FIC: Epithalamium (The Eagle, Marcus/Esca/Cottia, G)

Title: Epithalamium
Author: Sineala
Fandom: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Pairing: Marcus/Esca/Cottia
Rating: G
Length: 663 words
Contains: Nothing needing content advisories.
Spoilers: End of novel.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine.

Summary: They wait until June to marry.

Notes: Written for seascribe for fandom_stocking. (Also available on AO3 here.)



They wait until June to marry. Marcus knows Cottia is not Roman enough to care, and would have spat on superstition and married him in May if he'd permitted it, but he wants all things done properly, and that means Juno's month for weddings, as the gods -- and the magistrate! -- wish it. She might even have married him in March, when she'd returned from Aquae Sulis, the moment he'd asked her, still half-sick from his wounds, but there was no reason to rush. They had time. They have time.

By June they have land, as well -- or, they will have land -- a little plot on the Downs that he and Esca picked out, that he can afford with his prize-money. It is not fine Italian land -- they would never have given him that, anyway -- but he finds that he does not want it. Britain is his home. Their home. And he will learn to work the land. He is still younger than some of the recruits he once served with, and already he has hung his sword and war-spoils in the temple of Mars.

At the wedding Cottia's flammeum catches on the sword-calluses of his hands when he pulls it back to kiss her. Her hair is brighter even than the bright fabric, and she is beautiful, and, of course, hardly shy -- she is embracing him fiercely.

The soldiers always said how women were scared, nervous, on their wedding-night. They never met Cottia.

The revelers have sung their wedding songs, their praises to the gods, all in the Roman fashion, and they have left.

A shadow falls across the threshold, and when Marcus looks up, it is Esca. He remembers seeing Esca at the ceremony, and here he is again still in his finest checkered braccae, his cloak gathered with an ornate brooch. He is handsome, Marcus thinks, as he has always thought, even though this night of all nights is no time for such thoughts. He is married now, and Esca a free man.

Esca's mouth creases in a nervous smile, very like the one he had expected to see on Cottia.

"The Centurion does not need a hound at his door tonight," Esca murmurs. "I only wished to offer my congratulations."

"I thank you--" begins Marcus.

"Esca!" Cottia is peering round him and grinning. "I had been wondering when you would arrive. Come in!"

Esca stares.

Marcus stares.

Esca's mouth works soundlessly. His eyes dart around the room, and Marcus can see him considering and discarding things to say. "Were you not busy?" Esca offers, finally. "I am-- I know when I am not wanted."

And now she has Esca by the hand and is leading him in.

"Oh, but you are," she says, brightly. "Marcus loves you, and you love him, and you must know I care for you. We don't want you to be alone. We will be together on the farm, won't we? Like this?" Her fingers are unpinning Esca's cloak. "Isn't that right, Marcus? Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that why you asked both of us?"

Marcus is speechless. How did she know? He would never have asked, never once have voiced this -- but how did she know?

"Marcus is Roman," Esca says, glancing at him. "He might object."

This is not Esca refusing. He waits for Esca to say no. Esca does not. He realizes he has not said no, yet, either. He realizes he is holding his breath.

"Tonight is my last night in Roman walls," Marcus says, slowly. "Tomorrow we go to the Downs, and we shall live British lives. And if this is what Britons do--"

"Yes," says Cottia.

"It can be," says Esca.

"Then it is in my heart that I live as a Briton with you," he says, smiling, and Cottia his wife reaches for him, and Esca his friend reaches for him, and he knows he has laid his sword down and come to his new life at last.

Read this entry on Dreamwidth || comments