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Chapter Text

The heaviness of his eyelids is alarming, and the fatigue eats at his bones, but the encampment is still a while off. Alexios knows that he will make it, even if by nothing but sheer determination. He will not allow his body to keep him from going onward; it has been a long journey, and he is excited to be close to home. Home, as he now knows, is wherever Brasidas lies his head at night. Home is where he can unclasp his cuirass without second guessing himself. He will make it home.

He is eager for what lies ahead. It will be nice to have a night in a bedroll. Perhaps he will be able to persuade Brasidas to let him share his tent. Alexios hums to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. There is a sudden wave of warmth that crawls across his skin, but Alexios pays it no mind. No, it would not be hard to talk Brasidas into letting him lie beside him, the rest of the camp to remain none the wiser. Tonight, he knows, he will be beholden to a bowl of rations same as any Spartan. He may not ever feel entirely like he belongs with the others, but it is nice to feel a sense of camaraderie and brotherhood. He sees Brasidas’ smile when he takes the time to joke with the other soldiers. It had taken time for them to see him as more than a spy or a nuisance that crept into the palisade walls to report to their commander. Now, he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down amongst them; they seem to enjoy his company as well.

His body, on the other hand, is not so sure of his plans. Alexios stumbles a little then, bone tired. How much longer will it be to the Spartan encampment? He glances up at the setting sun, eyes squinting. Ikaros flies overhead, piping out a warning of some sort. His shadow graces Alexios’ face in a welcome moment of shade. There is a pain in Alexios’ eyes, but he masks it with annoyance. Apollo may be sending arrows straight into his eyes, but soon it will be night, he reminds himself. The cool of the evening will certainly feel nice. He lets himself relax a bit and smiles a little to himself, lost in a reverie of the night to come.

Brasidas is so careful not to let the others know of their relationship. Alexios thinks their affiliation is obvious enough that he doesn’t feel the urgency of hiding, but he knows he has less to lose between the two of them. A mistios isn’t going to be held to the same standards that a Brasidas is, or any proper Spartan. And Alexios isn’t one of those. He doubts he would have been able to make it through the agoge if he is honest with himself. His childhood adoration of his father would have pushed him far, yet he doesn’t have the heart to be true to anyone’s ideals but his own. Not even his love for Brasidas can make him fall fully inline. He chuckles to himself, but it turns into a sneeze.

After the forceful burst of the sneeze, the quieting of the day’s noises wash over Alexios. He stops his walk toward the Spartan encampment. When did the birds become so silent, had he been so distracted, so tired, that he did not notice? Ikaros does not seem to sense danger but…there is something. He settles down on Alexios’ arm with a flurry of winds, cocking his head to the side and chirping. Another wave of heat washes over him, but the sun is now setting. This…this is just the summer heat, isn’t it? He takes stock of his own body. There is a tightness in his chest, just under his sternum. Too much breathing in the dirt of the road. The tiredness and fatigue can be explained away just as well.

It dawns on him that it isn’t just the road or the travels. Alexios sucks in a breath. It couldn’t be, could it? They had said the plague was subsiding in Athens and it’d been over a week since he’d been there. But he is close, so close. He knows that the garrison is just near the top of the next mountain swell. As it darkens, he could imagine just barely being able to see the glow of the fire light into the sky from their camp if the trees were not so thick. He can still make it home, can’t he?

A vision of Brasidas flashes through his mind, weakened and thirsty as the plague victims he’d seen before. Boils would cover his skin and he would beg for sleep. Alexios steps off the side of the road. If this is the plague, he could not bring this home to his beloved. He wrinkles his nose and grits his teeth bitterly before another sneeze hits him. He can picture them all, the entire encampment, ill and anguished, dying like sheep. “No”, he mutters as he makes his way into the woods in search of shelter, “I cannot do this to them”.

Accepting that he is indeed ill makes him feel all the worse. Now he has to deal with the pounding in his head, the pull of gravity in his limbs. Time passes as he searches the woods for shelter. This deep into the mountains, he had hoped there would be a cave or at least a rock outcropping he could hide under. He careens miserably through the underbrush as if he cannot find his own sense of gravity, as if his head is being drawn down to rest on the forest floor. He lets his body lay him down, there in a patch of pine needles to soften the ground against his shaking body. Ikaros chirps, fluttering down to perch on a branch above his head. His knees ache and he curls into himself. The night is laden with crickets. The breeze, he knows, must be cool but he cannot decode whether his body is hot or cold. Alexios wishes desperately for a stream, knows enough of the land to know there may be one nearby. The night wears on and Alexios’ eyes roll slightly as he watches the stars twist and turn above him. The gods are telling him stories but he cannot understand them; he is too weary.

