Summary: Geta's wife is overwhelmed by the violence of the Colosseum, but your sensitivity only deepens his love for you.
The sun hung high above the Colosseum, casting golden light across the sand-soaked floor of the arena. The crowd was roaring, nobles and commoners alike standing on their feet as blood stained the earth below.
Gladiators fought with savage precision, swords clashing, screams echoing across the stone walls.
But amidst the chaos and brutality, there was one figure that did not belong.
You.
You sat beside your husband, Emperor Geta, dressed in flowing silks the colour of rosewater, your eyes wide and trembling behind the delicate veil you wore.
The scent of iron was thick in the air, and though Geta sat straight and proud, enjoying every second of the spectacle with his brother Caracalla on the other side, you could barely breathe.
You turned your face, eyes squeezed shut as a scream pierced the air, followed by the sickening sound of metal sinking into flesh.
The crowd cheered louder.
“Love,” Geta leaned in, his voice gentle, though tinged with confusion. “You are not watching.”
You couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry… I thought I could, but-”
Another cry.
Another flash of blood.
You felt your stomach churn.
Geta’s smile faltered. “You are unwell.”
“I can’t… I can’t bear it,” you whispered, voice quivering. “There’s so much blood, and they’re hurting each other."
Caracalla laughed from beside Geta. “She’s soft, brother. Doesn’t have the Roman stomach.”
You flinched, heart pounding.
You didn’t belong here. You never had.
You weren’t a woman of war or vengeance.
You loved flowers and quiet mornings, and Geta’s soft hands when they weren’t calloused by sword hilts.
“I shouldn’t have come,” you murmured. “Forgive me.”
Geta’s expression changed then.
The pride and amusement faded from his face, and something more tender replaced it.
He looked at you, not as a disappointed husband or a stern ruler, but as a man who loved a woman too delicate for this brutal world.
Without another word, he stood.
“Brother?” Caracalla asked, raising a brow.
“I’ve seen enough for today,” Geta said, offering his hand to you.
You hesitated, eyes flickering toward him. “But… it’s not over.”
“I don’t care,” he said softly. “Come. Let’s go home.”
You rose with him, unsure, and followed quietly through the stone corridors until the roar of the crowd became a distant hum.
When you were finally alone, back in the quiet of your garden within the palace walls, Geta sat you down gently on the marble bench beneath the olive tree.
He knelt before you, a hand on your knee. “I didn’t know it would upset you like that.”
“I know you love the games,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to be a disappointment.”
“Disappointment?” he echoed, frowning. “You think your soft heart is something to be ashamed of?”
You looked down. “It’s not fit for an emperor’s wife.”
Geta reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s exactly what I need. Do you think I wish to come home to more blood and fire?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You are my peace. My gentleness. My reason not to become like him.”
You knew who he meant, his brother.
Caracalla, who thrived on carnage. Who bathed in it.
“You could have any woman,” you said. “Someone brave. Fierce.”
“I don’t want brave,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. “I want you. The way you gasp when butterflies land on your fingertips. The way you cry when you read poetry. The way you hate to even see a bird wounded.”
You blinked at him, surprised by the clarity in his voice.
“You keep me from losing myself,” he said. “Don’t you see? If I forget what it means to be gentle… I’ll become a monster.”
You threw your arms around him then, burying your face in his shoulder. His arms came around you instantly, warm and solid, his hands stroking your back with comforting tenderness.
“I love you,” you said against his skin.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you, my gentle Empress.”
Later, as the sun dipped into dusk and the air turned cool, Geta led you through the gardens, your fingers laced in his.
No crowds. No violence.
Just the sound of birds and the rustle of leaves.
And that night, he held you tightly in bed, his breath at your temple.
“I won’t make you go again,” he murmured. “Not ever.”
You smiled into his chest. “Thank you.”
He kissed your hair, pulling you closer. “I’d rather lose the crowd than lose you.”
And from that day on, though he ruled Rome with strength, the people said Geta had grown softer.
This is a new Emperor Geta imagine based on a lovely anon request. I'm sorry its taken me so long to write and post this for you, I hope it's what you were looking for.
Summary: Geta's marriage to (Y/n) is a decision he did not have a say in. Therefore he takes his frustrations out on her and acts cold to his new wife. But all she does is understand and do anything he asks, wanting to be a good wife . Even putting herself in danger for him.
Enjoy.
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Bright rays of light shone down in such great streaks that they burned when (Y/n) tried to open her tired eyes. The particles of dust floating all through the air sparkled and shimmered like tiny incandescent stars when the sun hit them just right. It made it hard for (Y/n) to focus.
A horrible thumping hammered against the inside of her head and when she tried to lift herself up off the cushion she had slumped against, her sense of balance became distorted.
(Y/n) realised with a grimace that during her sleep she had been biting down on her tongue. There was a dull ache in her jaw when the tension finally loosened and her muscles could relax and release that biting grip but her tongue felt like it was swelling and doubling in size.
Her jaw loosened again and her lips parted, emitting a frail gasp when she lifted her head and realised there was a cherub face staring down at her.
The girl looked to be young, probably a bit younger than (Y/n) herself and she had caramel skin and such wide eyes that seemed almost too big for her face.
There was a small basket in her hands and a rag sticking out of the top, cleaning supplies most likely. The basket was hanging down near the floor as the girl leant forward, analysing (Y/n) like she thought the Empress might well be dead laid there on the chaise lounge.
"Are you alright, Empress?" The maid didn't dare make a move until the Empress spoke.
She didn't want to begin dusting and trying to tidy the usually empty, isolated library in case she disturbed (Y/n). She might have been Empress for a few short weeks, but none of the servants would want to upset her. They didn't know what Geta would do if that happened and no one wanted to find out.
With a deep breath (Y/n) brought her hand up and rubbed at her eyes as she pushed herself to sit up and look a bit more lively and presentable.
There was an awful ache in her lower back, presumably from the way she had slept, and the blanket was half draped over her legs and half on the floor. There was her book laid neatly on the floor by her sandals.
(Y/n) wondered if she looked unruly, if she was a mess and if this was going to spread around the palace as an invaluable piece of gossip.
"Quite… I must have lost track of time."
Her smile was inviting and polite and she clasped her hands together on her lap once the blanket was tossed to one side. (Y/n) was rather surprised she had remembered to put a blanket here in the library for nights like this.
Her bare feet touched the floor and shivers rolled through her skin at the cold contact, but it proved to be useful in livening herself up. Her back straightened up against the cushions and she tried to look alert and presentable as she stared up at the maid who seemed to have calmed down a little. Clearly she had been shocked when she walked in here and found the Empress fast asleep.
And (Y/n) was certainly not going to admit that this was where she spent most of her nights and this was what she had come to call her bed since she had moved into the palace.
"Would you like me to tell the Emperor you were in here? He must worry where you are."
Everyone who worked in the palace knew how both Emperors could act. Most liked to avoid Caracalla in fear of his horrible mood swings, one moment he would be grabbing at them and playfully calling out to them and other times he would be screaming and launching ornaments in their direction.
Geta was the Emperor who no one conversed with, who people were uneasy around because of how precise and controlling he could be.
The maid clearly thought that the Emperor would be concerned that his wife had spent the night here in the library instead of in her room with him. She didn't want him to worry where his wife was or panic and think that something had happened to her when that clearly wasn't the case.
A flash of worry sparked through (Y/n)'s eyes before she managed to mask it and put on a calm smile that shone as brightly as the morning sun in the sky. Her hands clasped together in her lap, pressing down harshly into her thighs to stop herself from fidgeting or tapping too much.
She shook her head timidly, trying not to look overly concerned or eager. "Oh no, he- he will know I'm here, I- I'm always here."
"Very well."
(Y/n) certainly didn't need this girl going to Geta and telling him not to worry, that his wife had fallen asleep in the library. Because then he would have to put on a faux sense of concern and dismiss the maid. He would be irritated by the news because he didn't care.
He knew very well that (Y/n) hadn't spent one night in their supposedly shared bed chambers since their marriage, and he didn't care one bit.
Her teeth sank down into her lower lip when her mind cast back to that first night here in the palace and how it had turned out.
"This union wasn't my decision."
Was that a question? Was (Y/n) supposed to give a response to that, to agree or try and prove him otherwise?
Her eyes were as round as saucers, pupils blown wide and watching Geta with enough unease to make her look like a timid rabbit that was about to be slaughtered by the hunt.
She decided not to give an answer because she couldn't fathom any words to say that would be helpful. It wouldn't do to tell him that this hadn't been her decision either because he already knew that. This marriage was for the better of their two empires, this was to create an alliance, to forge a union that neither country could break.
It hadn't been up to (Y/n) and she had no part in agreeing to this marriage, it had been decided and she understood. Arguing the point wouldn't have done anything but antagonise her father. And (Y/n) knew almost nothing about Geta, she didn't know if he would be insulted or irritated if she stated that she didn't ask or at first want to marry him either.
(Y/n) settled for nodding when Geta looked in her direction, proving that she was listening but that she wouldn't antagonise him.
"I am tied to you for the good of Rome; I shall not be made to endure your presence in my own palace."
It took all of her willpower not to flinch at those words. Was she such a horrid person to be married to? Was her presence irritating or off-putting to Geta? Did it not serve any of his purposes to be married, and to be married to her?
Again, she chose to remain silent and not point out that she was also tied to him, for the remainder of her days, for the good of her home country and for the good of Rome which had now become her main home. Her main concern, her main nation.
This wasn't her idea or for her own benefit just like it clearly wasn't for Geta's benefit to be married to her.
Her hands fisted in her golden dress, the bangles on her wrists clanging together and holting when they caught the edge of her dress or the side of her hip. It was all she could do to stop herself from scrunching the fabric too tightly and causing wrinkles and creases.
She remained glued to the spot, staring at Geta's back as he faced the bed like he couldn't find it within himself to turn and glance at her when he spoke.
