to consider carefully another move than might gain him the blood he sought to draw.

There was a quick mind in that dark head and Spartacus would see its thought turned to favor the rebels' goal of eternal liberation from Roman rule.

It did not go without notice what a fine form the Syrian was in motion; his bared torso glistening with sweat and chest heaving from exertions. Spartacus felt some surprise at the intense regard that one in particular paid to the freed slave.

Tiberius was too intent upon his swordplay and shield defense to take notice of much around him, but the Thracian was attuned to his council and could easily sense much from the German. He doubted even Agron to yet be aware of how his eyes dwelt upon the young man or the unconscious intent in his gaze.

To test a theory as it grew within him, Spartacus moved with calculated precision to take the Syrian's feet from beneath him while he slammed his sword into the boy's shield to force the metal disc back against lean chest.

Tiberius fell heavily upon his back, breath knocked from his by impact of earth and shield, as his head snapped harshly against the dirt. While the boy lay confounded by the quick turn of events, Spartacus moved to kick aside shield and sword to leave his apprentice exposed to the blade he placed at the slave's throat.

"Enough," barked a familiar voice to draw end to the sparring. "Sun sets. Seek restoration of food and wine."

To the unknowing the order was to all of the slaves training in the yard, but to Spartacus it was the German calling him off and coming solely to the aid of this boy.

Interesting, he mused as Tiberius glared up at him and furiously knocked aside the hand Spartacus extended to help him up.

Agron's gaze was equally fired with passions as it bored into the Thracian's back. The German made no move to offer assistance to the fallen slave, but Spartacus sensed the want to do so within his fellow Gladiator.

For the first time in their acquaintance Spartacus was given cause to wonder if Agron was familiar with the sentiment of love.

...

While it had been Spartacus's life that the young man's actions saved, Tiberius paid him little attention when the Thracian clasped his shoulder to offer praise for the act. Dark eyes looked past him and Spartacus held no doubt that blue eyes looked back to the Syrian.

"You did well, Tiberius," he said to the young man before releasing him.

"Nasir," the slave declared as Spartacus had turned away. "My brother called me Nasir."

Their eyes met in passing when the Thracian returned his attention to the boy, but that dark gaze simply acknowledged his presence in its path to the intended recipient of the words.

Spartacus felt an unlikely pang of envy at the current of energy that passed from the newly introduced Nasir to Agron and back. It was a powerful thing that grew between the men and they were each so unaware of its import.

The Syrian did not offer a mere name; it was a piece of himself that he had likely stifled in hopes of forgetting in order to survive in the world he had been stolen into.

A name held great power. Given to each by parent to set a child apart from all others with a distinction all their own so that they might fashion an identity for themselves. This was why the Romans' first act upon conquering was to strip name from a slave and force upon them a different title to reinforce the fact that the person had been taken forever from whatever life they had known.

The Thracian was not so far removed from his own bonds of servitude to discredit the magnitude of such a seemingly small gesture on the boy's part.

As he turned from Nasir, he was gladdened to see Agron nod solemn acceptance of the introduction offered. The German, too, knew the depth of trust placed in them with the name.

He would not need to devote any more time or patience to bringing the slave aboard for the journey ahead. It was evident that Agron was all they needed in their favor to bring Nasir to their ranks.

Spartacus set the others to cleaning up the bodies in the yard while he thought fondly of the day when his friend would voice gratitude for the ignored advice to kill this slave.

...

It was madness that stirred within Spartacus's mind, this he had known, but the madness held merit.

Knowledge that all lives had not been lost to the mines, that Crixus yet lived, fed the fire of his thoughts. He had not expected the support of Agron given past decision and Mira's concern was just, but the idea festered.

"What are your thoughts?" Agron asked after resigned sigh.

"These executions serve as message that Rome will smother any flame that burns against its rule. I would send message of our own. One that will ignite the hearts of all yet enslaved."

"A noble sentiment," Mira stated, moving closer. "If we could but see it achieved."

"We can," he declared. "Our presence would never be anticipated for such certain death. It we are careful and precise in attempt we will see the arena burnt to ash and those bloody Romans with it."

From Agron there was no dissent, a blessing of the Gods if ever there was one.

Spartacus outlined the plans which still formed in his thoughts and the German did naught but assist in solidifying course of action. They spent hours of fading night building plot that Donar and Mira soon came to agree upon before the Thracian bade them all to capture what rest they could before dawn broke to begin them on the long day of their mission.

Before Agron took his leave, undoubtedly intent upon returning to Nasir's bedside, Spartacus put hand to his friend's arm to delay the departure.

"Success demands conviction from us all. Crixus is no friend to you," he observed. "Would you see this to its end should that require your life?"

"I would," Agron declared, meeting gaze with steady conviction and clasping Spartacus's arm in return gesture.

"For Crixus?" he probed, needing to know the source of such determination.

"For Naevia. I have done her greatest disservice and cost us much in return," his head bowed briefly before turning toward the chamber where the woman tended to Nasir. "To find one's heart only to have it taken from you is fate worse than death. I have seen both Crixus and Naevia grieve such loss only to have hope restored upon learning that their beloved had not yet crossed to the afterlife. The God's are not so fucked of humor that they would thwart reunion once more."

"You have such faith in our mission?" Spartacus was genuinely surprised for even he held doubts.

"Nasir would. He battles for life from want to see Naevia, a woman he had never known, returned to Crixus. I would see him restored to witness the fucking Gaul finding happiness once more with his woman."

"The boy is of strongest mettle despite his stature," he said, having seen it before any of the others could fathom such depths in the Syrian. "He will not pass from this life having made it this far past the time of his injury."

The men exchanged nods at the words as Spartacus finally gave his friend leave to return to the man under discussion. Agron stepped toward the inside of the temple and the Thracian turned to survey his followers, new and old, as they made sacrifice of comfort to find sleep upon hard, unforgiving earth.

His thoughts of all that these people did for want of freedom were interrupted by the sudden clamp of familiar hand to his shoulder.

"Gratitude," Agron said in quiet tone before Spartacus turned at the touch.

"Thank me when he is restored to your side."

Spartacus smiled and thought himself proven wrong as the German hurried then to Nasir's bedside.

If the freed slave could move Agron to any kind of want to save Crixus's life then Nasir was more than fine addition to their cause.

He was a fucking miracle.