"Barnabas", he mouths.

His voice hurts too much to call. If the old man were here he would be able to explain what to do. How to dispel the gods' anger. Hippokrates, of course, would know just what to do. But Alexios' mind is too far gone for logic now. He sees the blueish tint of the night sky and recognizes the rolling clouds as waves. His skin is damp. When did he visit Poseidon's realm? He must be on a boat, the way his head feels as if he is rocking with the tide.

Alexios does not know how long he slept, yet he knows that he is dead. He cannot open his eyes, they are too heavy. Everything feels muffled, unreal in the end. He must be awaiting Thanatos because he can feel the vultures pecking around his frigid body, the ruffle of their wings near his ear. Hades awaits him, he knows.

His last thought is of home.

Chapter Text

Brasidas is drifting in and out of dreams when he hears the flutter of wings outside his tent. His lips twitch as he rolls over, making a bit of space on the off chance it is his lover’s companion. Ikaros lets himself be known as Alexios’ unwanted herald at times. He is startled the rest of the way awake when the bird lets out an urgent call. Brasidas frowns to himself, he’d seen Alexios be bossed around by the bird but it was always within reason. He reaches for his sword and cautiously crawls to open the tent flap. 

Standing outside his tent is, indeed, Ikaros. There would be no other reason for a golden eagle to be there, acting so oddly. Ikaros tilts his head to one side and repeats a cry. He tosses something in his beak towards him and the glint catches Brasidas’ eye. He bends down to pick it up and brings the bit of metal to eye level, squinting as the last wisps of sleep leave his mind. He recognizes it, of course. But why is it here, without its wearer? He turns a questioning brow back to Ikaros and perhaps he is still tired because he opens his mouth to ask the bird. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Ikaros flaps his wings indignantly and perches on a nearby crate. Brasidas shakes his head. Alexios might be able to understand the bird but he certainly cannot. 

“Did he send you? Send this?” His mind races with the implications. They never did talk about what the beads meant but he knows the meaning all the same. While he knows the rumors of the Eagle Bearer’s numerous former partners are mostly true, he is certain in their relationship. Alexios is no coward, he would not toss him aside like this if that were the case. No, something is wrong. He takes a closer look at the bead. There are still strands of Alexios’ hair tangled in the center, as if it’d been ripped from his hair. 

“Where is he, Ikaros?” 

The bird flaps its wings, launching itself into the sky. Ikaros circles, keeping his beady eye on Brasidas’ form down below. The man gazes up at the eagle's outline in the night sky. He wonders if the bird really would show him where Alexios is, or if this is some sort of lovesickness, a fever that has overtaken his mind. It doesn’t take him long to decide he is willing to find out.

Brasidas ducks back into his tent, quickly dressing in his armor. It would not help Alexios to arrive unprepared, whatever has happened. He takes the time to rouse the second-in-command, using his past experiences in Korinthia as a ruse. A spy , he hastens to invent, who can’t be seen near the encampment . It is a flimsy lie, but in the moment with the dim moonlight falling across his face, it is all he can come up with.

He takes a horse, reasoning to himself it is for a quick getaway or to help with Alexios. Either way, he is sure the horse will be helpful. As he follows the bird’s flight, Brasidas wonders just how deeply his affections for the mistios lie. This is madness, and he knows it, to follow a bird out alone into the woods. The other soldiers know not to question him and his leadership has been solid. He has been dedicated. He knows it is foolish to let his personal feelings override his duty but he does not turn back to camp.

Ikaros flies over the path, a meandering route that crosses the mountains. This stretch is not too rough and Brasidas is thankful for the moonlight as he urges the horse forward. The night is mostly silent. He only hears the sounds of insects, the rustle of wind in the trees, and the plodding of his horses hoofs on the packed dirt. Brasidas thinks back to calmer times, other nights when he had felt some semblance of peace. He had enjoyed Korith, his assignment there had allowed him to spend his evenings as the other men of the city might. In lapses between spywork, before he had met Alexios, he had sat down at the docks to look at the stars, or rode out to the countryside just outside the city. There had been people to talk to, information to be gleaned from what seemed like easy, polite conversation. It had been nice to look up at the night sky and see it for the beauty that it was. He did not have the luxury as a Spartiate to just spend any evening how he pleases. He spent time in the syssitia when at home or amongst the comradery of his fellow soldiers whilst on campaign. Brasidas would not trade his sense of place and duty for a life such as Alexios’, he is sure. Still, he wouldn’t mind an evening to just exist without some issue pressing on his mind.