"Stay where you choose, do as you please."
(Y/n)'s lips parted but all that managed to come out was a quiet "oh," and nothing more.
The waft of Geta's hand in her direction made her want to take a step back, but her feet would not move.
Did he not want to consumate the marriage? Was this a ploy? If they didn't consumate the marriage then there would be ground for annulling the marriage. And (Y/n) would hate for that to be the case and for the blame to be placed solely on her shoulders.
There was no better match for her than to be betrothed and married to the Emperor of Rome. If this was annulled and she was said to be the reason, she might never find another match.
As much as the thought of lying with Geta intimidated (Y/n), it was a necessity she had wanted to get out of the way. This marriage would be firm, unbreakable. If she had a child then her place as Empress was secured and she wouldn't have to think or to worry about her future here and what any of this would mean for her.
Geta didn't want her around. (Y/n) hadn't been expecting this.
She had expected to be his wife like any other marriage. To have to lie with him whenever he wanted, to have to constantly try her best to please him, to remain at his sides at all times like a prize. She thought they would be engaged in conversation, that she would spend most of her time around him. In the very least she had expected to share a bed with him like she had been repeatedly told when everything was discussed with her and she was told what was expected of her.
But antagonising her new husband wasn't going to do her any favours and (Y/n) didn't want to upset him because she didn't know what his reaction would be or what he would act like if he were irritated and upset.
It would be best all around if she agreed with him and let Geta make the moves and approaches. She could follow his lead and let him set the pace, that way there would be no problems or arguments.
He seemed to realise she still hadn't moved, for he turned and looked at her with arched brows and slight annoyance dwelling within his eyes.
"Go. It's of no concern to me where you spend your time- as long as you don't entertain other men."
It didn't sound like he cared very much. Perhaps he wanted this to be a marriage on paper and nothing more. But then if it was nothing more, wouldn't people begin to talk? Wouldn't they notice that the couple spent no time together, that (Y/n) wasn't staying in her own bedchambers with him. And if she had no child, they would certainly speculate and think something was wrong with her, that she was barren.
She could see in his eyes that he had said that last part because he didn't want this to be known. He didn't want news spreading that they weren't a proper couple.
(Y/n) would never dream of going with another man.
She was married, she understood the sanctity of this marriage. If she were to sleep with another man and someone found out, then it would be an act of treason on her part. There was no consequence of Geta being with other women, but (Y/n) couldn't. She was supposed to produce an heir to the throne and that heir had to be legitimate, it had to be Geta's child and no one elses.
Perhaps he would change his mind soon, maybe he just needed time to adjust to this new situation. And (Y/n) would do whatever he asked of her.
She would become a better wife for him, she would make him happy, make this union worked in any way that suited him.
They had a lifetime together to make this work.
With a nod of her head and her hands still clasped in front of her, (Y/n) bowed and began to step back. "Of course, goodnight Emperor."
Curiosity burned within Geta's eyes as he watched her leave the room. She didn't even bother to go to the trunk in the corner of the room that had been brought in this morning containing most, if not all, of her things.
She didn't take anything with her. She didn't stop and tell him that she wasn't going to be shunned or dismissed like one of the servants.
And he noticed, more as an after-thought than anything else, that she had such a sweet voice.
***
Excitement coursed through (Y/n)'s veins and made her lighter on her feet that barely seemed to touch the floor as she glided through the halls.
Her eyes brightened like flames were burning within them when her sights set on Geta and the little entourage of servants and guards following after him.
He was going to the colosseum, and (Y/n) was permitted to go with him. Of course, he had only asked her because the people of Rome would be very suspicious if their Emperor's new wife wasn't seen by his side whenever he made his limited public appearances.
(Y/n) wasn't sure whether or not Geta would be fine with her going out into the streets of Rome without her, whether she took some guards with her or not. He might not want her going out without him, he hadn't really said, and (Y/n) wouldn't do anything that would upset her husband. She had remained inside until the times he called on her and said they were going out.
When they went out they stood side by side, sometimes he took her hand and kissed it in a display of public affection to appease the people. They sat close together, they shared carriage rides, and that was as much intimacy as they would have.
(Y/n) was simply grateful to be around Geta, to be by his side and allowed to venture out of the palace walls with him.
A hint of confusion pooled within Geta's eyes when he looked to his right and saw his wife approaching him. His wife for all intents and purposes of Rome, and no more.
She was always smiling when he saw her, always so eager to be by his side and leaving the palace. Always happy and joyous and kind, so incredibly kind to any servants who talked to her. Anyone would think she were one of the low born people of Rome who had been allowed to live among the royals. It always surprised Geta.
He noticed the way that she greeted him too. How she nodded her head and dipped into a curtsey to him.
"Good morning, I trust you are well."
For the life of him Geta couldn't understand why she was being so kind, and to him of all people. It wasn't like they were in public yet, being observed and watched by the people and expected to be somewhat loving and share a certain sense of intimacy together.
"You don't have to do that, you're not one of them." His eyes made a sweeping glance towards the staff hovering around them.
There was no need for (Y/n) to curtsey and show him that level of respect. She wasn't a maid, she wasn't someone who always had to wait for him to speak to her before she could talk or even look at him.
(Y/n)'s eyes cast down towards the marbled floor for a moment while she and Geta fell in step beside one another.
"The Emperor deserves respect, especially from his wife." Was the tepid response she gave in that sweet tone of voice that almost irritated Geta because why was she so understanding?
He glanced sideways down at her through narrowed eyes. "And you respect me?"
"Of course I do."
Her response was instant, no time given to think it over because she knew the answer and she knew it was true.
It didn't matter how cold or unsure or arrogant Geta was when he acted towards her. He was her husband, and (Y/n) would always afford him the respect that he was due. He hadn't been cruel towards her, he didn't shout or raise a hand or embarrass her in front of anyone, so she would never do that to him either.
Each time she saw him she would smile, she would nod or bow and speak kindly to him because they were married, and she was supposed to respect Geta above all others. She didn't need to be so formal and kind to him, but she would because that was how she was taught to act. That was how she wanted to be, how considerate she wanted to act to the man she was married to.
How would she be a good wife if she turned away from him or didn't talk to him at all or gave him a snotty remark? How would any of that help their situation and make things better?
(Y/n) wanted their situation to improve, and all she had was time and her personality to win Geta over and prove she could be a better wife. She would be the wife he wanted, even if this marriage hadn't been decided or chosen by either of them.
Surprise swirled through Geta's mind as they began walking. He didn't think she would be so considerate towards him, not with how he had shut her out and how he didn't want her presence around him except for formal events and occasions such as this. He knew he didn't deserve her respect, and he couldn't fathom why she would still give it to him.
Silence blanketed around them as they gracefully walked down the corridor aiming towards the huge wooden doors at the end.
As they walked in tandem, (Y/n) glanced to her left when a small clinking noise caught her attention.
Geta was fiddling with the golden cuff bracketing his right wrist and forarm. It was a lovely item, intricate swirling designs, polished and bronzed to perfection, and the metal was strong enough that it could give a concussion to anyone Geta saw fit to whack with his forearm if he were defending himself for example.
The clasp at the side didn't seem to be doing up properly, and clearly it was irritating him because the cuff was loose and sliding down his wrist towards his hand.
With her lips pressed together into a thin but gentle smile, (Y/n) tentatively reached out for him.
Her left hand braced under his forearm near his elbow to keep his arm elevated and let him rest his arm in the palm of her hand. While her right hand secured over the cuff and pushed down so she could twist the clasp and lock it into place. The touch was barely there for more than ten seconds before the work was done, but it was the most intimate Geta had allowed her to be with him of her own accord. The only touch she had initiated between them, and he didn't push her away.
He remained still and frozen against her, watching with narrowed eyes as she helped him without being asked and without wanting anything in return.
Her fingertips ghosted across the back of his knuckles, causing shivers to ride beneath Geta's skin all the way up to his shoulder. And when the touch was gone, his arm suddenly felt heavy and hollow at the same time, moving back to hang limply at his side as he stared down at (Y/n) without saying a word.
"The colour matches your hair," (Y/n) whispered quietly, still looking at the cuff on his wrist which had been long forgotten by Geta.
Once they were through the great doors and descending down the steps, (Y/n) curled her left hand around the crook of Geta's elbow so she could stand close to his side and keep up with him. Their pace was slow and matched and she couldn't resist gliding her thumb across the crease of his elbow which seemed to make his breath catch in his throat.
She looked so happy, as if she had been a caged animal finally allowed outside, Geta thought as he looked down at her out the corner of his eye.
Such a radiant smile.
***
This felt like one of those days where (Y/n) would rather be back in the palace than out here on the streets of Rome.
That being said, she was pleased to have another visit outside the palace walls. Another morning where she could venture further than the gardens and see more sights and come across the people that were now her people, her subjects.
Being out here was such a difference to being cooped up in the library which had become (Y/n)'s home since moving into the palace after marrying Geta. (Y/n) knew she was lucky that her father had chosen to have her tutored the same as he did his three sons, she could read all the texts in the library and was fluent in Latin and able to write her own ideas and notations if she pleased.
She didn't know what she would have done if she couldn't read the endless books in the library which she presumed the twin Emperors had rarely ever visited or looked upon.
Her days were currently being spent in the library, being there when Geta needed her for formal occasions and outings such as this, wandering the gardens, and being by her husband's side for meals. For the pretense of a normal marriage union.
They had been out for a while now, visiting a temple and seeing the people, and that had been all well and good, but (Y/n) was ready to go back. She was ready to be away from the crowds that were starting to push and shove to get closer to them. Wanting to see them, to either admire or despise them. Either shouting praise or words of vile origin.
