A/N: I wish we could have had more time with Duro, he almost resembled Agron's inner child and how it died when Duro did; forcing Agron to become an eternal adult.

Disclaimer: I do not own Spartacus

Summary: Agron is paid a visit from his deceased brother in the late hours. (mostly ramblings, apologies).

Drinks by FlyingNymphLady

The walls formed shadowed figures, their bricks molding into familiar faces. Agron greeted each of them with the swig of his flagon, offering a swill to each as they appeared before him. The night was late and seemed to find Agron managing to drink himself into a stupor, seeing faces of those long lost in battle as well as those slain unjustly in voice of Spartacus's cause. Among these ghostly appearances was the face of his brother, Duro, slain in the salvation of Agron's own life. The living brother smiled, pain streaking his face to see the imaginative creation of his mind's eye.

Agron greeted him as only a brother could; grasping Duro close with fingers clamped firmly into his short dreads. When Agron finally found the heart he released him, his brother sliding down next to him against the wall, drinking his fill of the potent wine- or so it seemed.

Duro nodded his head toward the more populated portion of the feast and pointed out the newer faces among the rebellion, those joined after his passing. The brothers shared playful jests in their native tongue, expressing the newer rebel's amusing short-comings. Gauls who lacked experience in weaponry were the butt of a large portion of the jokes of course.

Duro had always been the entertainer of their family, giving the gift of laughter to any who would offer ear, Agron thought to himself. This memory brought another bout of sadness to the creaking rafters of Agron's heart but Duro, seeing the smile slip from his brother's face, shoved him playfully as though to knock away the unbecoming thoughts. Off balanced Agron fell on his side, the remaining wine falling from the cup's hollow. He chuckled to himself, joining Duro's boisterous laughter with his own. Nothing felt quite so good as the shared joy of his brethren's voice, still freshly parted from his life by unfortunately circumstances.

Over the course of the moon's rise and inevitable fall the two Germans reminded each other of the past life they'd shared. A life that had been filled with meeker, more cheerful plans for the future than the one they now occupied. Agron's love for fighting had always lived within him but before the fall of their home he had never thought it his life's path. No, he and Duro had occupied their youthful days with the notion of becoming traveling merchants, selling famous wares (and shameful to admit now, slaves as well). Instead their city had been laid to waste before they had yet to make such dreams tangible.

At the first break of the city's defenses Duro and Agron split the path from their planned destinies to salvage what would remain of their family outside their home. Each brother had darted away into the frenzy to find sisters and parents who resided in different buildings. When the two met once again both held Roman steel in their fists, Duro badly wounded in his left shoulder.

The brothers were apprehended shortly after seeing their mother and sisters to the back of the city gates, returning to defend those still fleeing the Romans cruel hands. Agron attempted to turn Duro to the safety of their sister's flight but he would have none of it, choosing to defend alongside his brother. It was a decision that had brought them to the arena and to their fates...

Taking a final swig for the road Duro rose just as the sun was rising outside the settlement's wall. He ruffled Agron's hair the way his brother had once done to his own hair when they were younger. With a soft gust of wind Duro's form dispeared, leaving only the wall's surface. Agron smiled to himself, laying his head against the cool stone. His brother may be gone yet he still comforted Agron in this most uncertain life. It would seem some drinks were still worth sharing.

- End –

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