Fic: Calling all Furies
Fic: Calling all Furies
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Violence, Death
Summary: Rome and Etruria fight as they are prone to do.
“Rome!”
The Roman Republic straightens. He knows that voice and moreover, he knows that tone. It’s the tone of voice that in the past has yelled at him for running around the house nude and covered in mud.
Etruria storms through her brother’s villa, knowing exactly where he is and trying to remain calm. None of the slaves try to stop her - they know better than to become involved in their master’s business with other nations.
The peristylium is immaculately well kept - new trees have been added since last Etruria was there and the flowers are beautiful pinks and yellows, combined with red. If she had been in a better mood, she would have commented on the skill of the slave responsible for the design - but now is not the time or place.
“Etruria!” Rome turns to his sister, all smiles and calm. “What’s wrong?”
Rome shrinks under Etruria’s gaze - it isn’t as angry as when he kicked out the last of her kings from the city, but it is close.
“I want your troops out of my remaining lands,” she says, her voice leaving no room for discussion. “And I want it immediately. Am I understood, brother?”
She nearly spits when she says the words. For all Rome knows, she’s waiting for a moment for him to look away.
He sighs at her. She looks so much more frail that she did when he was a child, chasing after him and yelling at the Kingdom of Rome to take a bath or to stop pelting Carthage with rocks or to leave the neighbour’s dog alone. There are scratches and bruises on what he can see of her arms too, and he vaguely recalls something about Fiesole in the back of his mind.
“Is this about the thing with Sulla?”
Etruria feels her head nearly explode, “What else would this be about?!”
“I was making sure--!”
“He’s taking away my remaining land for your soldiers! You have enough of what used to be mine!” Etruria yells. She doesn’t allow herself to become hysterical, but it bothers her that there is something like fear in her voice. “Fluflun’s cock brother, he’s starving my people out of their property and letting others be sold as slaves!”
“Your people took arms against him,” Rome replies. “He has the right.”
Etruria throws her arms up in the air and stares at the sky in pure frustration, then looks back at Rome. “Gods below, what did I do to deserve such a brother?! Rome, are you listening to a word I say?”
“I am,” Rome says. “And you’re taking this all too harshly. Sulla is my ruler and you lost to him in a war. By rights he has--”
“Fuck rights, Rome! My people need land!”
“And mine need food!” Rome snaps back. “You didn’t like the Gracchi because of their land reforms, and it explains why you supported Marius, but you could have the good sense to accept defeat and all that comes with it like a man! He has twenty three legions that need to be paid and they’ll only accept--”
“They’ll only accept what I have to offer?!” Etruria walks over to Rome and stares up at him. Rome grabs the hand she raises to strike him and holds it firmly.
“I’m not a child anymore,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I will not allow you to treat me like one.”
He lets go of her hand, expecting nothing more than a sharp rebuke, but nearly doubles over when Etruria’s foot lands squarely in his gut. He groans and clutches his stomach for a second, staring at her. There’s nothing apologetic in her face as he straightens up.
“Stop this. Right now.” He uses the tone he used when staring down Carthage and his stupid elephants - the one that says anything will be justification for violence.
“Remove Sulla from my lands,” Etruria repeats, her voice as deadly as his.
Rome shakes his head. “He made his decision. If you had listened to us and what we wanted--”
And like that, Etruria is barreling towards him, launching herself at his middle. Rome knows how his sister fights, and so he takes the fall with as much grace as he can muster. He doesn’t allow her to put one of her fists to his face though - he rolls them over so that he pins her to the floor.
The household slaves debate intervening for a moment, but then retreat. Even a weak nation is more powerful than a citizen of Rome, never mind a freedman or slave.
Etruria and Rome roll on the ground of the peristylium, limbs flailing wildly. They destroy the garden as they do so, their weight crushing the flowers that have been so lovingly cared for. From time to time one of them yells or moans when they’re hit, until they both come to a stop.
Rome lays underneath Etruria - his nose bleeds profusely and he can feel bruises starting to form already. As poor a fighter as his sister is - and it’s something she’s freely said in he past - the right emotional charge makes her a good enough opponent. Etruria, for her part, can barely see out of one eye and her one leg is sore - she suspects there’s a pulled muscle or five, and her knuckles bleed from delivering one too many punches.
For a tiny moment, Etruria thinks she’s won. She’ll still exist and have her lands and--
Rome puts both of his hands on his sister’s side and throws her off with all of his strength. He’s waited to do so until it looked as if he had to, and now--
Except there’s suddenly a sickening crack, and Rome knows he’s made a mistake. It sounded like bone hit something hard and thick and-- shit. There was a second impluvium right there..