As usual when they were out in public like this, (Y/n) had taken to curling her hand around Geta's elbow. Nothing elaborate and if he ever shrugged off her touch she would back away immediately, but he didn't. He seemed to understand she was trying to be an attentive wife, trying to give that impression to his subjects that his wife was loyal, she loved and respected him and wanted to be by his side.
Her steps had fallen out of line with his and she was a pace or two behind him with her right arm stretched out so her hand could remain curled lightly in the crook of his elbow.
(Y/n) couldn't help but fall behind when she was looking at all the people crowding round. She could see people from afar pushing to get closer and the odd flower being thrown at their feet. A generous act that she couldn't reciprocate or show gratitude for and collect the flowers because clearly Geta was a man on a mission, and he wasn't stopping for anything.
Each time that someone shoved their way closer and got a step further towards them, (Y/n)'s skin bristled and she was sure that she could feel Geta tensing beside her. He was looking around too, but he was looking towards his right whereas (Y/n) was looking in the other direction towards the thinner sea of people crowding them.
The guards leading their little entourage and the ones following a close distance behind them were brisk and rather closed off as if they were tuning everything out and trying to move forward whilst ignoring the crowds.
They were close to the carriage now that would take them the rest of the way back to the palace.s
Quickening her steps, (Y/n) tried to fall back in step with Geta but she faltered when something seemed to catch her eye on her left.
A shimmer reflecting the bright midday sun, a glistening light as if a star had fallen from the sky and landed right in their laps. The sunlight bounced and refracted and made (Y/n) blink furiously to stop herself from feeling blinded. That dazzling light came closer and attracted all of (Y/n)'s attention, though it felt like she was the only person who could see or focus on it.
And upon seeing what was catching the light, her blood ran cold and dread dwelled in the pit of her stomach.
A blade.
A blade too short to be classed as a sword, but long and angled and not something (Y/n) would call a simple knife. A dagger, perhaps.
Whatever specific weapon it was, she could see the arm raising to the level of their chest. Hand tightly clasped around the handle of the blade, venom in their eyes, teeth ground down and lips pulled back into a snarl. Feet hitting the floor as he set into a lunge, and his target was made impossibly clear.
Geta.
He was going to attack one of the two Emperors; he was going for the Emperor that was more of a threat, the one that couldn't be controlled or subdued.
"Emperor Geta." That voice was dark, gravelly and coursed with venom that made (Y/n)'s entire core tremble.
"No!"
She was moving before she could stop herself, before her mind could really fathom what she was doing, what she was about to do and what the consequences would be.
Geta turned, exasperation written across his face when (Y/n)'s hand was no longer hooked around his elbow and she suddenly flung herself in front of him. He had no idea what she was doing or what she was up to and it made his chest tighten with an unusual sense of anxiety.
Everything happened so quickly, but Geta could see every little detail as if time had stopped just for him to allow him to get a grasp on the situation.
He saw (Y/n) stand in front of him, he felt her hand shoving at his chest roughly pushing him backwards to get him out of the way. And then he realised what she was obscuring from his path; he saw a blade cross her skin.
He watched the blade swipe across her front so quickly that he actually wanted to believe that the blade hadn't touched her skin at all but had simply caught the ruffled layers of her flowing dress.
That clearly wasn't the case when Geta watched a sparkle of red begin to blossom like petals of a flower bud opening up right before his eyes. It stained the purity of her white gown and churned Geta's stomach.
As soon as (Y/n)'s body started to crumple forwards, as soon as she looked like she were about to drop to the floor, Geta bound his right arm around her abdomen and yanked her back. He didn't know where his own force had suddenly come from but it didn't seem to matter. He pulled with enough force that (Y/n)'s feet almost left the floor and her lower back was moulded up against Geta's abdomen as he curved his chest around her as if becoming a shield for her.
Words tumbled past his lips in a flurry. Calling for the guards, for help, for someone to get that man back and keep him away from the Empress.
What did he employ these men for if they couldn't even protect him or his wife?
None of them had been quick off the mark. Why had it been (Y/n) who had seen what this man was up to? Why was she the only one who had moved, who had done something and tried to protect Geta when that was not her job, not her role or her concern?
"Oh Gods!" He spat, venom dripping from his voice as he twisted to the right and pulled (Y/n) along with him so she was out of the way. "Get him secured!"
He could feel (Y/n) trembling in his arms as the guards finally seemed to get the derranged man pinned on his chest and stomach on the floor. Dirt stuck to the corners of his mouth where his face was scraped down into the floor and the dagger lay disposed at his side, blood sticking it to the sand coating the floor while his arms were detained behind his back.
The rest of the guards crowded in around the couple, clearly realising that they had to do something- they had to do their jobs- and make sure nothing else happened to them.
Both arms stayed glued around (Y/n)'s waist and Geta was sure he could feel her trembling hands gripping his forearm like she was trying to keep herself attached to him or hold herself up.
They moved in tandem, conjoined and clinging together as Geta guided and practically dragged her to the right, aiming for the carriage that would seclude them away from the rest of the world, away from the rabble and give them some privacy and safety.
"Up, up."
Despite the urgency in Geta's voice, (Y/n) could hear something else lying underneath, something softer, something levelling on concern as his hands shifted to her hips and he helped to get her up into the carriage.
"I want a healer at the palace when we get there. Now do what you're supposed to and make sure nothing else happens to my wife or me." There was a maddening look in Geta's eyes and fury laced through his words that spat at the guards like they were nothing more than the grit on his shoes.
They weren't here for appearances or to look appealing to the people of Rome, they weren't here for fun or for something to do. They were supposed to guard the Emperor and anyone close to him. These men were supposed to use their weapons if necessary to keep the people at bay, to stop anyone from harming them.
And they had become slack and allowed the Empress to come to harm and do their jobs for them. That was not acceptable.
As soon as Geta clambered up into the carriage, he slammed the door shut behind him and let his body slump down into the seat opposite (Y/n). The carriage was small enough that even sitting opposite one another, their knees were touching. And if Geta leaned a little closer, his breath would fan across (Y/n)'s face.
He took ragged breaths, pupils blown wide and lips dry and parted as he sat forward and reached out for (Y/n).
At first his hands ghosted across her dress, pushing the torn pieces of material to one side until the strap that had been hanging on her left shoulder suddenly slid down and hung over her chest instead. With the material now loose and at his will, Geta parted it so he could see the wound hiding beneath.
Not a deep thrust from the blade, more of a slice across the skin than a deep puncture wound, which was relieving. But the blood was still soaking into the dress just beneath her collar bone and no doubt it would be causing her pain.
Shudders crawled beneath (Y/n)'s skin when she felt Geta's hands suddenly reach forward and cup her face. His touch was so intent, so fierce and desperate yet he still managed to hold her with some restraint, with some knowledge that she was tender and he didn't want to hurt her.
His thumbs were pressing into her cheekbones and his fingers were touching the tips of her jaw near her ears. He tilted her head until she was looking at him, no ability to look anywhere else but into those dark eyes that were desperate for answers.
He leant in close until their temples were almost touching and (Y/n) could feel the end of his nose so close to brushing hers. Their faces had never been this close before; their lips never this intimate or about to touch.
"Why?! Why would you do that?"
Her blank eyes stared back at him like she didn't understand the question, but it only aggravated him further until he felt like shaking her head in his hands to make her listen and understand what he'd said.
"You could have gotten killed. You- Gods, you do not stand in front of me and take a blade for me. Do you understand?"
Under no circumstances did Geta ever want her to do that for him again. He didn't deserve that. He wasn't the kind of person who should be saved by people like (Y/n). She was pure, she was kind and loving and someone he had mistreated badly. He didn't deserve her kidness or a sacrifice like she had just tried to give for him.
Taking a leap of faith, (Y/n) reached a shaking hand up and curled her fingers around his wrist, holding his touch against her face. Wanting to make sure his touch stayed right there, cupping her face in his hands that she didn't want to part from her skin.
This was the closest they had ever been, and this touch was extremely comforting to (Y/n) right now. She didn't think Geta was the kind of person who could give such confidence and comforting embraces, but now he was holding her, she never wanted this touch to leave. It made the shaking in her system die down and the rapid hammering of her heart simmer down just a little.
"The… the people, Rome need their Emperor, not me."
What kind of person would (Y/n) be if she just stood there and let someone hurt her husband? Hurt the Emperor of Rome? (Y/n) could never rule in his stead, she couldn't make decisions or challenges or lead Rome to glory, that would never be allowed. The people needed their Emperor and if something happened to him, if someone hurt him there could be an uprising and outrage throughout the city.
All (Y/n) had done since she married Geta was try to understand him, try her best to go along with whatever rules he set and try her best to be a good wife, a better wife. That included looking after him and trying to save him from situations like that. Even if it did put herself in harms way.
Geta couldn't understand that logic.
He found himself taking a deep breath as he shook his head as if disappointed in her, but he wasn't. He was simply baffled by her.
"I don't deserve a sacrifice like that from you- especially not from you."
He's been cruel.
It was only now that this was all dawning on him. (Y/n) hadn't asked for this marriage either, she hadn't chosen this the same as he had no choice, but she had been understanding.
Geta had told (Y/n) to leave the royal chambers, he didn't want her there with him during the night, it was his space, his privacy that he wanted to protect and keep strangers out of. He hadn't made other accomodations for her and he didn't know where she ventured off to every night instead of coming to their room and demanding that she stay because it was rightfully her private space too. She hadn't argued with him when she had every right to, and he never gave her any gratitude for that.
He told her he didn't want to be around her, and she didn't push him. Each time he called to her to join him on events and days like this, (Y/n) was right there at his side where he wanted her to be. And she never questioned him.
She didn't get upset, she didn't argue or make logical points with him. She didn't talk badly about him or spread gossip through the servants- which Geta knew now that she had every right to do so if she wished. (Y/n) had kept up the pretenses that everything was the way it should be.
And now she has just stood in front of him because she thought her sacrifice was justified, that the people need him more than they would need her.