Ikaros cries overhead, bringing him back to the present. Brasidas urges the horse a little faster as they come to the next rise of the mountain. It is not steep, the horses' hooves are sound against the packed dirt of the road. Brasidas glances up to see Ikaros swoop, seemingly scanning the woods beneath. If Alexios were here he would somehow know, just from watching the bird, where danger lies. Brasidas can only make guesses when the eagle calls again and swoops to the left that he must leave the path and follow him into the underbrush. Dangerous or not, he knows he must remain alert. He slows his horse. It will be dark and his eyes will need to adjust. If this is a trap it would be easy to be unprepared. But, if not? If Alexios is in danger he could not forgive himself if he didn’t push forward. A Spartan should not, does not, fear the dark, he reminds himself. It is not the dark itself he fears, but the unknown. He worries about how to be prepared, but whether his uncertainty is for the current situation or for their whole relationship, he does not know.

Brasidas dismounts and leads the horse through the pine forest. The trees are dense and the light filtering through the branches is diluted, casting everything in a blueish shadow. It is a silent journey for a few minutes, and if he were not so worried he might have found the walk peaceful. It would be nice, he thinks, to bring Alexios out to these woods at another time. To spend a night alone, just the whistle of wind through the branches and the hum of insects to listen to. Those, he notices, are prevalent in the cool shade of the pines. He waves a cloud of insects away with his free hand, the horse snorting with his sudden movement. He turns to calm his horse when Ikaros’ piercing cry rings out above. The horse startles more but his eyes watch the movement of the bird’s flight. He picks up the pace. The sound of his and the horses footsteps crunching against pine needles and stepping over roots would alert would-be enemies, but he knows this is urgent. The bird calls out again and with a flutter of wings glides down to a branch. There, nestled in pine needles, is Alexios.

Alexios’ breathing is shallow and there are trickles of sweat running down his skin. Brasidas kneels at his side, brushing stray pine needles from his forehead and neck, feeling for his pulse. Alexios eyes open slightly, but they do not focus, instead rolling, unfocused. He does not seem to recognize him, only mouthing something incoherent.

Brasidas freezes for a moment. He hadn’t expected Alexios to be in such a state. He had seen fever in many men in war camps, and amongst the boys of the agoge before that. There is always fear, fear of getting sick, fear for the lives of the others. But this is different. His heart beats in his chest. He knows he must get Alexios to help, this is not something to fight off alone. While Brasidas is thankful there is no ambush or fight to be had he is sombered by the severity of Alexios' illness.

Alexios is deadweight as Brasidas carries him to his horse. The few meters feel longer than they are with Alexios draped in his arms, a limp arm slung over his shoulder. He grunts as he slings Alexios over the horses back, his chest against the horses mane as leads the animal back out of the forest, glancing up at Ikaros from time to time. The eagle is still guiding him, he realizes, wings above branches.  Brasidas’ heart pounds in his chest, his features schooled into a determined frown as he urges the horse onward. When they do return to the road, he is quick to settle behind Alexios, holding him upright as they gallop back to camp. He feels frantic, but he must be resolved. The worse is not over, he knows. This is still a type of battle.

When he gets him back to the camp he calls for help, a healer. He wonders if perhaps his efforts will be in vain, if he has found Alexios too late. Others rise, reacting to the alarm in his voice, but the camp remains calm and he is thankful. The healer is brought forward, instructs the others how to help Alexios down from the horse and back to a tent. Brasidas follows behind, allowing another to tend to his horse for once.

"I thought you were going to meet with a spy"? His second-in-command mutters, falling into stride beside him. He ignores the other man. Now is not the time, he will have to speak to him later. 

"A spy or sorts…an asset to our campaign at the least", he replies dismissively. His eyes are trained ahead, on the men carrying his lover's body. 

Brasidas watches Alexios sleep, wondering what it is that drifts through his dreams, what he sees with his flickering eyelids. He touches his shoulder, and Alexios stills for a moment. He knows the man is not used to touch, not really. Brasidas knows Alexios has not lived in a world where he can enjoy the comfort of touch for years. He had heard rumors, gossip in hushed tones about what a pity it was that Myrinne’s children were lost to her. He had not fully understood it at the time, but lost is a much easier word to digest than thrown when one talks about a child’s death. 