Rome bolts upright and hurries to his feet. It isn’t a long distance and the water isn’t that deep but he bolts all the same.
Etruria lies with only a small part of her head submerged in the water - her skull caught the edge of the impluvium, and a small pool of blood has begun to cloud the water.
He wastes no time with words. Rome picks his sister up as carefully as he can, one hand moving to the wound to try and staunch the bleeding. He yells for one of his slaves to go fetch a doctor and for another to prepare a room, a third to draw up fresh water in a basin and provide clean linen cloths.
The vigil takes too long. The doctor arrives within ten minutes to find the Roman Republic cleaning the headwound carefully. Rome doesn’t explain the circumstances, or even who he is. He simply lets the doctor work, lingering in the door frame.
Minutes pass, and each one seems like an eternity. Rome cringes every time he hears he doctor “hmm” or “hmph” or dig around for a tool.
When the doctor finishes, he walks over to Rome. “It was a very bad wound.”
“But she’ll be fine, yes?”
The doctor frowns. “If she wakes up, send for me.”
Rome lets the slaves take care of coin and sits himself at the edge of Etruria’s bed, eyes watching her chest carefully. Her breaths are feint and every so often, Rome swears that they aren’t coming at all.
He tells himself that it’s like any other point in time that they’ve fought - she was nearly this bad after Veii, and there was Sentium that nearly sent her to the abyss too. This was a stupid fist fight and--
--and her chest is no longer moving.
Rome stares and blinks for a few moments. He’s seeing things, there’s nothing wrong and--
He wants to swear. He really does. It was a stupid fist fight, and now it’s gone and done the unthinkable.
Rome sighs deeply and forces himself to stand up. He has seen the Etruscan burial rites done so many times and so many ways in so many places in his sister’s land that he doesn’t know where to start. But there are no dearth of priests in that place, and so he quietly asks one of the slaves to sit with the body while he goes to fetch a horse. He can make it to Tarquinia by sunset if he moves quickly enough, and he can make the arrangements he needs once in the city. A funeral is the only thing he can control right now, and he knows it is the one thing he owes her.
FIN
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Violence, Death
Summary: Rome and Etruria fight as they are prone to do.
“Rome!”
The Roman Republic straightens. He knows that voice and moreover, he knows that tone. It’s the tone of voice that in the past has yelled at him for running around the house nude and covered in mud.
Etruria storms through her brother’s villa, knowing exactly where he is and trying to remain calm. None of the slaves try to stop her - they know better than to become involved in their master’s business with other nations.
The peristylium is immaculately well kept - new trees have been added since last Etruria was there and the flowers are beautiful pinks and yellows, combined with red. If she had been in a better mood, she would have commented on the skill of the slave responsible for the design - but now is not the time or place.
“Etruria!” Rome turns to his sister, all smiles and calm. “What’s wrong?”
Rome shrinks under Etruria’s gaze - it isn’t as angry as when he kicked out the last of her kings from the city, but it is close.
“I want your troops out of my remaining lands,” she says, her voice leaving no room for discussion. “And I want it immediately. Am I understood, brother?”
She nearly spits when she says the words. For all Rome knows, she’s waiting for a moment for him to look away.
He sighs at her. She looks so much more frail that she did when he was a child, chasing after him and yelling at the Kingdom of Rome to take a bath or to stop pelting Carthage with rocks or to leave the neighbour’s dog alone. There are scratches and bruises on what he can see of her arms too, and he vaguely recalls something about Fiesole in the back of his mind.
“Is this about the thing with Sulla?”
Etruria feels her head nearly explode, “What else would this be about?!”
“I was making sure--!”
“He’s taking away my remaining land for your soldiers! You have enough of what used to be mine!” Etruria yells. She doesn’t allow herself to become hysterical, but it bothers her that there is something like fear in her voice. “Fluflun’s cock brother, he’s starving my people out of their property and letting others be sold as slaves!”
“Your people took arms against him,” Rome replies. “He has the right.”
Etruria throws her arms up in the air and stares at the sky in pure frustration, then looks back at Rome. “Gods below, what did I do to deserve such a brother?! Rome, are you listening to a word I say?”
“I am,” Rome says. “And you’re taking this all too harshly. Sulla is my ruler and you lost to him in a war. By rights he has--”
“Fuck rights, Rome! My people need land!”
