Chapter Text
Stiles felt numb as he led Derek through the hallways. It wasn’t until the pillars swooped in and out of focus that he realized he had stopped breathing. His sight narrowed to tunnel vision on his floor below his feet as his chest grew tighter.
“Stiles!” His chin jerked up, only now realizing Derek was crouched in front of him.
“Stiles, breathe. Look at me! Breathe.” Derek’s hand smacked his cheek, the shock had air pooling once more in his lungs. Derek gripped his shoulders, grounding him, making him focus.
“You must be strong, just until we reach the city’s gates. Find a cloak, something warm. Dress in as many layers as you can.”
Stiles didn’t understand, it was the height of summer, but he didn’t have the frame of mind to disobey.
Scott was in his room hurriedly stuffing anything and everything he could find into a leather satchel
“Scott, pack these as well,” he said quietly, handing over scrolls of parchment from the lessons Master Tenallus had never finished. His mother used to say a warrior’s greatest weapon was his mind, and that’s why his father was such a great warrior. Derek said he must always have three moves planned in his head before making his first. The history lessons, battle strategy, such knowledge would keep his mind sharp. His mother wouldn’t want him to stop his studies.
Scott took them without question, as Stiles undressed, donning several tunics, and two togas, despite the dry heat. Molly came in, similarly dressed, taking the bag from Scott.
“Scotaidh, put on your warmest layers. Put on all the silks in Ascendaeus’ trunk. Go on, get. Aye, Ascendaeus, put on all your silk, too.” The boys moved fast, fear coloring their movements. From the balcony, shouts could be heard, along with the unison thud of soldiers’ feet approaching. Stiles refastened his belt, sword hanging heavy at his side.
Derek appeared in the doorway, a bulky bag over his shoulder. “There’s no more time. We must go.”
They moved as fast as they could, each carrying a bag over their shoulder. Keeping to the alleyways, they made their way through the city, hearing the cries of alarms, soldiers moving in packs to and from the city gates. Derek led the way, weaving them in and out of guilds and open markets, alleys and back routes. The two boys took the middle while Molly brought up the end.
Stiles was confused, his family was wealthy, important, but it seemed like the city was gearing for attacking. It wasn’t until they reached the city wall that he understood.
“—Assault on the senator. She tried to murder him!”
“It was treason they said, she was supposed to be sentenced to death.”
“The boy went mad, attacked the senator and then murdered his own mother!”
Tears welled in his eyes, and he stumbled over his own feet. Molly, behind him, ran her hand over his head, shushing him.
“Dinna listen, m’boyo. They don’ know a thing, Ascendaeus.”
He nodded, crying helplessly. They thought he was a murderer. They thought he murdered his own mother. He shook his head, gasping for breath.
“They think—my mother, she—she’s…”
The breath whooshed out of his lungs as Derek heaped him over his shoulder.
“There is not time.”
Stiles slumped, sobs escaping every couple seconds, muffled by Derek’s tunic. Scott ducked his head under Molly’s arm, wiping his own tears on the folds of her stola.
The rest of the journey through the city passed in a blur. They didn’t go through the city gates, but rather a hole that led to the surrounding fields. Derek set Stiles down a mile outside the walls, once they had made it into the outlying forests.
He hadn’t stopped crying, it was just soundless now. Barely an hour had passed since he had found his mother. Everything was numb, senseless. He walked blindly, tripping and righted by hands on his shoulder, handed a hard honey loaf by Derek. He didn’t realize it was the one he had meant for his mother until the bread got stuck in his throat.
They walked all day, sticking to the wooded areas, avoiding roads at all costs. Stiles was sweaty and exhausted, too numb to register. He felt like he could walk to the heavens if only no one stopped him. He wished no one would stop him.
Every now and then they heard horses and voices calling, and moved in the opposite direction. There was no rhyme or reason to their path, other than cover as much ground as possible. The terrain was relatively flat, would remain so until they moved further inland or north and hit the Apennines, so they could cover ground quickly.
No one spoke, though Molly occasionally chided Scott as he whispered to her. They crossed open fields as quickly as they could, as to not be spotted from riders along the road. There was no way to determine who was looking for them, or how long the chase would be, if there even was a chase. There was no way to be certain, and they couldn’t risk it, so they kept moving.
It was evening, around twelfth hour when they finally stopped. Sun would set for a while, another three or four hours, but they had covered much ground already.
“We stop here,” Derek said simply.
The woman got the boys set up for sleep, clearing away the rocks and sticks and arranging their extra clothing as blankets. The night wasn’t too chilly, and they curled up together instantly anyways.
Derek nodded to the woman and leaned his back against a tree. He meant to keep watch while she slept, but the woman merely took up a position similar to his own opposite him.
“I ne’er got your name, lad,” she spoke quietly, but there was an edge to her voice. She didn’t trust him to watch her son’s back in the night.