"But you," he brushed his thumb delicately across her lower lip and suddenly found himself resting his temple gently and longingly against hers. "You deserve gratitude; a thousand apologies from me. You're my wife, and I haven't treated you as such. That changes now."
His lips touched hers then. Gentle enough that if (Y/n) had closed her eyes, she would surely have mistaken the touch for the gliding of a feather across her lips.
Just as soon as the touch was there, it was gone and replaced with the feeling of Geta's hand leaving her face and curving around to cradle the back of her head. His fingers weaved into the intricate styling of her hair, letting her temple rest against his shoulder while his other arm curved around her waist.
He almost pulled her off her seat and onto his lap with how close he held her to his chest, as if he thought that if he let her go then she might vanish or become seriously harmed again.
(Y/n) found herself winding her arms around his back, fingers scrunching into the soft silky fabric of his robes and her nose inhaled his scent that did wonders in calming her down.
She could just about hear Geta muttering how sorry he was into her hair, and she held him back tighter, glad to be in his arms and feel like a properly married couple for a change.
This was a lasting marriage, this was something that couldn't be undone or changed and (Y/n) wanted to make the most of it. She wanted to make Geta happy and be happy and content by his side. She wanted to have a happy life and a good marriage, because it was the only one she was likely to have.
This might not have been a marriage of choice, but it could be moulded into one of love and contentment.
Characters & Pairings: Emperor Geta x Empress!reader (romantic), Marcus Acacius x daughter!reader (platonic), Emperor Caracalla x Empress!reader (platonic)
Content Warnings: light angst, fluff, slight NSFW/allusions to sex but nothing explicit, love at first sight??, mentions of pregnancy, violence, and death, soft!Geta who only loves his wife & ooc!Geta, historical refences and mythology (not completely accurate to the timeline) | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 9.2k
Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)
Premise: When General Marcus Acacius gave the hand of his only daughter to Emperor Geta in exchange for glory his once ambitious self desired, he expected her vexation towards him and their relationship to be forever altered. But what Acacius had not planned for was the wicked emperor and his bride to overcome their odds and prove to Acacius what the cost of honor truly meant.
note: I have watched Gladiator II every damn day this week. I need help. And I hope you like this.
dilectus meus = "my beloved," in Latin
Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” = "Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia." traditional roman wedding vow.
The moment the ships were spotted approaching the coastline, the bells of the city rang and echoed against every wall, igniting celebration amongst its people who took to the streets and cheered for their impending arrival. A symbol of victory for the Roman army, led by the esteemed General Marcus Acacius, over the conquering of Numidia. Men, women, and children of all social class lined the pavement to get a glimpse of Acacius, the spitting image of a God in his regal attire, in his chariot on his way to the grand palace, passing the beauty of the Colosseum which served as a reminder to the people of how far men go for freedom.
“We love you Acacius!” Shouted from each side, the sound rivaling the drums. Acacius’ hand waved to the crowd with a tight smile on his face. If he could skip the festivity and retire to his home he would. The long months of travel and war had taken a toll, and Acacius grew tiresome of it all. Conquering lands on behalf of the emperors. All while they bathed in their riches. Driving Rome further into a depression where the corruption runs so deep it is nearly impenetrable.
But while Acacius wanted nothing more than to relieve himself of his duty, his loyalty to the emperors and Rome was immeasurable, all because of young ambitions he came to regret.
As the chariot approached the stairs leading to the palace, three golden figures emerged gaining more cheers from the crowd. Sunlight reflected off the beautiful golden laurels on their heads. Resembling the likes of the Gods they worshiped, the three stride forward, passing members of the Senate and Praetorian guards, until stopping a few feet away from the top step.
“Acacius!” “Acacius!” “Acacius!”
Acacius ascended the stairs to the rose petals dropped by children. When the three came to his view, his tight smile turned to a small, but genuine one as his eyes connected with the figure in the middle. He received a small one in return, but it was guarded. Not at all warm or inviting.
No, the last he got one of those was a lifetime ago.
Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Acacius approached the three and came to a still in front of them, raising a closed fist over his heart. “Emperor Geta,” he greeted the man to his right, bowing slightly before turning to the man on his left, “Emperor Caracalla.” Heart skipping, Acacius’ focus shifted forward to the last figure. Her own laurels glistened beneath the veil she wore. Acacius’ tone became soft as the words left his lips, “Empress Y/n.”
Marcella Acacia Y/n. Beloved and only daughter of General Marcus Acacius, step daughter of former Empress Lucilla, and the treasured wife of Emperor Geta.
Adored by the people, feared by the Senate, she was viewed as the Mother of Rome. A vessel sent by the Gods, Y/n held power and influence like no other. The type that made Senators flock to her side. The type that made gladiators fight beyond their limit in the arena in hope to gain mercy should the Empress grant them her favor. The type of power that made the people of Rome forget about the tyranny due to her status as their beloved general's daughter.
The type of power that had even the emperor's themselves turn to her for council.
“General Acacius,” Geta replied in acknowledgment, earning Acacius attention.
“I have taken Numidia in your names. That your dominion may eclipse that of every emperor that came before.”
“Crown him with laurels, sister,” Caracalla tilted his head to the side. The servant approached from behind holding the pillow to present to her.
Y/n stepped forward, taking the golden headpiece from the pillow it rested on and raised it over her fathers head. Their eyes met briefly before Acacius’ traveled down to bow, allowing his daughter to place the heavy crown on his head. When she did, cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by the Senates’ applause.
“Acacius!” “Acacius!” “Acacius!”
“Well done, father,” her whisper reached his ears over the noise. Acacius straightened, small smile returning as gave a curt nod.
“Your praise is most beholden for, my Empress.” His hand encased hers, bringing to his lips to gently kiss. When he let go, he noticed the alert stare from the men behind Y/n. Watching him like a hawk about to feast on its prey.
Y/n clasped her hands in front of her, returning to her husband's side who then motioned for them to begin walking indoors. Acacius led them down the steps into the foyer, the cheers from outside dimming and the four gathered in a close circle to converse while everyone else migrated to different corners. Guards positioned on every column, and servants hustling to keep everything in order.
Geta grabbed two goblets of wine from a table, “In honor of your conquest,” he handed one to Acacius and the other to his wife. “There will be games in the Colosseum,” he and Caracalla grabbed their own goblets from a servant.
Acacius did not appear pleased by the announcement, “I require no games in my honor.” His eyes flickered between the three as he spoke, “Serving the Senate and the people of Rome is honor enough for me.” He went to click his goblet against theirs, but Geta drew his away before he could.
“You are too modest, Acacius,” he told him, guarded amusement in his eyes. “Does not suit a general as accomplished as yourself.” It was then he tapped the goblets together, Y/n following before raising it to her lips to taste the sweet liquid inside.
“The glory is yours not mine,” Acacius insisted, “I only ask for some respite from war,” he paused, noticing the way his daughter’s eyebrow raised, her gaze shifting to Geta’s as though she knew Acacius' request was unwelcomed. “To spend time with my wife.”
“Your wife,” Caracalla repeated with a sniff, while Geta moved behind him to place his goblet down and brandish a sword from one of the guards. The emperor stepped closer to Acacius, “Remember the privileges we have granted her? Where is she now to ignore such an occasion?”
“There are victories yet still to come,” Geta surveyed the weapon as he returned to his wife’s side. It shined under the light, waiting to taste blood before being sheathed. “Persia,” it clicked against Acacius’ armor as Geta tapped it on his shoulder. “India.” He tapped the other shoulder, leaving the blade level with Acacius’ neck. “Both must be conquered.”
Y/n, who had yet to speak, watched her father. Anyone else would be trembling with fear at the sight of their loved one with a sword to their neck, but the empress remained poised. No flicker of panic in her eyes. Hands holding the goblet steady. She awaited his answer, observing the way he managed to uphold composure despite the lingering threat pointed at him.
“Rome has so many subjects,” he finally said, not breaking eye contact. “She must feed them.” Then, as though he never believed Geta would follow through with harming him, Acacius lifted his hand and brushed the blade off his shoulder.
“They can eat war,” Caracalla belted with a chuckle. Beside him Y/n’s expression mirrored her husbands. Stoic and dissatisfied.
The sword hitting the ground echoed as Geta launched it away and fell into the pond with a loud splash.
“Your triumphs,” Geta emphasized with a hardened tone. “Will be celebrated,” right hand raised, he presented it to Acacius, “as attribute to the greatness of the Roman people.”
The snarl Acacius held back was not missed by his daughter, who clenched her jaw as he took her husband's hand to kiss his ring. When he pulled away, the empress finally spoke.
“Husband, brother,” she addressed while keeping her focus on Acacius, “might I have a word alone with my father.”
Geta and Caracalla shared a look, both contemplating the request as the tension from the last five minutes had yet to cease. The former appeared reluctant, peering at his wife before nodding to Caracalla. The twin retreated instantly, but not before bidding a glance to the general in warning. Geta leaned down, his hand coming to Y/n’s hip while whispering something into her ear Acacius unfortunately could not hear. “Call for me shall you need to, dilectus meus.” His lips then traveled to her cheekbone, pressing a kiss and Acacius missed how Geta’s hand brushed over her stomach with fondness as he pulled away, leaving the two alone.
“You’d be wise to withhold implications of refusal to a direct order next time you bring victory to Rome, father.” Acacius’ heart skipped, a wave of nerves suddenly filling him at the tone he received from his daughter.
His Empress he should say. After all, he’s the one who put her in that position. The young girl he raised who cried at the sight of a wounded animal or hid under the table when his comrades visited had vanished. In her place was a woman who held the highest position one could have in Rome.
“Forgive me,” he placed his goblet on the table beside him. His thirst quenched. “I meant no offense. My travels have rendered me famished, and the thought of leaving the city so soon after returning is disheartening.”
