The first day Esca was a slave to Marcus, the Roman entered his room at night to find the young Briton naked in his bed with a deep scowl on his face. He gave Marcus a look that could have cut a hole through stone- Marcus had physically staggered from the blow of it. He would have fallen had he not still been walking with a stick, but he recovered and howled, more in surprise than anger,

"What by the Gods do you think you're doing?"

"I am your body slave," Esca had folded his arms across his chest, stubbornly, protectively. "I am yours to do with as you wish."

"This is not what I want," Marcus had replied, his voice hard. He felt betrayed that the young Briton thought this of him. He waved his stick. "Out."

A flicker of surprise crossed Esca's features, almost too quickly to catch, but Marcus saw it in his eyes. Esca had been familiar with other Romans, ones who hadn't been as kind to him as Marcus intended. Then it was like a curtain had come down inside, and his face was as stony and unreadable as before. He flounced from the bed in a fine rage, and Marcus noticed that had he intended on using his slave in the manner Esca believed he would, that Esca would not have been a willing participant.

Marcus did not sleep that night or hardly at all for the next week. Every time he felt himself slipping he'd only have to roll over to see Esca's mattress across his door, and the skinny Briton lying on it with his back always to Marcus. He could feel the waves of fury and hate roll off him even at this distance, and Marcus himself couldn't help but wonder what had happened before, and be angry on his slave's behalf at the way he'd been treated.

OOO

It was a long time before Esca held any semblance of what could be called trust of Marcus. He no longer appeared naked in his bed at night, as he'd often done in the first few weeks, as if he expected Marcus to change his mind. Marcus never did, always sending him away, though more kindly than he had that first time, when he'd been surprised. Esca never showed any desire to discuss it and so Marcus didn't push; it was not his place to pry into the affairs of slaves.

Hunting together had helped the healing process of their relationship, and there were often times when Marcus forgot that Esca was his slave at all, though the Briton could never quite let this leave his conscious mind. When the hunting was good they acted almost as friends, but when Uncle Aquila's villa once again came into view they reverted back to their previous roles.

Esca no longer thought he could be surprised by anything a Roman did, but Marcus managed to surprise him, the day he begged Uncle Aquila to let him take Esca beyond the wall. Aquila had warned Marcus of all the things that could have been in Esca's head to do to be free of his master, but the Roman had not cared.

"If I'm wrong, then I'll die, and that's the way it should be." He had said simply.

Yes, Esca had been very surprised at that, hearing that the Roman trusted him, and it had put a grudging respect in Esca's heart for Marcus. He might hate Rome and everything it stood for, but this Roman had already shown he was different from the others Esca had been familiar with. It was enough that Esca would not slit his throat the moment they were alone, but he'd certainly be keeping his dagger close lest Marcus turn into a less honourable man beyond the wall.

OOO

The wild territories were different. Different to the villages and villas of the Romans, and different even to the forests the pair were used to hunting in. Up here, the lands were wild and dangerous, and the rules were different. Eventually even Esca had to admit that there was no master and slave this far north, simply two men travelling almost as equals, and if anything Esca had the upper hand, as the Briton.

Esca did feel the familiar creeping of dread, however, and something else as well, perhaps disappointment, the night Marcus had said, "come here," when they were preparing for sleep. At that moment, it was in his heart that Marcus really wasn't any different to the rest of the Romans, and he had spat on the ground to rid a vile taste from his mouth even as his thoughts flew to the dagger hidden in his shirt. It had tasted like betrayal.

Marcus' intentions were far more innocent, and Esca was thrown for a minute as he saw the Roman adding layers instead of undressing himself, and throwing a few more logs onto the fire. As much as every fibre of his body thrummed with anger, his dread so strong it could be seen in the small hairs standing up on his arms, Esca could not disobey an order. It was an instinct that had been drummed into him long before he'd become a slave familiar with Rome, something he'd learned from his father and brother whose blue war shields he had borne.

Resigning himself, Esca lay down by the fire with his arms crossed, wearing his familiar scowl. He would grit his teeth and bear what he had to, but he would show he was an unwilling participant. Which is why his surprise grew exponentially, and his close-knitted eyebrows softened and raised into his hairline, when Marcus lay down next to him and threw a blanket over them both, tucking in the ends around Esca's body and feet to ward off the chill.

