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Once, in a time long forgotten, in what could only now be called Ancient Rome, the world was a different place. Filled with hope and joy, heroes walked the land. Monsters raged and kings ruled. Men forged their destinies free of shame and fear. To live was the greatest thing a man could do. Gods took notice of us and our kind. Life was different.
In the hills of Rome lived a young man, no more than 20 in his years, a tender to the sheep, and farmer of the hills. He lived a solitary, but happy life, content with what he had become.
But still he was ever uneasy. Something was simply wrong with his life. From day to day, he tended the fields and looked after the sheep. But it was simply not enough. There was something missing. Something wrong.
And, with this thought still roaming his mind, he began a journey. A journey to find himself. A journey to become whole.
From high hill, to low valley he wandered, stopping only for sleep and to help those he encountered. And for a while, he was happy. He knew what it was to be free. To have no ties, but that he forged.
But even this freedom grew boring. It became lonely, deserted. There was only he who could enjoy it. Only he who was there to see his triumphs. Only he who was there to comfort himself in the lonely night.
And so, without ties, he wandered again, incomplete. Looking for more.
Eventually, after many years had passed, he decided to cease his travel. To rest his weary head. To live the rest of his life alone. For now, after many years of searching, he had decided completion could never be found.
He found a field far from anyone and anything, and set about making his final resting place. He toiled at the land, breaking its rocky exterior, regenerating the land, bringing it back from stoney waste to fertile soil.
With weary hands, he began to build his final home. His final resting place. Great stone blocks he carved. Alone he moved them to build his home. Alone he created a place to rest.
One day, many nights after he had started, a woman came stumbling past his home. Tearful and wounded, she stumbled toward him as he rested.
Without hesitation, he moved from resting by his half completed home, drinking his broth, to her.
She was weary as he, wounded by some great beast, falling more and more from consciousness.
“What has happened?” He asked.
But she was too tired to answer. She slumped deep into his arms, falling into the gental embrace of unconsciousness.
He looked down into her tired eyes and realised at that moment, this woman would be his saviour. His completion.
Holding her, sleeping in his arms, he stood, to take her inside to rest. But he stopped, as he saw the cloud of dust and thunder that approached. Something came this way, and it was not good.
He took her inside, laying her gently down on his own bed.
He stood again and took up the sword of his father.
Again, he stood there, before his half completed home as the dust and thunder drew to a stop before him.
It was some great lizard, a hundred feet high, with scales of diamond, teeth of steel, and eyes of fire.
It bellowed down to this lone farmhand.....
“Fool, where be the woman who came here?”
“I do not know what you mean oh great wyrm” replied the man, without a hint of the fear that gripped him.
“You do little child. I saw her here. You lie to me now. Give her to me. She is none of your concern. She is mine” roared the lizard creature.
“True, she came to me, but I will not give her to you” said the man, defiantley.
“Then you shall die, and I will take her too. Both of you shall fall” it growled.
“Before you take me, I ask of you oh wyrm, why do you want her? What has she done too you to make you so angry that you follow her even here?” asked the man.
“She was given to me by her people. She was given to me to fill my hunger. It is her duty to be my meal, my food. She is nothing more. She knew her fate. But she defied it, and came here, running from the inevitable. She is mine. I will destroy her, and now you.”
And for a moment, the man thought. He did not want to fall to this wyrm, nor did he wish to give up the woman who would be his saviour.
And so he turned to the wyrm.
“Surely sir” said the man “she does not want to die. Could you not just leave her be? Couldn’t you eat the animals of the field, and let her go? You can have every animal I own, everything, just to let her be with me.”
But the monster was not impressed.
“I will have you, then her, then all of your livestock as well. There is nothing you can offer me”.
The man knew it was true. How could he barter with a monster that would take everything from him eventually anyway?
He started to speak again, but stopped as a he felt a soft hand gently touch his shoulder.
“Great wyrm of the North” spoke the woman, stood at the mans side “it is true, I am yours. I know that now. I cannot escape the fate I have made for myself. It is my destiny to feed you and keep my people safe. I know that now. Take me, and leave him alone.”
She stepped forward, to stand between the man and beast. She opened her arms to accept the deathly embrace of the lizard creatures mouth.
But the farm hand could not let this happe. He ran before her, closer even still to the creature.
“Wyrm of the North” he said, “I will not let you take her from me. I have only just found her. She is my love and saviour. I will not let you take her from me. Back away now, or die where you stand.” spat the man.
The creature began to laugh.
“Little child, I will take you both. I am everything. You are mine. Your sword cannot puncture my scales. You cannot fight me. There is no way you can defeat me child.”
“I beg to differ wyrm. I have love. Nothing can take that from me. Nothing. The gods have blessed me with love. I cannot die now. You can never harm me.”
And with that, the great wyrm bellowed with laughter, rising up high into the air, baring glistening white fangs as long as a mans arm, to strike the two.
And as it rose up, the man prayed to Mars, god of war and farming, to aid his blow. He would not give in to this evil. He would save her, and in turn, she would save him. It sped forward, on its inevitable path to strike the couple.
And with love and Mars guiding his hand, he struck a blow that would sunder mountains. The sword bit deep into the wyrm, and its great sweeping strike turned into a fall, as it died.
With a sound like an earthquake, it struck the floor, dead as the stone of the mans house.
The farmhand turned to the woman, and looked her in the eye, taking her hand.
“My name is Romulus. I don’t suppose you like broth? It’s just that I had just started mine when you dropped by. You don’t want to join me for dinner do you?”
And with that they both began to laugh.
This, they knew, would be the beginning of a great and glorious love.
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