“I understand,” she mused, placing her own goblet beside his. She assessed him once more before speaking, “The emperors are too occupied with their excitement over the expansion of the empire to consider your words as an objection to their plan for further conquest. Not to mention their eagerness for the games ahead.” She tilts her chin up to add, “I would not worry for any possible repercussions.”
Acacius cleared his throat, moving his arms behind him as he straightened his back. To have Y/n speak to him as a ruler would to her subjects was still unnerving despite the many years since she ordained the title. “That is comforting to hear.”
The soft murmurs of conversations around them filled the space. Geta spoke with Senators huddled by the feast table, while Caracalla occupied himself with his beloved pet monkey, Dondus. With the two distracted, Y/n took advantage and motioned to the hallway leading away from the foyer. “Walk with me.”
Departing, Y/n and Acacius strolled the halls of the palace. Away from prying eyes and ears, allowing them to speak more freely than they were afforded in a place consumed with ambitious men in power.
“The emperor's desire your presence in the palace during the course of these games. We’ve prepared your chambers and hope they are to your liking.”
Acacius withheld a sigh, not liking the idea of residing in the palace despite Y/n being close. He wished to return home, to spend what little time he had left in Rome with Lucilla. And while Y/n didn’t exactly order him to stay, her words left no room for objection.
“That is a generous offer. I am grateful for your hospitality.” He pauses to take in the scenery of the gardens. Several statues, mostly the Gods but one of each of the rulers. Hundreds of flowers lining the bushes. Poppies, daisies, lilies, and roses. Orange, white, pink, and red. Acacius recognized them as Y/n’s favorite, specifically the orange poppies which were rare to come by in Rome.
In fact, the only place in the city where they bloomed was the royal gardens. Now considered the symbol of the Empress.
“Might I inquire, my Empress,” He watched her pluck a poppy, bringing it to her nose. Her expression briefly shifted to one of delight. “When will I be permitted a visit to my wife? I have missed her, just as much as I have missed you, and wish to ensure she was taken care of during my time away.”
Y/n did not meet his eye as she replied, focused on the flower in her hand, “You’d be pleased to know Lady Lucilla was well provided for these last few months, General.” Calling him general instead of father stung, but Acacius did not let it show. Y/n led him to a bench overlooking the pond. “In fact, the emperors proposed a benignant offer the last time she visited the palace.”
Acacius stiffened, dread consuming him at this revelation. Having his wife at the palace when he was away at war always worried Acacius. For he was unable to intervene when senators or the emperors attempted to manipulate Lucilla. As an influential member of Rome’s elite, the daughter of emperor Marcus Aurelius, Lucilla was both feared and adored. Much like the reputation Y/n herself was beginning to garner. Of course, Acacius was confident in his wife and knew she could take care of herself.
But even with his daughter as empress, Acacius felt unease at the ‘what ifs’. One word, one action, could crumble the world around them.
Acacius licked his lips, inhaling before finally saying, “May I know this proposal?”
Y/n told the truth, not a speckle of hesitance. Lucilla would have told him anyway, so why beat around the bush. “The emperors’ wish for her to adopt them.” She did not have to look at her father directly to know his face was coated with shock. And maybe fear.
“Adopt them?”
“As her sons,” she confirmed, plucking another poppy to inspect. “Geta reminded her that during her fathers time, an emperor who lacked a son would adopt another as his heir. As you know the emperors’ mother and father died long ago,” Y/n peered at him over the flowers, watching his reaction. “And though they’d never admit it aloud, they desire the affection one is given by a maternal figure. They view Lucilla as the closest thing.”
In the years they’d been married Y/n learned all there was about her husband and his brother. The dark years during their father’s reign. Their worries for the empire. Geta’s suspicions of the Senate. Their love for theater and bloodshed in the Colosseum. And of course, the loneliness that came from being deprived of a parents’ love.
Time had been her greatest adversary when breaking through the concrete walls Geta had built around him. What she feared would be a heartless marriage, bloomed into one of friendship followed by genuine, passionate, union between the two. Late nights cuddled in bed, exchanging words of comfort. Gifts for any occasion. Staying by each other’s side no matter the situation. Y/n was his pillar of hope, and he was hers. Therefore when it came to the deep feelings Geta stored away, the type an emperor would rather suffer in silence than show his subjects, the only person he shared them with was Y/n.
Acacius had been the most surprised by the ruler's relationship, thinking back ten years prior to the moment he announced the betrothal to his daughter. She was five and ten years of age, Geta two years older. Acacius was an ambitious man, full of fire and rage. Wishing to climb the ranks and earn his place as the top general in Rome’s army after many years of being second to the current one at the time.
At the time the young twins had recently come to power upon the death of their father. The other generals were hesitant to take more lands. Believing the quality of the empire should be their priority. Taking his chance, Acacius, ignoring Lucilla’s headed warnings, promised to continue conquering on behalf of the emperors if one were to take his daughter as their empress.
Neither wished for marriage. The senate knew that. Acacius knew that. The whole damn city was well aware the twins enjoyed the many pleasures they were afforded being emperors and did not desire marriage and children. But they needed Acacius. Needed him to extend their empire to embed their names in the history books.
After weeks of deliberation, mostly the twins arguing over who would sacrifice their freedom of bachelorhood, a letter with the royal seal was sent to the Acacius household. Announcing Emperor Geta’s intent to take the hand of Marcella Acacia. Under the condition they were to wed a week following her eighteenth nameday.
“How could you?!” Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she sobbed. The opened letter laid on the table where she, Acacius, and Lucilla sat. The young girl pushed off her chair to stand, fury in her eyes, “How could you let this happen?”
“Y/n,” Lucilla reached out to grab her hand but was brushed away.
“Do you believe me to be some broodmare you may sell at the highest bidder?”
“Daughter, you must understand--.”
“What I understand is you have let your greed consume you!” His eyes widened, shocked by her outburst. Y/n didn’t let it stump her, continuing to scream and Lucilla quickly dismissed the servants. “Do not sit there and lie to me about your intentions.”
Acacius stood from his own chair, face hard as he looked down at her, but controlled himself, “You are angry, therefore I will allow this spectacle from you--.”
“Acacius,” Lucilla warned, heartbroken for her step-daughter.
“What my intentions were or are is not of your concern. The matter is said and done,” he steps closer, voice lowering. Y/n continued to silently cry, sniffing as she held her head up to him. While his heart strained at the sight, Acacius did not show it, “We all have a duty, whether we like it or not, Y/n.”
“This was not my duty until you made it so!”
“Enough!” His scream broke through the air, causing the two women to flinch at the volume. “You will marry Emperor Geta and you will become Empress of Rome! Start acting like one.”
Y/n shook her head, throat tightening as a sob threatened to release. “They have not been emperors an entire year,” her voice cracked, chest pounding as the anxiety within her rose. “And already there are whispers of their cruelty.”
“What have I told you about listening to tasteless gossip?” But Acacius heard the stories as well. Word spread of the twins' thirst for blood and savagery. Their rough pleasures with concubines, sending slaves to the Colosseum to fight for mere enjoyment. It was despicable.
And now his innocent, loving daughter was to become the wife to one of them. All by his doing.
Y/n glared, scoffing in disbelief, “It is said Emperor Caracalla impregnated one of his concubines--.”
“A rumor.”
“--and that he ordered her to be executed!” She seethed.
Acacius rubbed a hand over his face before holding it up, promptly ending the conversation, “Emperor Geta has graciously granted you three years to prepare for your role.” Y/n let out a sound of anguish, turning away from her father to cry freely into her hands. “You will remain here, your mother will guide you, and I expect you to listen. I do not want to hear any more objections or indignity. Do you understand?” When Y/n did not reply, Acacius repeated more firmly, “Do you understand?”
Breath catching in her throat, the girl slowly faced Acacius with glistening eyes. She swallowed, mouth dry from crying that when she spoke her voice was hoarse. “I understand, father.”
For the next three years under the guidance of Lucilla, Y/n was prepped to become Geta’s wife. Really it was preparation for her responsibilities as Empress. Geta was a private person so they were at a loss when it came to knowing things he liked and disliked. She wondered if he’d call upon her to meet in person before the wedding. But he never did.
Acacius was promoted and served the emperors as expected by continuing the expansion of the empire. Gaining glory where he became adored by the people. It made Y/n angry. It made her resentful of her father. But she withheld her tongue. Doing what was expected of her.
When the day arrived, as planned a week after her eighteenth nameday, Y/n was brought to the palace alongside her parents, the Senate, and Rome’s elite members of nobility. The citizens gathered at the gates, lining the pathways to get a glimpse of their new Empress in full celebration as the city bells rang. Y/n rode in a golden horse drawn chariot with her father, Lucilla and General Darius behind them. The train of her white dress and veil flowed against the wind. She waved to the crowd, but thankfully they could not see her grim expression that was covered by the veil.
Trumpets and drums sounded as the chariot approached the steps to the palace. The walk up was all but a blur. Y/n gripped Acacius’ arm, letting him lead her into the foyer where everyone awaited. The veil obscured her vision, but she made out the silhouette at the end of the altar.
Geta.
As regal as ever. The spitting image of Jupiter. Or Mars. Or Pluto. Depending on how one saw it.
Y/n’s pounded at a rate she’d never experienced before. So hard against her chest she swore her ribs were beginning to ache. Her palms were sweaty, and the veil began to stick to her forehead from the precipitation that gathered. Squeezing her eyes, she focused on her breathing. Leaning on Acacius as she kept up with pace. The trumpets and drums were replaced by the light melody of a harp.
“May the Gods watch over me,” she mentally prayed, the distance between her and Geta closing in. “And grant me the strength in this moment.”
