A brief taste of Honey (Lucius x Geta)
Summary: Geta has to go behind Lucius’ back and it’s eating him alive. They start preparing for the first battle
Authors note: to be able to wrap this story up in a way it deserves, the next part will either be very long, or I'll split it into two parts. Thank you for reading!
Thirteen days later, Geta’s pov
"Any news?" his uncle Aelius asked as he stood next to him on the hill. They had traveled north to evaluate the troops of the Alemanni, with whom his uncle had made the arrangement to attack Rome.
Geta squinted against the bright sun, his eyes narrowing as he observed the training below. In front of them, groups of soldiers marched in formation, clad in their combat attire: gleaming armor and weapons at the ready. The air was filled with the sounds of disciplined practice. Heavy feet struck the earth in rhythmic steps, with clinking armor and the occasional rattle of shields. The soldiers were split into two groups—swordfighters and archers—each honing their craft for the day’s drills.
The archers stood further behind, their longbows ready to send a volley of arrows over the heads of the advancing soldiers. Their practice was methodical, and every shot seemed to land with pinpoint precision.
Geta did not know the precise size of the army of the Alemanni, but it had to be close to eighty thousand.
The commands of the centurions rang out across the field, harsh and commanding: “Archers, loose!” “Velites, ready your throws!” The entire field moved as one. It sent chills down Geta’s back. The harmony of it was impressive, even in the absence of real conflict.
Geta dipped his head slightly, eyes still fixed on the training below.
"Mmm," he muttered his reply, his chest tightening. He did have news—but it still felt like cutting his own wrists sharing any of it with his uncle.
Almost two weeks ago, Lucius had told him of his plans. It had been the morning after they had made love. Lucius had woken after him, his body warm from sleep, and rolled on top of him. He kissed Geta slowly, tenderly, as if savoring the last moments before the world outside intruded upon them. The kiss was soft at first, leisurely—until Lucius moved lower, his intentions clear. He had taken Geta into his mouth, slow and deliberate, and Geta found himself gasping like a man drowning. The sound Lucius made—desperate, warm, and consumed by need—had both comforted and unsettled him. There was a sacredness to it, a vulnerability they had never shared before and might never again.
In that moment, their guards were down, completely exposed to one another, both naked in the truest sense of the word. But this had resulted in Lucius sharing far too much, telling him of plans that Geta did not want to know anything about deep down, as it was sacrificing his safety.
Lucius was blinded, pouring out his heart without noticing the cold dread building in Geta’s chest. Or the way he had clenched his fists so tightly his nails left crescent marks in his palms, fighting the urge to scream, to beg Lucius to stop—to not place so much trust in him. But Lucius, caught in his own emotions, had not seen the storm brewing behind Geta’s eyes.
"What is it?" Aelius asked, his voice pulling Geta from his thoughts. He turned toward him, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. "You seem lost in thought."
Geta thought of his little brother and took a deep breath. "He's planning to attack the border of Sirmium"—he named a distant city on the frontier—"with about twenty-thousand of his men." He cleared his throat, still staring ahead. "In about five weeks."
His uncle nodded slowly. "Interesting. How many men do you estimate his army currently holds in total?"
Geta lifted a shoulder. "I'm not certain of the exact number, but considerably more than that, as you might expect. At least one-hundred-fifty-thousand, spread across thirty or more legions. Though not all are solely under Lucius' command."
Aelius nodded. "I thought so."
Geta turned toward him. "What exactly are you trying to do? Surely your army, even combined with the Alemanni, is nowhere near large enough to overthrow Rome entirely."
"Of course not," Aelius said. "I merely seek to weaken it enough to gain an opening—to take control of the new Senate and the inner circles."
Geta dipped his chin, having assumed as much. A shiver ran through him as he considered what his uncle intended to do with Lucius. He needed a plan to keep Lucius safe—to keep him home, away from the battlefield.
His uncle squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you for the information, nephew. I will pass on the news and try to make arrangements for your brother’s timely release."
Geta held his uncle’s gaze. "Be honest with me, Aelius. What will it take for this to happen? How many victories on their side?"
His uncle furrowed his brow, scratching his jaw. "Hard to say.' He replied. "Let's see how this one plays out, and I will determine what can be done."
Geta shook his head in frustration. "It’s taking too long already. I cannot keep this up much longer—he knows I’m keeping secrets."
"I understand." His uncle uncrossed his arms. "Invite him to dinner at the end of the season to celebrate the last harvest on the island. By then, my soldiers will have joined the Alemanni army, and he will have no reason to suspect my invitations to you are anything more than familial obligations."
“This will be after the battle in Sirmium. He will not have much to celebrate by then.’
His uncle smiled faintly. “Invite him still, even if it’s a way to make him not think of me as a threat.’
Geta pressed his lips together, then gave a brief nod. The only reason Lucius had not thought of Geta’s uncle as a threat, was because he had not had any reason to. His mind was on other things.
As he made his way back to shore, his mind remained on Lucius. The more Lucius' army dwindled, the slimmer his chances of survival became. Geta needed a plan—and fast.
On his trip back overseas to the mainland, Geta went over every option.
The first was keeping Lucius home. But that would be nearly impossible. He would have to lock him inside his private chambers, which, with multiple entrances and windows, was hardly a viable solution. Not to mention, it would only delay the inevitable. Lucius would demand answers, and withholding the truth would only result in a complete loss of trust with minimal gain.
Perhaps he could force Lucius to stay by threatening to join the battle himself if Lucius refused. But Geta knew Lucius well—he would eventually relent. What had he been training him for otherwise? Which led to the second option: becoming Lucius’ personal protector, both on and off the battlefield. But if Geta died, the battle would rage on. Information would continue to pass from Laurentius to them until someone uncovered the truth, but without Geta to supply intelligence, Caracalla would be trapped forever.