“Theodericus. The boy calls me Derek.”
She nodded. “Your bag be filled with their gold an’ silver.” The statement was bald, no inflection, no accusation, but the mistrust was clear.
“We’ll need horses if we are to move quickly. It would be of no use to us back in Rome.” They both held each other’s gaze, neither backing down.
“Ascendaeus wears a sword. That be your doin’.”
He nodded, just barely. “He asked me to teach him, he wanted to learn to protect his mother.” The woman’s eyes dipped at that, but not before he caught the blur of water gathering.
“I am Malamhìn. Scotaidh’s mother. Aemilia’s most loyal servant. I dinna know why you helped us, but I am most grateful. M’lady sold her soul to keep her lad safe, I’ll be doin’ the same. You’re nae to harm a hair on Ascendaeus’ shorn head, or I’ll be guttin’ you meself.”
Derek stared her down before nodding minutely. “He is the son of Marcus Domitius, is he not?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll find his father. If he is not dead, perhaps he can clear his family’s name.”
“But m’lady hasn’t heard word of him in months! At last word, he was leagues away, north amongst the peregrinus. ‘Tis the journey of years, Derek.”
His name sounded funny on her odd curled tongue. “Aye, but we have little choice. Your people are too far away, no?”
“Scotaidh is my only people. There is no one left.”
He nodded. “My people are also to the north. If we cannot find Marcus Domitius, we will seek refuge there.”
They stayed silent for awhile, each contemplating the other. After a few minutes, Malamhìn broke the silence.
“I made certain they were each garbed in silk ‘fore we left. I reckoned it could gain us some coin along the way.”
Derek nodded once more. Smart.
“I’m also fairly well versed in plants an’ herbs. I can ‘elp forage us food if need be.”
The woman, Malamhìn, she was intelligent, fiercely protective. A mother bear. She would prove a valuable ally, especially since Derek had no idea how to deal with two nine-year-old boys. His only goal right now was to evade the soldiers long enough that they could make it to a town where Ascendaeus’ name wasn’t on their lips. If they travelled for three or four more days, going at a steady pace, they’d reach the mountains, or at the very least the foothills, and should be relatively safe. A fortnight, and he’d be more comfortable. If he could find them horses, it’d be much more manageable.
Both adults sat with their backs against the trees, cold and uncomfortable, the lack of fire throwing everything into chilly relief.
“Get up.”
A hand covered his mouth, and Stiles shot awake, scrambling to pull the hand away. Blind panic covered his eyes and he dragged in air when the hand pulled away.
“‘Tis me, ‘tis Derek. We need to move,” Derek whispered from above Stiles. It was still pitch black out, the embers of their fire long dark. The murmured words sounded even more intense coming off his strange tongue. “Pack quickly. Wake Scott.”
Derek moved away to wake up Molly, as Stiles shook Scott awake. They gathered their things up swiftly and quietly, though Stiles supposed there wasn’t that much to gather. His dagger was sheathed in his belt, next to his sword. He threw Scott’s bow to him, even though his friend wasn’t quite a sure shot yet. He wasn’t sure what was coming, but the last time he’d seen the look on Derek’s face was when they were leaving the city.
“Derek? Why are we moving now?” Scott asked, voicing the words Stiles couldn’t get passed his lips.
“Soldiers. Headed this way. We must move. Now.”
They moved as quickly as possible, Derek cursing the fact that he had yet to find them mounts. If he had, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Suddenly he threw an arm out, halting them in their steps.
Stiles could hear them, too. Foot soldiers headed their way. He met Derek’s eyes, and hoped the man couldn’t see the fear in his own. Their footsteps echoed in his ears, the same as they had the day his mother died, and they had come to arrest him.
“Can you climb?” Derek asked them all. “We’ll hide in the trees. We have a good chance of slipping by them.”
Their chances were good, although if the soldiers had ever been stationed north, where his people were, they wouldn’t blink an eye before burning down the forest. He said nothing of that to the rest though. The soldiers would be inexperienced. He hoped.
“The farmer said they had a peregrinus with them. He saw them pass this way after cutting through his crop.”
There were five soldiers spread out across 200 yards below them, making no efforts to be quiet. Another 20 were farther away, scattered throughout the woods. Stiles could hear their shouts cutting through the quiet. His heart was likely to punch out of his chest, and he prayed to the gods that the soldiers wouldn’t be able to hear it.
Molly and Scott watched through the branches on the opposite side of the tree, holding their breath as the men drew nearer.
Derek wound an arm around Stiles chest, pulling him back further into the foliage. Stiles bit his lip and tried to keep himself from slipping, or the branch from cracking, or the soldiers for just peaking upwards just a little bit… He squeezed his eyes shut.
“They’re leaving,” Derek breathed into his ear, barely even audible.