The tidbits of information Brasidas had been able to glean of Alexios’ time on Kephallonia painted a lonely picture, his work as a mistios does not allow for the small comforting touches in daily life. Brasidas knows even in his place in the world there is warmth to be found in a friend’s hand slapping your back as he jokes, a sense of feeling one’s place when the body of one’s training partner is close to your own. Alexios does not often have a safe place to embrace in his line of work. He knows Alexios has felt the touch of many lovers before this business with the cult but the last time he'd seen him, the last time they'd been alone, he'd flinched when Brasidas had gently trailed a hand down his back. He'd averted his gaze, flushed. Touch starved but anxious. 

Now, his muscles tense, even in his fevered state. "Stay with me, Alexios", Brasidas whispers. The pinch in Alexios eyebrows slowly softens and the flutter of his eyelids slows. He lets out a sound, a small sigh, and seems to drift off to sleep. Brasidas smiles, relieved and weary. He eventually falls asleep at Alexios’ side.

Chapter Text

There is a gentle breeze and he can hear the thwap of a tent’s canvas. So he is not dead. No one mentions the dead needing tents. This is good , he acknowledges, but sleep takes him quickly. 

When Alexios awakens again it is to a cloth on his brow. The touch is gentle and he manages to crack his eyes open this time. At first the light stings and he must squeeze his eyes shut again quickly. His head swims. Everything had looked strange, a world of blotchy colors. The fuzzy forms were borderless, but he is fairly certain that was a face that he recognizes. 

“Alexios”. There is no doubt about it now, he would follow that voice anywhere, even back from Hades’ door. He opens his eyes again and his mouth. There is an audible snik where his dry tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth. He tries to sit up but it is not possible and Alexios winces at how helpless he feels.

Brasidas lifts his head gently, tipping a flask of water to his lips. Alexios drinks as vigorously as he can manage but the other man keeps the flow steady, keeping a close watch. “There will be more water, Alexios. Don’t worry”. He relaxes himself a little, trusting the other man’s words. It would not do to die from drowning in his lover’s arms, not after this sickness.

The plague. His eyes widen and he jerks upright with what strength he has left. He must leave, he cannot bring this upon his beloved. 

Brasidas pushes him firmly back into the bedroll. “Shhh, Alexios. Calm down. You’re safe. Rest now”. Brasidas' voice is different than he has heard before, and he blinks as he settles back. There is something there, something he has not heard directed towards himself for years. His shoulders loosen, eyes blinking slowly as he lets himself drift back off to sleep. 

When Alexios rouses a third time he feels much better. He slowly opens his eyes, aclimates himself to conscious life in an unhurried and relaxed manner. Brasidas is beside him, his back turned to him as he gazes out from the open tent. He is beautiful like this, morning sunlight framing him. The coarse, dingy fabric of the tent looks golden in a frame about him. Alexios breathes in. It is not easy, it will take some time to heal, but he knows he will be alright.

"How did you know? To find me?” he whispers. His voice is rough and strange to his ears, but Brasidas chuckles and shakes his head as if the answer were obvious. A tension releases as he turns to look at Alexios.

"You are known as the Eagle Bearer, Alexios. Ikaros gave me a visit. And this". His voice becomes solemn, quiet. If Alexios were well, he would have noticed a hint of a shake in it. Brasidas holds up a bead. A small golden thing, elaborately designed. The very same bead he had once given to Alexios. "I…felt you would not have easily given this up. I feared the worst. And-" he laughs mirthlessly, glancing away. "If, for some reason, you wished to return it to me I would have not let you go without asking your reasoning". 

Alexios is surprised by this admittance. Did he worry that he cared so little for him, as to toss him aside? The beads exchanged were no mere trinkets, even if they had never given words to their meaning. 

“No, Brasidas”, he huffs weakly. “I would not-” his voice fades. He is weak and even though this is a conversation that must be had he knows it cannot happen now. His body aches with a fierceness that penetrates his bones deeper than any cut in battle. Brasidas nods, seeming to understand. 

“You pushed yourself too far”, he chides. “How far did you walk on your own? I didn’t find you with any supplies besides drachma and armor.” He shakes his head. Foolish man that he is, he loves him. Alexios knows this, in this moment. He knows this whole situation is founded on love and care. That is the tone he had noted earlier in Brasidas’ voice, the type of love that sacrifices for another, not just takes each other to bed or spends the days side by side. 

“You love me”, he blurts out, certainly loud enough for anyone outside of this tent to hear. “Don’t you, Brasidas?”. Brasidas freezes before nodding, a soft laugh bubbling from his lips.

“I do, Alexios”. He feeds him a foul tasting concoction that the healer had provided: mustard seed, onion juice and honey mixed together. The taste is vile but Brasidas’ words are sweet on Alexios’ ears. “I share what is mine with you and your strength is my strength. So let me care for you, for now. Let me lend you a little strength, my love.”