“And mine need food!” Rome snaps back. “You didn’t like the Gracchi because of their land reforms, and it explains why you supported Marius, but you could have the good sense to accept defeat and all that comes with it like a man! He has twenty three legions that need to be paid and they’ll only accept--”
“They’ll only accept what I have to offer?!” Etruria walks over to Rome and stares up at him. Rome grabs the hand she raises to strike him and holds it firmly.
“I’m not a child anymore,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I will not allow you to treat me like one.”
He lets go of her hand, expecting nothing more than a sharp rebuke, but nearly doubles over when Etruria’s foot lands squarely in his gut. He groans and clutches his stomach for a second, staring at her. There’s nothing apologetic in her face as he straightens up.
“Stop this. Right now.” He uses the tone he used when staring down Carthage and his stupid elephants - the one that says anything will be justification for violence.
“Remove Sulla from my lands,” Etruria repeats, her voice as deadly as his.
Rome shakes his head. “He made his decision. If you had listened to us and what we wanted--”
And like that, Etruria is barreling towards him, launching herself at his middle. Rome knows how his sister fights, and so he takes the fall with as much grace as he can muster. He doesn’t allow her to put one of her fists to his face though - he rolls them over so that he pins her to the floor.
The household slaves debate intervening for a moment, but then retreat. Even a weak nation is more powerful than a citizen of Rome, never mind a freedman or slave.
Etruria and Rome roll on the ground of the peristylium, limbs flailing wildly. They destroy the garden as they do so, their weight crushing the flowers that have been so lovingly cared for. From time to time one of them yells or moans when they’re hit, until they both come to a stop.
Rome lays underneath Etruria - his nose bleeds profusely and he can feel bruises starting to form already. As poor a fighter as his sister is - and it’s something she’s freely said in he past - the right emotional charge makes her a good enough opponent. Etruria, for her part, can barely see out of one eye and her one leg is sore - she suspects there’s a pulled muscle or five, and her knuckles bleed from delivering one too many punches.
For a tiny moment, Etruria thinks she’s won. She’ll still exist and have her lands and--
Rome puts both of his hands on his sister’s side and throws her off with all of his strength. He’s waited to do so until it looked as if he had to, and now--
Except there’s suddenly a sickening crack, and Rome knows he’s made a mistake. It sounded like bone hit something hard and thick and-- shit. There was a second impluvium right there..
Rome bolts upright and hurries to his feet. It isn’t a long distance and the water isn’t that deep but he bolts all the same.
Etruria lies with only a small part of her head submerged in the water - her skull caught the edge of the impluvium, and a small pool of blood has begun to cloud the water.
He wastes no time with words. Rome picks his sister up as carefully as he can, one hand moving to the wound to try and staunch the bleeding. He yells for one of his slaves to go fetch a doctor and for another to prepare a room, a third to draw up fresh water in a basin and provide clean linen cloths.
The vigil takes too long. The doctor arrives within ten minutes to find the Roman Republic cleaning the headwound carefully. Rome doesn’t explain the circumstances, or even who he is. He simply lets the doctor work, lingering in the door frame.
Minutes pass, and each one seems like an eternity. Rome cringes every time he hears he doctor “hmm” or “hmph” or dig around for a tool.
When the doctor finishes, he walks over to Rome. “It was a very bad wound.”
“But she’ll be fine, yes?”
The doctor frowns. “If she wakes up, send for me.”
Rome lets the slaves take care of coin and sits himself at the edge of Etruria’s bed, eyes watching her chest carefully. Her breaths are feint and every so often, Rome swears that they aren’t coming at all.
He tells himself that it’s like any other point in time that they’ve fought - she was nearly this bad after Veii, and there was Sentium that nearly sent her to the abyss too. This was a stupid fist fight and--
--and her chest is no longer moving.
Rome stares and blinks for a few moments. He’s seeing things, there’s nothing wrong and--
He wants to swear. He really does. It was a stupid fist fight, and now it’s gone and done the unthinkable.
Rome sighs deeply and forces himself to stand up. He has seen the Etruscan burial rites done so many times and so many ways in so many places in his sister’s land that he doesn’t know where to start. But there are no dearth of priests in that place, and so he quietly asks one of the slaves to sit with the body while he goes to fetch a horse. He can make it to Tarquinia by sunset if he moves quickly enough, and he can make the arrangements he needs once in the city. A funeral is the only thing he can control right now, and he knows it is the one thing he owes her.
FIN