They stayed in the trees for another hour, before Derek gave them the all clear. Molly gave Derek a short nod. He understood. Perhaps they couldn’t quite trust one another, but for now they were all each other had to protect these boys.
They spent the rest of the night and the next day walking. They didn’t stop in a single town.
Stiles woke to the sound of hooves approaching. In a shot, he was off his feet, floundering for the sword he had hugged tight in his sleep. His balance was off, and he nearly dropped it in his haste, but it was simply Derek that rode through the trees, a gelding below him and another following by the leads.
The fear and adrenaline coursing through his blood refused to let him lower his weapon. He couldn’t register that Derek wasn’t a threat until Molly gently reached over his shoulder, lowering the sword for him. She rubbed his shoulder and shared a look with Derek before going to wake up Scott.
“Here.” Derek tossed Stiles a loaf of bread and a wineskin with watered-down wine inside. Stiles caught them by reflex, looking at the loaf with disinterest. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything.
His sleep had been turbulent, filled with sprays of red, hoarse grunts at midnight, his mother’s muffled cries as she limped back to their villa.
He kneeled at the foot of a tree nearby and poured out a few drops of wine to the gods. Keep me strong, keep her safe. Tell her I love her. He muttered the prayer under his breath, and ate the bread without tasting it. When he looked up, Derek was watching him.
They paired up, Scotaidh riding with Malamhìn, Stiles with Derek. Molly laughed when Derek had question her ability to ride astride a horse.
“Ach, lad, I could ride ‘fore I could run. Me wee feet could nae carry me fast ‘nough for me likin’. Ooh, I was a terror, I was.” Scotaidh smiled back as his mother, trying to picture it, the homeland she always spoke of, a majestic green like you couldn’t imagine. Cliffs carved right out of the sky. She spoke for hours, telling stories of her childhood, stories of her gods, the fae folk, her soothing accent pleasing to Derek’s ear.
Scott drifted off a half hour into the voyage, but Stiles sat rigid on the horse, never relaxing though the ride must’ve been painful that way. His stoicism didn’t surprise Derek at all, it saddened him though. He had hoped never to see the hardness in Stiles’ eyes crystallize into cynicism. He was too young. The fates had been merciless.
"I dinna' ken why Ascendaeus thought this was so much fun," Scott muttered, though Derek could hear every word. "Me arms canna' even bear the sword, an' what do ye keep hittin' me for?"
Derek sighed. "If you want to stop, we stop." Though the boy had been the one to ask in the first place.
"I didna' figure it would hurt so much."
Malamhìn laughed as she entered the clearing they had claimed for the night, arms laden with wild herbs and mushroom, even a few olives and a vine of grapes. "Scotaidh, we wouldn't' call soldiers brave if t'were an easy trade."
Night had fallen on their fourth day of travel, and though it was rough on them all, Scott had already succumbed to boredom. The terror of the first few nights had worn off for the small boy, especially with Ascendaeus' continuing silence.
The night before, Molly had led him to a stream to wash him of his mother's blood, and despite the tears trailing down his cheeks, the boy stayed mute, and had been since they left the city gates. They were all concerned.
As Molly set to stoking a small fire before the sun set, Scott slumping tiredly beside her, Derek moved to sit near Ascendaeus.
"It would be good practice for you to teach him, you know," Derek said gruffly. The boy gave no response, nor any indication he had heard Derek's words. But Derek could remember the pain of loss clearly. Subconsciously, he rubbed the 'S' branded onto his bicep. It wasn't a pain that faded with time. You simply grew around it. The boy would grow in his time.
He passed a few olives to Stiles, who silently accepted them. At least he was eating now.
The days passed and they developed a pattern. When they neared mansiones, the rest stops along the roads for travellers, Molly would wait in the forest away from the road with the boys as Derek ventured in, to get them supplies, food and the like.
What Derek didn’t share was the wanted posters hanging on the doors, with a crude picture of Ascendaeus and a reward posted by a senator Marcus Gaius Gerardas Argentum. He had been hoping that they wouldn’t be pursued this far from Rome, but that had been before he knew it was Argentum on their trail. They’d need to get the Apennines, quickly. They could find shelter in the mountains.
He took what he could from the mansio, recalling they hadn’t grabbed enough wineskins for the difficult travel, and that they hadn’t had a meal of meat in the four days they had been travelling. He bartered for some jerky, enough to tide them over until he could craft a bow and hunt for them.
“Wha’s tha’?” Scott asked, leaning over Derek’s shoulder as he whittled down a pliable,but strong yew branch into the shaft for his bow.
“‘Tis a bow.”
“Like for arrows? To shoot things?”
“For hunting.”
Derek continued whittling away the rough bark of the yew branch, not looking up, but he noticed Ascendaeus’ interest. “I thought I might hunt for us some meat. It seems we will be travelling for some time.”