"We do not want to freeze," Marcus murmured. He seemed concerned about the hairs standing up on Esca's skin and rubbed his arms in a comforting, almost brotherly way. Tucked in, he closed his eyes and it seemed, was almost immediately asleep, quite comfortable sharing his heat with Esca. The Briton did not fall asleep quite so quickly, his anxiety keeping him on edge until he was reassured that Marcus really did mean for them to sleep, and forced himself to relax. Bemused, he stared at the snoring Marcus and felt a creep of shame that he'd leapt to awful conclusions. Overwhelmed with gratitude and a new-found respect for Marcus, he snuggled up closer and found himself tucking in the ends of the blanket around his master so he did not catch a chill either.

Esca seemed happier the next morning and for many more mornings after that, and Marcus was glad. At last, it seemed his slave had started to trust him properly, and in the cold nights Esca lay next to him without being asked. Once or twice Marcus awoke to find Esca's arms around him and the young Briton's face buried in his chest, as if he'd had a nightmare of some sort and clung to the nearest comforting presence. Esca sometimes seemed embarrassed about this, until Marcus reassured him that he had no need to be.

OOO

One night it seemed Esca was in a trusting mood, as he became far more talkative. They lay, as they often did, next to the fire wrapped in the same blanket, and Marcus' arms were around the skinny Briton to ward off the chill he'd felt rattle his bones. Esca balled up his fists into Marcus' chest, and in a strangled voice, told him, "you're the only Roman I trust."

Marcus murmured an encouraging noise of assent but did not say anything. He felt sure he was about to find out from Esca's mouth what had happened to him before the arena, before Marcus, and he didn't want to ruin it with his own thoughts.

"I've been used." Esca growled through gritted teeth, his anger evident in every tremble of his body. "Treated little better than a dog by your Roman brothers." Marcus heard him practicing slow breathing in and out, and even though he had his arms around the Briton, he could swear Esca's balled fists were pushing him away.

"And when you met me?" Marcus asked, keeping his own voice casual and even, neglecting to mention or even imply ownership.

"I am the centurion's hound, to lie at the centurion's feet," Esca replied, by way of explanation, and Marcus thought he understood, though of course he could never truly understand what it was to be used in the was Esca had been used.

"Is that why you were in my bed?" Marcus was still keeping his voice level.

"If you had wanted me, I could not have said no." Esca told him angrily. "You would not have been the first Roman to do this." He did push Marcus away this time, breaking through his arms easily and rolling onto his other side, back to Marcus.

"I am an honourable man," Marcus replied, his voice starting to shake with what, anger at Esca's treatment, annoyance that he'd assumed all Romans were the same or simply sympathy for his plight, he did not know. "I would never. I could never..." he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Force me?" Esca supplied. "Take me, like all you Romans take and take, and never give back?"

"Have I ever forced you, Esca?"

"No, but..."

"No. I haven't. You must know enough of me by now to know I could never do that to you. You are my friend."

They were silent for a long time, Esca good and mad at Rome, present company excluded, and Marcus hurt and upset. He had suspected, of course he had, perhaps even from the very first time he'd found the slave in his bed, but hearing the words spew forth from his friend's mouth made it very much more real.

Marcus was tired, and he suspected Esca was too. He decided to risk an arm over Esca's side, knowing full well that his friend was angry enough to be able to disregard their statuses to throw it off if he so chose. Esca felt the creep of his hand and considered precisely such a thing, but the warm arm was comforting, saying everything that the words stuck in Marcus' throat couldn't, so Esca allowed himself to be pulled back against Marcus' strong body, a barrier against the cold, and despite himself he began to relax. The hand absent-mindedly wandered across his chest, a gentle and reassuring stroke that was absolutely tender and not at all the hand of a master on his slave that made Esca's eyelids heavy.

"I promise as long as I live, no-one will hurt you again," Marcus mumbled as they drifted off, and for a minute Esca was able to forget he was a slave, forget he had been used and just live in the now, amongst the warm, loving embrace of the only person in the world Esca trusted.