Rome: "Across the Wine Dark Sea"
Written for the 5_fabulae community - Theme IV, Number 1 (Discedere). This story took far longer to write than I thought, but Brutus and Cicero have such a complicated dynamic. Historically, Brutus was never afraid to speak the truth to Cicero, even if it was less than pleasant.
Title: "Across the Wine Dark Sea"
Characters: Cicero, Brutus
Rating: PG
Words: 1030
Spoilers: Set between 1.05 and 1.06
Summary: After fleeing Italy, Cicero and Brutus confront an uncertain future - and unpleasant truths.
Exile tasted of salt - it tasted of blood and bitter tears and it tasted like the tang of the sea, rolling and swelling beneath the fragile shell of the boat carrying Pompey and his miserable forces to Greece.
The last rays of light flared behind the shadow of Italy on the horizon, stark against the lurid, crimson sky. Watching that vestige of home fade with the distance and the failing day was exquisite torment. Cicero was nearly alone at the stern - the others were huddled at the bow, their stern, wearied visages looking forward, away from their humiliating retreat. Or they were slung over the side, faces pinched and tinged with green, seasickness overpowering disgrace.
The men at the steering oars were not Cicero’s only company. Brutus stood at the rail, utterly still but for the same wind that filled their sail fluttering his tunic. Whether he stood there out of a Stoic obligation worthy of his uncle or a streak of masochism and self-loathing that reminded Cicero of himself, he couldn’t be certain.
“I find it best not to look back. It only brings you regret, in the end.” Cicero softened his voice - with Brutus, his voice seldom held anything but affection. Even his ever-preset sarcasm was tempered by the young man’s presence. He laid a hand on Brutus’ shoulder, feeling knotted muscles beneath his fingers.
Brutus inclined his head, his chin brushing the back of Cicero’s hand, but didn’t turn himself away from the diminishing sight of home. “It won’t be the last time we see it. I’ve no doubt that in a short time, we’ll return in ignoble disgrace.”
“Such words don’t suit you.” He could imagine such self-loathing coming from his own lips, but it sounded far too old from such a young man. “This is merely a - strategic withdrawal, as Pompey so aptly put it.”
“It’s an act of cowards. Fleeing like frightened children-“ Brutus jerked his shoulder away, speaking the words with such vehemence that the men at the steering oars started, the ship jerking at their motion. “And we’re supposed to be the saviors of the Republic?”
“We can hardly render our aid to the Republic if we’re dead.” Cicero wanted so fervently to reassure the young man, but this angry desperation made him hesitate. Not that his first impulse wasn’t to take caution, to question every thought and decision.
“Our aid? Tearing the Republic into tatters? Plunging it into another civil war? We’re piss-poor physicians, that’s for certain, killing the patient when we’re trying to save it.” The shadows of Italy faded into twilight and Brutus turned on Cicero, his eyes blazing with the last of the dying light.
Indignation rose in Cicero’s throat like bile. “We are not the ones who brought the Republic to ruin. It was Caesar and his unbridled ambition-“
“And Pompey doesn’t have ambition? I know you owe him your loyalty, but you forgive him far too easily.” Brutus narrowed his eyes, forcing Cicero’s gaze to flee elsewhere. “Caesar isn’t a rare creature. You yourself once had a thirst for imperium.”
Wounded pride gave way to startled but passionate anger. “My ambition only ever served the good of the Republic! I was her chosen protector-“
“Your ambition served your own good, and if it happened to aid the Republic, so much the better-“
Cicero lunged forward, his hands clenching around Brutus’ arms. “You do not know of what you speak! You are but a boy-“
“And you’re Marcus Tullius Cicero,” Brutus said, spitting each syllable. “Pater patriae, and here you are, fleeing with the rest of us. Like sheep, like worms-“
“Like men with no other choice!” Cicero’s fingers clutched at Brutus’ tunic, his head spinning with a sick, dizzy anger. “Do you think we have chosen this path easily - or willingly? We have not departed the Republic - we are the Republic.”
“We?” Brutus shook his head, looking at Cicero with a pity that made his stomach turn. “Don’t include me in your company. I’m not here to-“ Brutus closed his eyes, his face twisted as if in pain.
“Then why are you here?” The question rang like a harsh accusation, but the time for softness of words and phrases was long past. “Why aren’t you with your beloved Caesar?”
Brutus twisted away from Cicero’s grasp, both men stumbling as the boat shifted beneath them. For a moment, Cicero thought Brutus would have thrown himself into the sea, to flee from the question and all its implications. “Because he did not ask for me,” he said finally, dropping his head in grief. “Because I have been as a son to him and yet he didn’t call me to his side.” Brutus swallowed heavily before he could lift his head. “And why are you here, truly? And if you answer ‘the Republic…’”
Cicero’s hand grasped to clutch the rail, but even as it closed around the wood, the world still shook beneath his feet. No answer would come to his lips, and the emptiness in his mind, like the black, watery void before them, terrified him. “Because to have stayed at home, safe in my villa-“ He halted, the words thick as wool on his tongue. “It would mean that the Republic would live or die without me. And I cannot possibly admit that.”
The sea was black as ink, now, the sky rapidly joining suit. Cicero felt a heaviness descending on him, dark and certain as the night. A pair of hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him even when he nearly flinched out of their grasp.
“I’m-“ Brutus sighed, and any apology died on his lips. Some things were better left unsaid, just as others needed to be spoken. “The hours is late, and wine will be growing short. We could both use a glass, or perhaps many glasses.”