Added to the need for meat for the young boys, the farther they got from the city, the greater the chance of them crossing wolves or bears. Bandits. They needed to be prepared to defend themselves.
“Could ye teach us? Me and Ascendaeus? We willna be a bother, promise!”
“Do not call me that name, Scott. I am Stiles, now.”
Derek nodded, as Scott’s eyes widened. Stiles had yet to speak since they left the city walls. “I can teach you to hunt,” he said, meeting Stiles’ gaze. “We will start with making your bows.”
Stiles watched the set of Derek’s shoulders as he aimed his bow, he counted the in and out Derek’s breath, analyzed the pull of his muscles, committed it all to memory. He would be an amazing archer. He’d be a better warrior, a soldier. He’d protect Scott and Molly.
His first arrow missed it’s mark, but the second landed inside the bullseye derek had carved into the tree.
He’d avenge his mother.
“Now ye loop the string through that hole, an’ then-No Scotaidh! Dinna touch it, laddie, it’ll cut your fingers off!” The boys, were squatted around Molly as she laid a rabbit trap. “We’ll check it in th’ morn, afore we head on. Mayhaps we’ll be havin’ rabbit t’ break our fast.”
Derek watched them come back from where they laid their traps. They would reach the foothills tomorrow, but he was afraid they had more pressing concerns.
“We’ll need to travel swiftly tomorrow. We’ll ride the horses as far as we can. These lands are laden with bandits.” The smiles slid off Molly and Scott’s faces. Stiles’ hand went to his sword.
“Maybe we should train,” Stiles suggested quietly.
Derek watched his face for a second before nodding. “Take your stance, then.”
Before the foothills, the country spread out in a vast plateau. The forest began to thin, though it would still provide enough coverage for an ambush. They could try to cut through farmers’ fields, but the chance of being seen was too risky for them to be comfortable. The best idea would just be to ride fast and hard through the wooded areas, and hope the gods would be kind.
The sixth hour was upon them, and so far the woods had remained quiet.
“Do ye think, mayhaps it might be time to rest? Just for a wee bit, for the lads?” Molly asked quietly. Scott looked hopeful, but Stiles remained stiff in his saddle.
“We should travel on, another hour or so. Then maybe we could stop.” The forest was too quiet here, he couldn’t hear the chirp of birds or the call of the beetle. It made him nervous. He’d rather clear the area sooner than later.
Suddenly, the horse bucked beneath him and Stiles, throwing them to the ground. Derek caught sight of an arrow lodged in the horse’s flank, and swore.
“Bandits, Molly! Ride!”
She spurred the horse into a gallop, but men were already coming out of the trees, cutting them off.
“Stiles, your sword! Take up your stance!” Derek sprang into action, taking on two of the bandits, at once, cleaning slicing through one’s gut. He squared off with the other, trying to keep his focus divided between the bandit in front of him, and Stiles and the others.
The bandits were no match for him, but they could easily get the upper hand against Stiles, and especially Scott.
He stabbed his blade through the mans chest, with barely even a nick on him, and scanned the clearing. His heart pounded in his ears, but he remained calm. This was in his blood. He was a warrior like his people. Lupus de Nocte.
Molly had urged Scott up a tree, where he was safer, and in a better position to pick off men with his bow. Good.
Molly had a dagger in hand, and was much swifter than he would have given her credit for, but still was no match for the three men against her. Derek took down two, and started in on the third, before he heard Stiles cry out.
Stiles had never felt pain like he did now, after the bandit had landed a blow on his side. It bloomed red from below his ribs. He had already taken down one man with a quick jab, but the second had come on him from behind.
He parried another swing, but the pain made it much more difficult to raise his arm. The sword was growing heavy, even with all his practice. He stumbled back as the man approached again, cornering him against a tree.
“Stiles, drop and roll!” He obeyed instantly, somersaulting out of the way, as the bandit swung around to face Derek.
Molly raced over to him, and Stiles finally realized that they were down to the last man.
“My side. He got me in the side,” Stiles muttered breathlessly. He could hear swords clanging in the background, but he had no fear. Derek would win.
Overcome by nausea, he leaned over and puked. “I’m sorry. I tried to fight, I’m sorry.”
Molly tsked and wiped his brow. “Hush laddie, ye did just fine, now. I’m gonna fix ye right up, don’ ye even blink an eye, all right? Scotaidh, I need ye to fetch me satchel. Hurry up now, boyo. ‘Tisn’t the time for lollygagging. Derek, are you all right? Good. Get me some water. Now!”
Stiles could barely focus on Molly’s face above him, the pain was so overwhelming. Everything looked red, and then gray.
“I’ll do better. I’ll be better,” he said, his hand slipping off Molly’s arm.
Then everything was black.