The two came to a stop, Acacius bringing her hand to lips before handing it to the emperor. Y/n’s jaw clenched, eyes still closed as she felt Geta bring her forward so they were directly in front of the officiant. The traditional wedding versus belted from his lips, calling upon the Gods to grant their favor for the union between their vessel Emperor Geta, and his chosen bride. Proclaiming their marriage to be a symbol of unity, a beacon of hope to Rome and her loyal subjects.
When no one voiced objections, the exchanging of the vows and rings followed. Geta went first as per standard. Plucking the golden band with his sigil from the pillow, and repeating the words of the officiant as he placed it on Y/n’s finger. Squinting her eyes and not glancing at Geta just yet, Y/n picked up the golden band reserved for him with a trembling hand and took his in hers.
“My Lady, repeat after me,” the officiant addressed her. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”
“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” the vow sealed the promise of consent. Making her his wife both legally and under the eyes of the Gods. ‘Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.’
It was then time for Geta to crown Y/n with laurels, bestowing the title of Empress of the Roman Empire, and secure the marriage with a kiss. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut again when she felt his hands move to grasp her veil. Praying her knees wouldn’t buckle and send her tumbling to the floor. The fabric kissed her cheeks as it lifted, revealing her face to Geta for the first time ever. She felt him fold the veil past her hairline, fingers brushing against her temples as his hands drew back. Sending heat down her spine.
Only when she heard Geta clear his throat did Y/n open her eyes, locking on a pair of dazzling brown ones resembling melted chocolate. So striking it made her still.
He was beautiful. Captivating. His beauty was spoken of during the course of their betrothal by guests at her home, but no words compared to the sight of him before her. The man deserved to have statues and portraits of him throughout the empire. Bewitching every man and woman to cross his path.
Y/n gulped, the action noticeable by how Geta’s eyes drifted down. As their eyes locked once more, they held the stare for what seemed like forever. For Y/n, she experienced a feeling she couldn’t describe. It wasn’t butterflies, it wasn’t her mind telling her to run. It was calm. Like when the ocean became stagnant after a powerful storm. As though all the anxiety she battled leading up to this moment was vanishing. There was still an underlying concern, but staring into Geta’s eyes, she saw something in them she believed was understanding. Sympathetic.
“Ahem,” the officiant drew their attention back, Geta’s soft expression replaced by annoyance, making Y/n stunned by the sudden shift. The officiant seemed so as well by how he stammered out, “the ah--the laurels, my Emperor.”
The laurels. Laid on a purple pillow made entirely of pure gold. A symbol of her title.
Geta’s hands seize the crown, lifting it up and making a show of it to the guests before hovering it over Y/n’s heads. At first her gaze remained on the floor, but, with a sudden urge of confidence, Y/n met his eyes. And just like the first time, everything around them blurred. Leaving them as the only two in the world. Gods how she wished she knew what he was thinking. If he was undergoing the same feeling as her.
Geta’s movements were slow. Placing the headpiece on Y/n with accurate precision it took her breath away. The veil and her hair beneath it. Once satisfied with his work, Geta’s hands slid down, brushing her cheeks on its journey until he cupped her chin and drew her to him as he leaned down.
Y/n inhaled, heart stuttering as she leaned into his touch, meeting his lips in a tender kiss. Their noses grazed, making her eyes flutter shut. Seeing it as it was her first kiss, Y/n kept still and allowed Geta to take the lead. It was a simple press of mouth to mouth, but enough to create heat in every cell in her body; she felt like a volcano preparing to erupt.
Lasting only mere seconds, the two pulled away at the explosion of cheers. The walls of the foyer echoing with the applause and the blessed words from the guests. Y/n, however, did not turn to face them, her focus completely on Geta. Who in turn, only had eyes for her.
At the feast table, Y/n sat in between Geta and her father. On the opposite side of Geta was his brother, beside him Lucilla. Not having an appetite, despite the array of foods presented to her, Y/n snacked on a bowl of pomegranate seeds. Mindlessly at first, but then as she brought another seed to her lips she paused. Pulling it away to examine it, her mind wandered to the tale of Proserpina and Pluto.
The beloved Goddess taken by the God of the Underworld to become his Queen. And how the consuming of pomegranate seeds sealed her fate.
How ironic.
Swallowing thickly, Y/n shook the thought away and resumed eating. The sweetness hit her taste buds and she chased it with the bitter wine.
By the time the feast ended Y/n’s face hurt by the amount of fake smiling she did towards senators and their wives. Genuine ones were reserved for the servants, albeit small ones. And whenever she and Geta happened to lock eyes her expression was rather tight, but managed to convey a sense of comprehension.
Saying goodbye to her parents proved difficult. Y/n wanted to avoid it all together but it was inevitable. No longer was she under their care and protection. Her place was beside Geta, ruling Rome and all she owned. If she desired a visit with her parents they’d have to come to the palace, or she’d have to get her husband’s permission to go to them.
Lucilla hugged her close, pressing a tender kiss to her temple while whispering, “All will be well, my darling girl. The Gods will protect you, and I promise to visit frequently. Write to me as often as you please.” Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, but she kept herself together.
“Thank you,” she murmured with a sniff. “For everything.” Lucilla had been in Y/n’s life since she was nine years old when she married Acacius following the death of her brother Commodus at the hands of the mighty gladiator Maximus. Her own mother died of fever two years after her birth, and Lucilla raised Y/n as her own.
Pulling away from the hug, Lucilla bowed in respect, beaming softly at her daughter, “My Empress.” Water pooled in her eyes, Y/n tilting her chin down before watching Lucilla depart down the steps to wait for Acacius. When he came forward, a lone tear finally spilled from Y/n’s eyes. Cascading down her cheek until meeting her jaw where it fell and hit the floor.
Acacius’ expression was one of anguish. Guilt. A Y/n swore she saw regret. But whatever regrets her father had did not matter. He signed her fate three years prior, and now he was reaping what he sowed.
“My Empress,” He bowed. Y/n inhaled sharply, straightening as she stared at him.
“Father.”
“This is where I leave you, but rest assured I will visit as soon as I can. I am off to Hispania and should return in time for Saturnalia.”
“Then I bid you good fortune on your journey,” Y/n clasped her hands in front of her, twiddling with the rings on her fingers. “And may the Gods protect you for what you may face ahead.”
For a moment they just stood there. Staring at each other. Unsure of what to say next as the relationship between them was forever altered. At one point in time Y/n adored Acacius. She prided herself on being the daughter of an esteemed general. Favored by the people and those in power. She remembered the relief when he’d return home from battle. The excitement of opening gifts he’d brought her. The late nights spent hearing his tales.
“Daughter,” Acacius began, licking his lips as he tried to say the words he’d been thinking about all night. “I--.” Y/n cut him off with a raised hand.
“Please, I do not wish to hear excuses, apologies, or affirmations. As you told me when this was arranged, what is done, is done. I’d rather we’d leave on a civil note, than attempt to reconcile any misforgivings we have toward each other.” Pausing Y/n contemplated her next words, but knew if she never said them it would plague her mind for eternity. “All I have left to say is this, you pride yourself on your honor. You gained so much in your service to Rome, and now you’ve acquired more by your now status as father to her Empress.” Acacius swallowed thickly, Y/n exhaling as she studied him with an unreadable expression. “While part of me understands why you went the lengths you did to achieve such honor, I require time before I can find myself forgiving you.”
This is what Acacius was afraid of. That Y/n still held bitterness for his actions. His shoulders dropped in defeat, “I understand.” It pained him to say it, but knew better than to defend himself. “ I…hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day, daughter.”
“I do as well,” she agreed softly, “But this is the cost of honor, General.”
Hearing her call him ‘general’, and not ‘father’, felt like a blade to the chest. Acacius wanted to pry the word from her vocabulary and never have her utter it again. It lacked the warmth and love calling him ‘father’ had. General was what his subordinates called him. It was what senators called him. Not his daughter.
He was about to reply when a guard approached, drawing their attention. “Emperor Geta has departed, my Empress. He sends a message; he will accompany you in your chambers momentarily.” It took every ounce of her not to physically recoil. Nodding firmly as she thanked the guard who then bowed and took his leave.
Stepping forward, Y/n offered her hands to Acacius, “Take care of yourself and Lucilla, father. May the Gods watch over you in these coming months.” He took them, bringing them up to kiss her knuckles then leaning to kiss the middle of her forehead. Just below the laurels.
“Goodbye, daughter.”
As Acacius descended the steps to the awaiting chariot, Y/n watched from the top. Letting the tears fall freely when her hand fell back to her side after waving goodbye to her parents. She didn’t care that there were guards posted on the side. Nor did she care of the onlooking citizens watching from afar.
Releasing the emotions, out in the open, was the most liberating feeling she had all week.
“Your majesty,” a servant assigned to Y/n gently called out, “It is time to ready you for bed.”
Wiping her cheeks, Y/n let out a shaky breath before responding, “Yes of course.” Turning to face the servant, Y/n put on a brave face and followed them to her private chambers. Preparing herself with each step for what was in store for her.
Sitting on the ottoman at the end of the bed, finally alone, Y/n leaned her elbow on the mattress, knees bent to tuck her legs so she was leaning against the bed at an angle, and closed her eyes as her hand met her forehead. She was out of her wedding dress, now donning a silk nightgown beneath a flowy robe and the many pins removed from her hair. The air was cool thanks to the open doors leading to the balcony, causing goosebumps along her arms. Geta would arrive shortly, therefore Y/n took advantage of the minute of peace. Knowing what awaited her once he did.
The reality of her new world hit her like a ram. She was no longer just Y/n, the childhood nickname given by her father. She was Empress Marcella Acacia Y/n, wife to Geta and future mother of Rome's heir.
She’d have to sit in Senate hearings, attend games in the Colosseum--which would begin in two days time to celebrate the royal marriage. Her honeymoon would be spent watching men fight to the death for her favor during the day, and in bed performing her duty to Rome. Providing an heir.
