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Everything hurt. Marcus lay his head back on the coarse fabric of their makeshift stretcher, clutching the bronze eagle to his chest. The adrenaline of the final triumphant battle with the Seal People was long gone but he couldn’t make his hands unclench from the steady weight against his sternum. It was soothing. Distantly, he could hear his father’s men idly chatter as, with the death of the Seal Prince, there was little chance of another attack. He breathed through the pain, trying to eavesdrop, but the words slid off the pain-fog like runnels on glass. He wasn’t even entirely certain they were speaking Latin. His fingers aimlessly trailed the smooth lines of feathers, tracing down the curve of the chest. The cool metal felt good against his overheated skin. His fever, forced into abeyance for a short duration by battle-lust, was back in full force and insinuating itself in every extremity.
Esca’s fingers on his shoulder burned like a brand even through the dull, throbbing heat, and he never wanted it to leave. If Esca left scald-marks on Marcus’ flesh, it would only be what he deserved. He opened his mouth to say so, all the immoderate words he’d held back, but his tongue was thick in his mouth. He forced his eyes open. The yellow afternoon light pierced his brain like golden nails. Esca was turned towards him, half-silhouetted, deep wrinkles creasing his brow. Marcus tried to let go of the eagle, to reach out for Esca and tell him this was fine. he’d survived before, he could survive this too. But pain and exhaustion were woven into his marrow, and unconsciousness dragged him back into the drowning dark.
Esca was impressed with how easily the legionnaires took to moving in formation. He’d begged Guern for help, only half-expecting the former legionnaire to lend him a horse-- anything, really. The small force that bore Marcus from that bloody glen was much more than what Esca had expected, much less asked for. And in the end Marcus was alive, if barely, and his useless damn eagle was safe too.
He rubbed his thumb against Marcus’ shoulder. They would soon be at Guern’s village, where the man’s red-faced and startlingly cheerful wife, Mòr, would be waiting with food and bandages. When they got there, Esca would have to let go of Marcus. Probably. Maybe he could stay. He should stay. What if the Seal People had people married into Guern’s tribe and they took revenge on Marcus when Esca was off stuffing his idiot face? He stared down at his friend, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Marcus’ lips were pressed into a pale line from the pain and his hands shifted minutely along the torso of the eagle, stroking it with his fingertips. His eyelids fluttered and then closed again.
Letting his hands drift, Esca brushed a lock of sweat-and-river-water-soaked hair behind Marcus' ear. He glanced up at the men around him, but they were talking to each other, clearly giving the small man a bubble of privacy. He caught Guern's eye and flushed from the knowing glint. He dropped his head, forcing himself to focus on the walk and on Marcus’s slow breathing.
When they arrived, the men dispersed, off to return to their Briton wives and children, adding another story to whatever stockpile of family legends they’d leave behind as a reminder of Roman attempts at controlling this land. Guern and his wife took the stretcher with Marcus, and Esca followed silently, close enough to touch, always.
“At least the weather was nice,” Mòr said, a crooked smile on her lined face. It reminded him of his mother, and suddenly Esca’s eyes welled with tears, his throat tightening in secret grief. He stumbled, hand lifting from Marcus for the frst time in hours and he was bereft. He choked, blinking hard to fight the pressure in his throat and behind his eyes. “Good day to win a fight,” she said. Esca staggered after her, feeling every day of the past, awful year running to catch up with him.
Despite his fatigue, Esca helped Guern and Mòr shift Marcus into their bed, a wooden slab layered with pads of down, fur and sweet-smelling lus chneas Chu-Culainn. It was more difficult to move him than it might have been, since Marcus still had a death-grip on the eagle, but finally they got him settled. Marcus shivered, tilting his head into the soft mat, and Esca watched as by fractions he began to relax.
