A/N Just a little something which ran through my head in Latin class while talking about the possible punishments for slaves. It may or may not be historically accurate, or good for that matter, but it's just something I thought of randomly. Daemon means guardian in Greek, hence the title.

The knives hurt, don't get me wrong. They pain me like the bite of a thousand small needles, the jagged edge sawing through my flesh just deep enough to draw blood. The heavy man in front of me grins as he take pleasure the pain he is causing.

The pain, the horror of what comes next evades me as the past walks by outside the cage. The boy, the one who was the cause of all this pain. His small face stares in at me and he waves a small deformed hand, which will never write properly. The boy who's father wanted to extract the ultimate punishment for such a small thing. Did he truly expect me to stand by as he killed hi son? To hold the sword for the act? A slave obeys his master's will in all things. No exceptions, and the right of the paterfamilias is not one to be challenged.

The sad eyes of the child are dragged away by his tutor, one of the few spared from my actions. The others are already gone, killed more simply. The man has left by now, leaving just the blood running down my arms. They shall come for me soon.

To face death at the claws of the beasts is worth the cause I am to die for. This boy, this child of Rome shall live while I die. None but he know of the father's intended deed, his anger at the useless hand and the sharp mind so much greater than his own.

The clank of the keys; they are coming. The door opens to reveal the guards to take me to my doom. The grin never leaves my face as the blood runs down my arms to drip at my feet and I am led to the last doom of Daemon of Athens, slave to Marcus Equititus Castus, Senator of Rome.

A young boy sat among the cheering crowd with a solemn face as he clutched the hand he nearly died for. The blood of his savior was splattering the crowd as they cheered the great beasts who devoured the worthy man before him. His brother clutched his shoulder behind him as they watched their most faithful of servants being torn apart, silently, the grin never leaving his face and the blood dripping from his cold body flowing into a soft pool on the sandy pit of the Coliseum.