“By Fortuna if you hear me,” she prayed aloud, “I call to you for guidance and grant me your favor as I navigate this marriage and the position you and the Gods have blessed me with. Please,” she pleaded with a slight crack in her voice, “if love does not come from this union, at least afford us the sentiment of friendship. At most respect.”
The sudden gush of wind hitting her made Y/n believe for a moment Fortuna had heard her. Sending it as a sign. That she was listening, and she would do her best to watch over the empress. It brought solace.
A moment later her peace was interrupted by the booming sound of the chamber doors opening. Sighing, she remained in her position, but shifted her head so it laid on her palm. Opening eyes, she saw Geta emerge from around the privacy screen that separated the bedroom from the rest of the chamber. He too was out of his grand attire. Sporting a red and gold robe tied at the waist and slippers on his feet.
“Hello,” she greeted, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure what exactly to call him. He hadn’t granted her use of his name. Emperor was the formal and likely appropriate title, and husband felt odd.
Geta approached slowly, expression neutral which made it hard for Y/n to figure out what he was thinking. He gave a curt nod, “Empress.”
The title made her shudder, shifting on the ottoman to make space for him. “Forgive me for asking, but how would you like me to address you? In private and in public.” The look of surprise was evident on his face, not expecting her to ask such a question. He sat on the ottoman beside her, leaving a bit of distance between them.
“The proper way to address me in front of others would be my title,” He said affirmably, “Husband would also be appropriate--both in private and about.” Licking his lips, his voice takes a softer approach. “But when it is only us, you may call me by my given name.”
Y/n’s heart fluttered, sitting up a tad straighter. Honestly she hadn’t expected him to allow such a thing. Calling someone by their given name was personal. Intimate. It signified respect.
“Then I must ask you to call me Y/n,” she told him with a small smile.
“Y/n,” He tested her name on his lips.
They sat there for a moment. Basking in the quietness the night afforded. However neither could deny the awkward tension in the air.
“I ah,” Y/n swallowed, face heating up as she tried to look anywhere but his eyes. Fearing she’d fall deep into something she’d be unable to pull herself from. “Might I inquire something of you before we…,” she trailed off, not wanting to say, ‘consummate this marriage.’ “Just for tonight, if you allow me.”
Geta thought for a moment, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. He knew she was stalling, and frankly he was fine with putting off the act for another hour or until the Senate came knocking at the door to see proof. “What is it?”
“I know not to expect much from this marriage.” She swore there was a flicker of surprise hit his face, but she brushed it off. “We have a duty to perform in the eyes of the people, I accept that,” Y/n was cautious with her words. Wanting to avoid any offense that may anger Geta. She heard the rumors of his temper. She did not want to be on the receiving end of it. Ever. “But, if it is possible, I’d like for us to form a basis of friendship?” Now there truly was surprise written all over him. It worried her.
“Well,” He mumbled, stroking his jaw before letting his hand fall back to his lap. “I cannot guarantee that…friendship,” saying it felt odd, “will be up to your satisfaction.” The way her mouth turned down caused his stomach to turn, quickly adding, “But, I can at least promise to do my best.” Her smile returned, and Geta mentally sighed in relief.
“That is all I ask.”
The conversation turned into the two asking questions. Simple ones, but it felt natural. Both genuinely interested in their answers and taking time to process before asking the next. Geta learned Y/n enjoyed reading poetry, she discovered his knack for collecting. She told him her favorite foods, and he told her how he prefers the color red over others.
“What’s your favorite flower?” She asked, placing the goblet of wine he had poured her on the end table after taking a sip.
“I don’t have one,” He glanced away with a frown, taking a sip from his own goblet. “I suppose lilies if I had to choose. The palace gardens are full of them.” Pausing to think before nodding as though satisfied with his answer, he turned to Y/n. “What is yours?”
A tiny smile curled on her lips, “Poppies. Orange poppies.” The answer surprised him.
“Orange poppies?” he repeated with furrowed brows. They were not native to Rome. In fact it was believed the flower grew thousands of miles away from the city. “Those are rare.”
“Likely why I am fascinated by them. My father,” she cleared her throat, feeling a sudden wave of emotion, the memory surfacing. “On one of his expeditions he came across a field of orange poppies--told me it reminded him of the sky when the sun begins to set.” She thought of the nights spent standing on her balcony to watch the beautiful color shine down on the city. It was her happy place. “He brought several home as a gift.”
The fondness in her expression sent an unfamiliar warmth in Geta’s chest. So soft and gentle. She looked like a vision of Venus, so beautiful it made his breath hitch. Leaning back against the mattress, Geta swallowed another gulp of wine, “Do you still have them?” At her head shake he felt disappointment.
“No,” she hummed with a sad smile. “They did however last a long time before wilting. I then pressed them with books to frame on my wall.” She made a mental note to send word to Lucilla to pack the item for her the next time she visited. “To be honest it surprised me they lasted the journey.”
“Where did your father find them?”
Her brows pinch, deep in thought. Geta couldn’t help but think how adorable it was. The way her brows furrowed as her mouth shifted. It was like he could see her mind working to bring her an answer. Pulling into the depths of her memory.
Eventually she shrugs, offering an apologetic frown, “I believe somewhere between Gaul and Germania. Unfortunately I cannot place the exact name or location.”
“That’s alright,” Geta replies, finishing off his wine and discarding the goblet on the end table closest to him. An idea popped in his head, and he made sure to follow through with it in the morning.
Before long there was a knock at the chamber door. “Come in,” Geta called, annoyed at being disturbed. Nerves tickled Y/n’s stomach when a guard emerged, a little astonished to see the two sitting together still in their night robes.
“Apologies, Emperor,” he bowed to Geta, then to Y/n. “Empress. The Senate wishes to confirm the consummation.” The rulers noted how the guards’ focus drifted to the untouched bed. Indicating they had not performed the act. Y/n gulped.
Geta on the other hand waved dismissively, “Inform them they will have their confirmation. When I deem it so.”
“Yes, Emperor,” the guard quickly bowed and departed to avoid being berated. The second he was out of their sight Y/n snatched her goblet and downed the rest of her wine. She was going to need it.
“Well,” she exhaled, wiping at her mouth, missing Geta’s lingering stare of the action. “We should get to it then.” The goblet hit the table with a *clink* Y/n turning to face the man fully and willing herself to calm down. Remembering Lucilla, and even some servants, advice of the marriage act. She’d experience pain and discomfort. Men were the ones who got pleasure, for women they had to endure.
It sounded like a nightmare.
Standing up, Y/n removed her robe leaving her in the sheer night dress, placing it on the ottoman under Geta’s watchful eye. Her body began to tremble, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she brought her fingers to the straps, but was suddenly stopped. “Wait,” Geta, still sitting, placed a hand on her arm. Perplexed, Y/n’s hands froze, turning to Geta to find him tense. “You do not have to remove it.”
“I do not understand….”
“You are uncomfortable,” He stated, making her cheeks heat up. It was the truth, how could she deny it? It was written all over her. Shuffling on her feet like she was preparing to run the hell out of there.
Standing up, Geta moved her hands back down to her side, before placing his on her shoulders. There was something about his expression, along with his gentle touch, that made Y/n’s heart beat faster. Warmth pooling in her stomach as Geta’s eyes flickered to her lips and back to her own. “It will do us no favors if you are not relaxed. It’ll make it far more painful for you,” his tone turned serious, “and I do not wish for that.”
It stunned Y/n to hear Geta be so concerned for her comfort. As though he wanted her to share the pleasures sex had on an individual. She truly was at a loss for words. “I--how?” was all she could say.
Instead of replying, Geta’s fingers trailed down the length of her arms until they met her waist, making her gasp when he lifted her up. Her hands went to his neck to hold steady while he maneuvered them so she was sitting on the edge of the bed and propped her feet on the ottoman, Geta kneeling on the furniture between her legs so they were level.
A warm hand cupped her jaw, bringing her face close to stare deeply into her eyes. “For this to be good for the both of us, I shall need you to trust me.” His nose brushed against hers, hot breath fanning her mouth. “Do you trust me?”
If this wasn’t the sign Fortuna heard her prayers, then Y/n did not know what it was. Here was the man she dreaded for years about. The one who craved bloodshed and war. Who was not afraid to send a man to his death for mundane offenses. Who was not shy about obscene acts with concubines in public. Here he was kneeling before her for consent to the marriage act, taking her feelings into consideration, instead of forcing her to endure it without any care.
After what seemed like forever, brought out of her thoughts by Geta’s finger moving to trace her cheekbone, Y/n whispered, “I trust you.”
He closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against hers so soft it made her head spin. Y/n responded with the same tenderness, gasping when his mouth went to her chin. Then her jaw, then along her neck.
“Lay down for me, my Empress.”
Y/n must have been a favorite among Fortuna. At least that’s what she seemed to believe. As the weeks, months, and eventual years went by, Y/n’s marriage to Geta surprised her every day with the newfound friendship they formed. It was like their match had not been a political arrangement fueled by ambition. Geta was irrevocably devoted to Y/n. Showing not so much in words but with actions.
He filled the library with every literary work. Had the kitchens prepare her favorite meals. Showered her in the lavish silks and gems. There were freshly picked roses or lilies from the gardens on her nightstand every morning. And though they did not share a bedchamber every night, Geta would sit on the balcony of hers at the end of the day where they would have tea and converse. Y/n listened to his vents about the Senate, and complaints of his brother. He’d open up about his frustration with their lack of popularity, to which Y/n offered advice on how to win the people's favor.
There was companionship between the two. Bringing comfort to the otherwise stressful environment being rulers had. And though neither voiced it, they knew there was something blossoming with how they’d light up whenever the other entered a room. The lingering gazes. The brushing of one's hand as they passed. Kisses to the knuckles at Senate meetings and adjusting clothing when it’s out of place. Then there was the tiny detail Geta had dismissed his concubines. Something Y/n had no knowledge of until three months of being married.