Cicero laughed bitterly, but leaned into Brutus’ touch for a moment. There was little enough certainty in this world, and as harsh as it was to bear the truth of Brutus’ words, they gave him far more comfort than the honeyed lies that so often filled his ears. “I will certainly agree to that.”
Title: "Across the Wine Dark Sea"
Characters: Cicero, Brutus
Rating: PG
Words: 1030
Spoilers: Set between 1.05 and 1.06
Summary: After fleeing Italy, Cicero and Brutus confront an uncertain future - and unpleasant truths.
Exile tasted of salt - it tasted of blood and bitter tears and it tasted like the tang of the sea, rolling and swelling beneath the fragile shell of the boat carrying Pompey and his miserable forces to Greece.
The last rays of light flared behind the shadow of Italy on the horizon, stark against the lurid, crimson sky. Watching that vestige of home fade with the distance and the failing day was exquisite torment. Cicero was nearly alone at the stern - the others were huddled at the bow, their stern, wearied visages looking forward, away from their humiliating retreat. Or they were slung over the side, faces pinched and tinged with green, seasickness overpowering disgrace.
The men at the steering oars were not Cicero’s only company. Brutus stood at the rail, utterly still but for the same wind that filled their sail fluttering his tunic. Whether he stood there out of a Stoic obligation worthy of his uncle or a streak of masochism and self-loathing that reminded Cicero of himself, he couldn’t be certain.
“I find it best not to look back. It only brings you regret, in the end.” Cicero softened his voice - with Brutus, his voice seldom held anything but affection. Even his ever-preset sarcasm was tempered by the young man’s presence. He laid a hand on Brutus’ shoulder, feeling knotted muscles beneath his fingers.
Brutus inclined his head, his chin brushing the back of Cicero’s hand, but didn’t turn himself away from the diminishing sight of home. “It won’t be the last time we see it. I’ve no doubt that in a short time, we’ll return in ignoble disgrace.”
“Such words don’t suit you.” He could imagine such self-loathing coming from his own lips, but it sounded far too old from such a young man. “This is merely a - strategic withdrawal, as Pompey so aptly put it.”
“It’s an act of cowards. Fleeing like frightened children-“ Brutus jerked his shoulder away, speaking the words with such vehemence that the men at the steering oars started, the ship jerking at their motion. “And we’re supposed to be the saviors of the Republic?”
“We can hardly render our aid to the Republic if we’re dead.” Cicero wanted so fervently to reassure the young man, but this angry desperation made him hesitate. Not that his first impulse wasn’t to take caution, to question every thought and decision.
“Our aid? Tearing the Republic into tatters? Plunging it into another civil war? We’re piss-poor physicians, that’s for certain, killing the patient when we’re trying to save it.” The shadows of Italy faded into twilight and Brutus turned on Cicero, his eyes blazing with the last of the dying light.
Indignation rose in Cicero’s throat like bile. “We are not the ones who brought the Republic to ruin. It was Caesar and his unbridled ambition-“
“And Pompey doesn’t have ambition? I know you owe him your loyalty, but you forgive him far too easily.” Brutus narrowed his eyes, forcing Cicero’s gaze to flee elsewhere. “Caesar isn’t a rare creature. You yourself once had a thirst for imperium.”
Wounded pride gave way to startled but passionate anger. “My ambition only ever served the good of the Republic! I was her chosen protector-“
“Your ambition served your own good, and if it happened to aid the Republic, so much the better-“
Cicero lunged forward, his hands clenching around Brutus’ arms. “You do not know of what you speak! You are but a boy-“
“And you’re Marcus Tullius Cicero,” Brutus said, spitting each syllable. “Pater patriae, and here you are, fleeing with the rest of us. Like sheep, like worms-“
“Like men with no other choice!” Cicero’s fingers clutched at Brutus’ tunic, his head spinning with a sick, dizzy anger. “Do you think we have chosen this path easily - or willingly? We have not departed the Republic - we are the Republic.”
“We?” Brutus shook his head, looking at Cicero with a pity that made his stomach turn. “Don’t include me in your company. I’m not here to-“ Brutus closed his eyes, his face twisted as if in pain.
“Then why are you here?” The question rang like a harsh accusation, but the time for softness of words and phrases was long past. “Why aren’t you with your beloved Caesar?”
Brutus twisted away from Cicero’s grasp, both men stumbling as the boat shifted beneath them. For a moment, Cicero thought Brutus would have thrown himself into the sea, to flee from the question and all its implications. “Because he did not ask for me,” he said finally, dropping his head in grief. “Because I have been as a son to him and yet he didn’t call me to his side.” Brutus swallowed heavily before he could lift his head. “And why are you here, truly? And if you answer ‘the Republic…’”
Cicero’s hand grasped to clutch the rail, but even as it closed around the wood, the world still shook beneath his feet. No answer would come to his lips, and the emptiness in his mind, like the black, watery void before them, terrified him. “Because to have stayed at home, safe in my villa-“ He halted, the words thick as wool on his tongue. “It would mean that the Republic would live or die without me. And I cannot possibly admit that.”
The sea was black as ink, now, the sky rapidly joining suit. Cicero felt a heaviness descending on him, dark and certain as the night. A pair of hands settled on his shoulders, steadying him even when he nearly flinched out of their grasp.
“I’m-“ Brutus sighed, and any apology died on his lips. Some things were better left unsaid, just as others needed to be spoken. “The hours is late, and wine will be growing short. We could both use a glass, or perhaps many glasses.”
Cicero laughed bitterly, but leaned into Brutus’ touch for a moment. There was little enough certainty in this world, and as harsh as it was to bear the truth of Brutus’ words, they gave him far more comfort than the honeyed lies that so often filled his ears. “I will certainly agree to that.”