Echoes of desperate screams erupted from the Royal Bedchamber, piercing the air as panicked servants scurried in a frenzy, gripped by turmoil. Guards roamed the dimly lit hallways, their vigilance unwavering as they took their posts at the entrance of the bedchamber, forbidding all from crossing its threshold. Outside the chambers' doors, Geta paced anxiously, his face a canvas of worry, while Caracalla mirrored his tension, restlessly treading back and forth. On the rarest of occasions, when fortune allows someone to witness it, they might glimpse the twin emperors revealing an emotion other than their relentless rage or unquenchable hunger for blood. Yet, concern was undeniably a sentiment neither emperor was unfamiliar with revealing. “GETA!” Y/n's voice rang out in anguish, reverberating through the chamber. With mounting frustration, Geta ran his fingers through his hair, his grip intensifying before a sharp, exasperated sound escaped him. Fueled by a sudden surge of fury, he forcefully pushed the guards aside, his voice roaring with an order for them to clear his path. The moment he stepped inside, his silhouette emerged, locking eyes with Y/n. Y/n's fingers stretched out, trembling slightly, until they finally brushed against Geta's hand. Though the physician and handmaidens implored him to leave, the Emperor's heated glare froze them into silence. As Y/n's labour advanced, Geta began to grasp why men were rarely allowed to witness such harrowing ordeals. Yet, the pull to stand by his wife eclipsed the dread of witnessing her in such a state. Y/n obeyed the command to breathe, and push the excruciating agony of childbirth drove her to clutch Geta’s hand with a force she hadn’t realised, yet he remained unfazed by the pain searing through him—after all, it was a mere shadow compared to the torment his wife bore in her fight to deliver their child.
“My Venus, you're doing wonderfully.” He murmured, his breath grazing her cheek, the gentle praise making her heart skip as she gazed into his eyes. “Just hold on a bit longer, and we’ll finally meet our little one. Son or daughter, it matters not—I will love them endlessly, just as I love you.” His soft words contrasted with Y/n's cries, tears pouring down her face in relentless streams as she pushed, her voice rising in desperate pleas to the gods, begging for their blessing—a healthy child.
Geta caressed Y/n’s head as he whispered in her ear, his voice filled with devotion and a dangerous promise. “I vow this, that if you do not make it back to me. May the gods and all of Rome feel my rage.”