god_of_the_arena | (no subject)

Gannicus had dedicated most of his time outside of work to getting the property in better order. There were good fences, but some parts needed mending. The large barn had needed some repair to keep out drafts and to make it live-able and safe for whatever livestock they might decide to keep.

He also had plans for smaller out-buildings. Maybe a green house for Hild, perhaps a place for chickens if any of them felt up to keeping them. Gannicus was more interested in sheep: he knew them better, had spent most of his childhood tending a flock.

There had been a time when he had never been able to imagine a settled life for himself. He had been so certain the arena would take him, and when he survived that, the memories of his years there and of the people he lost haunted him. He had no family left where he came from, so he had stayed in Rome, working enough that he could keep himself in wine and company.

Everything was different now.

He had spent a good part of the morning working outside and when he came in he found a message on his phone. He stood in the kitchen for a long moment, reading it carefully. Thanks to Dorian he had the skill to work with at all, but comprehension had come slowly, and he practiced every day.

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They had gotten all of the bulbs, seedlings and seeds that Hild wanted for a modest autumn garden planted in the weeks after they had settled in, which left Hild's mornings once again free for her to roam the countryside and gather wild herbs and the like. Coming home -- home -- with a basket full of fresh smelling greenery and a large batch of walnuts, Hild made her way into the kitchen, humming an old song.

Coming into the large room, she spied Gannicus and gave him an appreciative once over. He had been hard at work practically every day, improving and building, and Hild appreciated his hard work, as well as the sight he made sweating in the warm sun.

"Have you worked hard enough to earn a massage today?" she asked as she set aside her basket, gently teasing. Her head cocked with interest as she looked at him with cell phone in hand. "What is it?"

"Don't I always?" He gave her a smile in answer when he looked up from the message. Gannicus was curious about what was in the basket but her question drew him back to the note on his phone.

"I found a dog in the alley behind the butcher," he said as he looked it over again. "I thought it was dead, til it moved. I brought it to the ah-- the animal hospital." He couldn't think of the proper term for the doctors there. Veterinarian.

"One of the girls working there said she would let me know his condition. She does not imagine anyone will come to claim him."

Hild frowned as he told the sad tale of the dog. Despite her insistence that animals should serve a purpose, not simply be pets that lazily ate food and demanded attention, she did care about animals. It hurt her to think of one that was in so much pain, and pleased her that, unsurprisingly, Gannicus showed the compassion to see to its care.

"Why wouldn't they?" she asked, frowning. "People love pets, especially dogs. I'm sure if he's healthy again someone would want to take him in."

"The girl I talked to said he wasn't a pet. That it looked like someone had put it in a ring to fight."

Gannicus had felt an unexpected surge of anger when Daine told him that. He knew the feeling intimately, to live solely for the entertainment of people that considered themselves his betters.

"Whatever manner of man abandoned him, she did not expect they would reappear to make claim."

He looked at Hild, a bit uncertain but hopeful. "Would you have objection if-- if I were to make such a claim?"

Hild's frown did not change as Gannicus described how the dog had probably been used. Dog fights were common, liked by the gesiths for the opportunity to gamble on the winners of the battle. They usually started naturally though, over a bone or piece of meat, and ended with one hound injured, but not so greatly as to be unable to walk away and serve again.

She did however look surprised at the manner of Gannicus' question, that he would even pause in the question. "Of course not," she said. "In this space, with so much of it, we could train a dog to work. In time, once he's healed. He could have a place here, easily."

Gannicus found a picture of the animal and showed it to Hild: he was a dark, large dog but underweight, with sad, golden eyes and crudely cropped ears. "Daine said they cut their ears as pups."

He had not realized how concerned he had been regarding her answer before she gave it. His shoulders relaxed ad he leaned to kiss her hair. "She said dogs like this were bred for farms once, to guard and to kill rodents."

The dog reminded Gannicus of the ones his people kept, and the ones the Romans brought with them to war.

"Gratitude," he said quietly as he set his phone aside. "I could not bear thought of him lingering in a cell after surviving an arena."

He knew that feeling intimately and would not wish it on any creature.

Although Hild would have accepted a good dog, a needy dog, without any concern for its appearance, the look of him in the picture immediately softened her heart with sympathy. "The poor creature," she murmured. She saw, too, what the creature could have been, could yet be, if it was given proper food, proper treatment, proper training.

She had had an inkling of why Gannicus felt such kinship with the poor beast, the need to rescue him, but to hear the words aloud only confirmed it. She reached to cup the side of his face, stroking her thumb against his cheekbone. "He will live a full and happy life with us," Hild promised. "All are loved here."

"Gratitude," he said again, soft and tender. He leaned into Hild's touch and tipped his head to kiss her. "Besides, what is an estate without guard dogs?"

He gave her a bright grin. He supposed their home would be more a farm than an estate: they would be doing all the work themselves, after all.

Hild snickered at that, her smile never wavering in the warm affection she showed towards Gannicus. There was little that she would not do for those she loved, and this was a small favor to grant.

"I thought we all served in that regard," she joked. Between the four of them, including Aggie's powers, they would make a fearsome band.

Gannicus grinned at the thought.

"I would question mind that thought to bring harm here," he admitted. Whoever dared would quickly regret whatever life choices led them to that moment. He leaned to kiss Hild's brow, then the tip of her nose, and finally her soft, smiling mouth.

"Cariad."

"Leof," she echoed, her eyes shut, her expression blissful. Even after all this time, such softness of affection never failed to please her intensely, more than it should. She had never known it at home and now she craved it.

Her eyes opened and they were gently adoring. "Perhaps I should let you have every creature to earn more kisses."

"If that is the price, we will need more property," he teased her. His thumb brushed tenderly over Hild's hip. "I dare imagine what a herd of sheep will cost me."

Gannicus's smile came easily and he kissed Hild again, lingering against her lips. "I had thought toward horses..." His smile grew into a mischievous grin. He wondered how many livestock groups he could list before she hit him.

Hild laughed softly as she moved to slide her arms around his shoulders, shifting ever so slightly closer to him, into his space.

"Sheep will certainly cost you more than a kiss," she said. "But it's a price that I'm sure you'd be more than willing to pay. Horses though... depends on how many."