The third option was to send Lucius somewhere far away, away from court and politics. But where? And how? Lucius was a man of honor and loyalty—he would never abandon his people. He would never leave with Geta without a just cause, and Geta couldn’t think of one.
The final option was to tell Lucius everything. This would inevitably result in Lucius hating him forever, and Caracalla’s freedom would become an impossibility. Lucius would never trust Geta again.
As the shore came into view, Geta sighed. All his options were terrible, each worse than the last. He decided to start with the first: try to convince Lucius to sit this one out. And if that failed, he would join him in battle.
When they reached land, Lucius was not waiting on the beach this time. Geta felt a pang of disappointment and scolded himself for it. Clearly, their intimate night together had not resolved everything. And considering Geta had remained withdrawn, he could hardly blame Lucius for being guarded.
Lucius knew Geta had been visiting family in Sardinia, but not why these trips had suddenly become so frequent. Nor had Geta ever mentioned an uncle before. He would have to follow Aelius’ advice and invite him on the next trip to quell suspicions.
That evening, Geta found Lucius in the dining hall and sat beside him. Lucius' eyes lit up, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, though there was a melancholy air about him.
"How was your visit?" Lucius asked, pouring Geta a cup of wine.
"Good," Geta replied with a weary smile. "My uncle asked me to invite you to the island for the harvest celebrations in September."
Lucius gave a slow nod. "Alright."
Geta studied him. "Everything alright?"
"Yes, I’m fine. But…" He scratched his jaw. "We lost a battle at Salona."
Geta frowned. That was not a location he had told his uncle about. He hadn’t even known Lucius was going there. It must have been Laurentius who intercepted the information and passed it along. Strange that his uncle hadn’t mentioned it.
"What happened?" Geta asked, genuinely curious.
"We had twice as many men. It seemed like an easy victory. Our troops were well-fed, well-rested… Then ten thousand Alamanni appeared out of nowhere. We were ambushed. Lost about six thousand men."
Geta cringed at the sorrow in Lucius' eyes, thinking of the horrors yet to come. His own breathing turned uneven and he wondered if Lucius noticed or if he was too lost in his own thoughts.
Lucius sighed and stared ahead. Then, absentmindedly, he reached for a curl of Geta’s hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. "Your hair has gotten so much lighter than when I first met you," he said softly. "Almost like wheat in the sun."
"It'll darken again in winter," Geta said, unable to meet his gaze. Lucius kept stroking his curls for a moment, attention fully on him. Then he dropped his hand in his lap.
They sat in silence, but Geta’s thoughts ran rampant. Traitor. Traitor. The word echoed in his mind. He hated himself more than ever.
When Lucius finally stood, Geta grabbed his hand, swallowing hard. "The next battle will be Sirmium, right?"
Lucius nodded.
Geta shook his head. "You're exhausted. Please, don't go."
Lucius frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You never get to rest. Stay here with me for the last days of summer. Let me take care of you. Your men have Mantius to lead them ahead."
"You know I can't do that, Geta."
"I hate having you gone all the time."
Lucius sighed. "I have a duty. I will not sit at home while my men die for me."
"Then I want to come with you."
Lucius shook his head. "You're not ready."
"I've been training for months. I can be useful."
"No."
"Yes." Geta clenched his jaw. "Either you train me properly for the next month, or I will enter battle without any preparation at all."
Lucius groaned. "You're staying home, or I'll send you to your uncle. I need you to be safe."
Geta almost laughed at the irony. "I will join, whether you want to or not. You either stay home with me, or you leave with me. You choose.’
Lucius opened his mouth, then closed it again. He squinted his eyes, clearly angry Geta was putting him in this position.
“We’ll talk about tomorrow.’ He said with a sigh.
The next day, Geta brought it up again. And the day after that, too. On the fifth day, Lucius grew so annoyed that he finally relented, but only after making Geta promise to stay back and close to him so he could keep an eye on him. Geta felt defeated at hearing that—it was the opposite of what he had been trying to achieve. This way, he would become a liability rather than a useful asset, unable to protect Lucius from harm. It all came down to Geta’s lack of experience, which he could only gain by going into battle and fighting in close combat.
The following week, they trained in the mountains. The air was thick with the lingering moisture of the previous night’s rain, and the end-of-summer foliage was heavy and dense. They fought intensely for several hours each day, and after a week, they finally swapped their practice swords for real ones.
"You're too slow," Lucius would say in frustration. "Watch your footwork!" And Geta would try and try, feeling Lucius’ anxiety for his fate grow. Geta already knew what Lucius would say at the end of their training sessions—that he was not ready yet. And Geta would have to agree. But still, he needed to find a way to go. Otherwise, he would eat himself alive staying back, knowing what awaited Lucius and his men.
As Geta walked through the halls one night toward his private sleeping chamber, he realized with unease that he hadn't seen Laurentius in weeks. A sense of dread crept over him as he wondered where he was and what was happening to him.
====
Two weeks later, they were preparing to leave for Sirmium. The ships were loaded with soldiers and supplies, yet an eerie quiet hung over them. There were no usual war cries, no misplaced humor to lighten the mood. It was as if they all sensed something was off.
The next day, they left port and set sail for open waters. Geta trembled with nervous anticipation. He had never seen battle up close, never killed a man. He could feel Lucius’ eyes on him at all times, filled with sorrow. It was as if Lucius was bracing himself for the worst. Geta couldn’t handle that expression and avoided him as much as possible, choosing instead to sit at the front of the ship and stare out over the waves, mentally preparing himself for the battles ahead.
Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. :) x Murphy
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