Guern clapped Esca on the shoulder, making him jump. He smiled wryly, patting the smaller man again-- more gently this time. “I’m going to fetch the druid-- he’s a healer, a good man, don’t worry,” Guern held up his hands at the way Esca tensed. “He doesn’t care about Romans or Britons. He’ll just want to make sure Marcus is patched up properly.” After a moment, Esca nodded. It’s not as though he had any sort of healing knowledge, and the druid would learn anyway. Word spread fast in villages like this.
“There’s naught for you to fear here,” Mòr said after Guern left. “The both of you, you could stay.” She tidied up a table, pushing the water jug and washing bowl into a conspicuous pride of place. “Going back down south,” she clucked her tongue, “I can’t say I approve of that. These Romans, they hold onto their honor like it will feed them. But you can’t fill your belly on honor alone, you understand?” Esca didn’t, but he nodded anyway, taking the hint to splash water on his face and scrub away the worst of the day’s grime. The woman sighed and placed a washing cloth in his hands. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself while you’re taking care of him.”
That Esca understood, and he huffed a tired laugh. “Yes, aunt,” he said, earning himself another crooked grin.
“Good boy.”
Esca dampened the washing cloth and stepped over the bed, watching Marcus. Behind him, Mòr finished what she was doing and left him to solitude. Slowly, Esca drew the cloth over Marcus’s face, carefully rubbing away streaks of dried mud and gore. Marcus left out a soft sound, and Esca froze, wondering if he’d woken the man. It shouldn’t be embarassing to care for Marcus. He’d seen Marcus at his worst that first day with the surgeon. He’d seen Marcus feverish, beaten, humiliated. Esca had washed Marcus hundreds of times as his slave. But like this, a free man and equal? The scion of Brigantes, slaughtered like animals for Rome’s pleasure? He swallowed hard, scrubbing at a sticky streak until Marcus moaned and twitched his face away.
Esca sobbed softly. He sat, back against the bed, and let himself fill with grief, the last remnants of his terror like stomach acid in the back of his throat as the rest of him felt floating with sorrow. He let the emotions wash over him, face wet with tears. He had no idea how long he sat there, letting each thought be a mini-breaker of agony that washed over him, letting it be like the tide. His family was gone. his home was gone. He had betrayed other Britons as Brigantes had been betrayed, had caused the death of an innocent. And as the tide ebbed out, he could clutch at other things-- Marcus was alive, would be elated to know they’d protected his stupid eagle. He’d sacrificed, they both had, as had so many other people.
But it was over for now. They could stay here as long as Guern and Mòr allowed, which sounded like a while. At least enough to get Marcus healthy enough to travel back to Eboracum and throw the bronze monstrosity in those senators’ faces. Maybe they would return after. Join the village as farmers and shephards.
Esca stood unsteadily and dampened the cloth again to wash the tear streaks from his face. He returned to the bed, this time sitting on the edge, and let his fingers trail the line of Marcus’ cheek. Impulsively, Esca leaned in and brushed their lips together. It wasn’t a kiss exactly, but the brush of chapped lips to Marcus’ damp, plush ones did something to Esca, sending a shock like the vibrations of a bell through his body. It felt good, and Esca was so tired.
He poked Marcus a little bit, until the man had shifted his broad shoulders enough for Esca to mold himself into the space left, and curled himself into the fragrant mattress too.
Everything could wait for a little while longer. Mòr did tell him to take care of himself, after all.
Despite the ache in every part of his body, Marcus felt alright as consciousness dawned on him once more. He didn’t want to move-- was honestly not sure he could-- and that was fine. Blinking his eyes open, Marcus realized the soft weight against him wasn’t, as he’d expected, the eagle standard set to one side. It was Esca, back pressed to Marcus’ side, breathing slow and steady. (The standard had been moved to the table, visible from the bed.)
Marcus swallowed hard. He could hardly believe he was alive. And Esca-- he hadn’t lost Esca. He let his head drop back on the pillow. Soon they would have to talk. Make decisions about their future and their... their relationship. But until then, Marcus decided, he would let himself just enjoy Esca’s proximity. He slid back into the arms of sleep, feeling warmth and comfort.