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Before his eyes Agron begins to see Nasir's transformation. Nasir blossoms with confidence as he trains diligently with his spear. Every morning Agron wakes to an empty bed, but his spirit is lifted to know that Nasir flourishes in his freedom. When Nasir returns to his arms at night, Agron can feel the new muscle that thickens his frame, and the enticing new strength that inhabits him.
With captive heart Agron observes Nasir become a creature of even deeper beauty, and willingly Agron slips yet further into the warm abyss of his love.
Nasir slumps down upon their bed, exhausted. He sighs deeply, unfastening armor and letting it fall where it will upon the floor. Agron watches the languid, cat-like stretch of his body, the radiant golden brown of his skin. It is all the more alluring that Nasir is unaware of how eagerly Agron's eyes drink him in.
Nasir rubs the back of his neck and then reaches up to undo his hair. It is a sweaty, tangled mess, but patiently Nasir begins to work his fingers through the gnarled locks. Agron sits down behind him on the bed, taking a handful of hair.
Nasir bats him away. “It requires practiced hand.”
“I should like to see your face, had you been so rebuffed when first attempting spear,” chides Agron.
“...Very well then,” Nasir smiles at him over his shoulder. “Let us see how your skill stands in this.”
At first Agron's fingers are clumsy, and they catch in every knot they encounter. Agron pulls harder, as though he believes the tangles can be loosened through sheer force. Nasir flinches.
“Gently. I do not wish scalp to be parted from skull,” warns Nasir, half-serious.
“A-apologies,” Agron says, frowning at the impossible puzzle. “Perhaps if I cut-”
“You shall do nothing of the sort,” Nasir firmly interjects.
Agron laughs softly. “Do you hold such vanity?”
“Leave it be,” Nasir says, sidestepping the question. “I shall tend to it.”
“No... allow me second attempt.” Agron kisses the back of his head. “You suffer exhaustion.”
Nasir glances back at him. “A warrior does not seek pity for such things.”
“Nor do I offer.” Agron turns Nasir's head so that he is facing forward again. “But even fiercest warrior welcomes soothing touch at day's end.”
They sit together in comfortable silence as Agron carefully works free knot after knot. Before long, the dark strands slip easily through his fingers, and Agron begins slowly scratching his nails across Nasir's scalp. Nasir sighs with pleasure, tilting his head to one side.
“...Tell me of the arena,” Nasir asks him after a moment.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Everything.” Nasir sighs again as Agron combs his fingers through. “But do not take your hands from their work.”
Agron smiles, pleased with the effect he has upon him.
"What you must first know is that the filth of the ludus cannot be imagined. Gladiators are kept as squalid beasts, and more often than not their behavior adjusts accordingly."
"You speak of yourself as well?"
"In part. Though the Romans believe those East of the Rhine are base animals from birth."
"And now here you sit, combing hair like proper house slave," comments Nasir with amusement.
"There is no other who could humble me so," Agron answers. "with indelible pull upon my heart."
Nasir reaches back and touches Agron's leg with affection. "Tell me more of the ludus."
"It is a coarse life. You are no better than a plaything, and your life is spared or ended by whims of a Roman shit... But it is curious how matters change when you stand upon sands of the arena."
"I do not know your meaning."
"In battle upon the sands, all other concerns fall away. The crowd gives life to the very walls of the arena, and you are borne aloft at the center of their madness."
"Hmm," says Nasir thoughtfully.
"The battles are unbridled chaos... a man might suffer fatal blow at any moment, from any direction. But after such mortal gamble, the glory of victory is beyond compare. The roar of crowd falls upon shoulder like rain from the gods!"
"I close my eyes and see the flushed grin upon your face."
“I remember well the day... the final stab of gladius through the back... casting off my galea to see the entire arena upon their feet! So light was my heart, basking in elation of the moment. But Duro-”
Abruptly Agron's hands still, and he falls silent.
"...It is not often I hear his name pass your lips," Nasir says quietly.
Agron feels a familiar tension enter his body, and the words that will not come to him. The pain of it is stifling, like fire in his lungs.
Nasir squeezes Agron's leg. "You needn't press yourself. I await a day when sorrow turns to joy, in speaking of him. And then I shall hear the tales I long for."
Agron rests a cheek on the back of Nasir's head, closing his eyes. He is grateful for this gift from the gods: for this moment, for Nasir's love that casts sunlight upon dark heavy memory. Agron swallows hard, his hands dropping to Nasir's waist.
"To hear sound of your voice is to have sorrow turn to joy," Agron says, almost inaudibly. The rasp in his own voice betrays him, but when his arms are locked around Nasir it does not seem to matter.
Nasir leans back against him and Agron feels the ache of his love rise from deep within. For a moment it engulfs his heart, and he forgets all of that which corrodes him and fuels his molten core of anger.
Agron thinks of the land of his birth and the many miles that separate him from it. He wonders if he will ever share with Nasir the particular beauty of the hills and forests he roamed as a boy. Agron wants to know happiness with him there, although it is a thing for which he cannot dare to hope.
There is only the here and now that they have together. Agron knows that this may be all that they will ever have, and with that knowledge he pulls Nasir a little closer in his embrace, lost in the bittersweet stirrings of his heart.