Eight months into their first year of marriage, Geta unveiled the project he’d been planning since their wedding night. It had taken months, longer than what he anticipated, but then again he had to send men to Gaul and Germania, find the flowers and bring them back so they may plant the seeds in their gardens to grow them. The journey itself took over five months, then eight more weeks for the poppies to bloom.
“Geta,” Y/n murmured in awe of the hundreds of beautiful orange poppies covering the entire garden grounds. Matching the sky above as the sun began to set on the horizon to end the day. It was exactly like how her father told her when he saw the field all those years ago. Plucking one closest to her, she brought it up to inhale, sighing in content at the familiar scent she had missed. “How did you…?”
“I sent an expedition to Gaul and Germania,” He explained, taking a seat on the bench by the fountain. She joined him, clutching the poppy as though it were a lifeline while gaping at the man with utter adoration. Their closeness spread heat between the two, and Geta cleared his throat before speaking again, “Thought you might enjoy having your favorite flower steps away rather than miles.”
Her heart soared, so much so it made her eyes water. “I do not--I do not know how to even begin expressing my gratitude for this gift.” Peering at the poppy she traced one of the petals, the smoothness glided along her fingertip. “This is absolutely perfect, Geta. I cannot thank you enough.”
“You are welcome,” he replied sheepishly, tugging at the fabric of his toga around his neck. Suddenly feeling hot despite the cool breeze. He froze when Y/n skidded closer to him on the bench, making their thighs touch. Time stopped with only the gentle sound of the fountain and birds flying above reminding them where they were. His eyes never left her figure as she leaned forward into his space. Y/n secured the poppy on the lapel of Geta’s toga so it was tucked between the fabric and his golden shoulder plates. The orange color contrasted with the white and gold. Come to think of it, the flower matched his hair. And Y/n wondered if it was a sign from the Gods that the color of her favorite flower would remind her of her husband’s hair and vice versa.
Adjusting it as best she could so it would stay, Y/n tapped the petals a final time before retracting her hands. However when she went to place them in her lap they were caught by Geta, his mouth colliding with hers in a kiss full of passion. “Hmmph!!” Catching her off guard it made her gasp, allowing Geta to slide his tongue past her lips and deepen the kiss. Her palms went to his cheeks, bringing him closer as his arms went to her waist. Hauling Y/n into his lap to press their chests together.
“Never did I believe the Gods would permit me the privilege of receiving genuine, raw love,” Geta pulled away from the kiss, his eyes still closed and tone dropping an octave with reverence. “Nor did I believe I’d be capable of giving it to someone. For all my life I was deprived of love, save for the piece reserved for my brother.” His eyes fluttered, peering up at Y/n as his hand glided along her back affectionately and it brought goosebumps on her arms. Her breath hitched at the way he was looking at her.
“I--,” he gulped the saliva that had piled in the back of his throat. “You have bewitched me, Y/n. Beyond anything I could have imagined. You consume my every thought--when I sleep you fill my dreams,” Once the confession left his lips Geta could not stop, cupping the back of Y/n’s neck to hold her close to him. All the emotion that had been building up for months finally released like a dam. “Since you have come into my life I cannot see a future where you are not in it. You are my anchor for when I feel lost at sea,” Inhaling Geta finished with, “These last eight months I have grown to love you, Y/n. And I hope you have come to feel the same.”
There it was. The four letter word that held so much power. The one that if anyone had asked Y/n four years ago when she was first betrothed to the emperor that she’d hear him declare it in the palace gardens surrounded by her favorite flower, she’d have told them they were mad.
He waited for her reply, growing wearing with each second that passed. It was the most vulnerable Geta had ever been, and he felt he might vomit if Y/n didn’t say anything. The fear of rejection plaguing his mind.
That fear diminished when Y/n brought him into a kiss that took his breath away, much like he did to her. His arms tightened around her, not letting an inch separate them as he met her kiss feverishly. The one on their wedding day may have signified their union, this one represented their undying love for each other. A beacon of hope for their future.
“I love you, Geta,” her mouth caressed his with every syllable. Pressing soft pecks each time they met, he shuddered beneath her touch. “I think I have for some time, but was too afraid to say anything when I had said on our wedding night I did not expect anything out of this marriage. And I’d be lying if I said I was not fearful of the kind of man rumors painted you to be. But I was wrong,” she brushed a strand of his flaming hair away to hold his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “You have enchanted the very depths of my soul.” She kissed him once, “Ubi tu Gaius,” she kissed him twice. “Ego Gaia.”
They sat there, on the bench overlooking the fountain pongs, tangled in each other's arms within a field of poppies as the sun departed and allowed the night to take claim of the sky. Between kisses they sighed and breathed each other’s air. And at times they simply stared into the other’s eyes. Neither needed words to vocalize the emotions pouring out of them.
And when Geta took his wife to bed that night, he sent word to the servants to move his things into hers when morning arrived. For they would not be needing separate chambers anymore. When the day ended the emperor would remain with his empress. Having tea on the terrace before he’d lift her up and carry her to their bed. Where he’d worship her for hours with only the Gods to bear witness and repeat the action the next morning.
Acacius returned home in time for Saturnalia just as promised, arriving at the palace for the celebrations with Lucilla in hand, both excited to see their daughter for the first time since the wedding. But when they came face to face with the empress, Acacius saw first hand the fruit that bore from the seed of his ambition. Y/n and Geta were no mere strangers, they were not emperor and empress. They were husband and wife. He knew then that any loyalty reserved for him perished. Her allegiance was for the man feeding her pomegranate seeds and kissing away droplets of wine that may have fallen from her lips.
Thinking back to the last words Y/n spoke to him, Acacius realized then what truly was the cost of honor.
Warnings: 18+, crazy caracalla, p in v, fluffy wedding cutness
a/n: on a spicey scale this felt like it was three out of five chilis while writing it, as always i suck at warnings tell me if i missed something
dividers by @dividers-are-us
Getting married to an Emperor of Rome was no small thing. The endless planning and the parties that led up to the ceremony were mind-boggling. The Palatium had been celebrating a marriage that hadn’t officially happened for half a year. At each party you found yourself dripping in more jewels and finer silks. None of the jewels or fabrics meant much to you except the ring that once adorned your betrothed’s pinky finger. Some would call it ridiculous for an emperor to give his own jewel as the sponsalia ring of a soon-to-be empress, but the gold band set with a blue stone was all the more special knowing it had once been his.
Now you sat at the head table, trying to enjoy the final celebrations before the wedding tomorrow, dressed in the finest white silks and covered in gold jewelry you could never have dreamed of wearing. As you watched the festivities around you, you suddenly felt the hand of your betrothed resting high on your thigh, hidden by the table.
“Angellus.” Geta lowered his voice, wanting only you to hear. “What troubles you so? Do you not enjoy the festivities thrown in your honor?”
You slid your hand over his so both rested on your thigh. “Of course I do, my love.” You intertwined your fingers with his. “I am just tired. With all the lead-up to our marriage, I’ll admit I’m ready for us to actually be married and for me to call you my husband.”
The softest smile you had ever seen found its way to the fearsome emperor’s face. He lifted your hand from under the table and placed a kiss on the back of it. “I understand all too well, Angellus.” He was about to say more when his troublesome brother threw a wine goblet at a servant and stormed from the room. Geta sighed and rested his forehead against the back of your hand.
“I had hoped he would have warmed to you in these months leading up to tomorrow,” he said, “but that seems to be a dream not meant to come true.”
You caressed the side of his face when he raised his head. “Caracalla has spent much more of his life having you to himself than having to share you with me. He will adjust in time.”
Geta rested his cheek in your palm. “Are you sure?” He looked defeated for a moment.
“We will help him cope. Don’t stress about it now—we’re supposed to be joyous and happy. We’re getting married tomorrow.” Geta turned his head and laid a kiss on your open palm. “And after the marriage ceremony comes the marriage bed, my Angellus.” His eyes darkened at the thought. “I’ve missed you in my bed these months. Preventing a child out of wedlock is important, yes, but at what cost to us?”
You couldn’t help but shake your head and laugh at your soon-to-be husband. “In just hours you won’t have to worry anymore, my love.” The hunger in his eyes did not dissipate.
Without another word he stood from his throne, your hand still clasped in his, and began to lead you out of the still lively banquet. “Geta, we cannot!” you tried to scold him as he guided you into the hallways to find the nearest alcove with a drape covering the entrance.
“Oh, we can, Angellus,” he said as he pulled you into a private space hidden away from the world. You didn’t have a chance to respond before you were backed against the cool stone wall, Geta’s hands on either side of your face, kissing you hotly as if his life depended on it. He swallowed the moan that threatened to echo down the hallway just steps away.
“Quiet, Angellus. We wouldn’t want to cause a scandal mere hours before we are to be wed.” A trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses left a path down your throat. “My sweet, soft Angellus—how am I supposed to resist you? All warm and wanting, waiting for me to love you.”
A ring-clad hand gently gripped your throat and squeezed ever so slightly. “The bedding ceremony will be pointless if any of those foolish senators think I’ll wait till then to bed my wife.” The intense eye contact made you weak at the knees. Geta licked a hot strip up the side of your cheek, and you practically gushed with arousal.
“I am going to devour you, make you scream so loud nobody will ever question that you’re mine.” Your mouths were so close you were not quite kissing but sharing breath.
“Geta,” you breathed into his mouth. He kissed you again before ripping himself away, breathing heavily. “Go,” he ordered.
You didn’t move for a moment, frozen by the heat between you. “My love,” his voice broke a little, “you must go before I lose myself and cannot hold back any longer.” His eyes softened as he lifted the drape that protected you both from the world.
“I will see you on the morrow, my Geta.” You slipped silently down the hallway toward your rooms to begin preparing to marry the man you loved in the morning.
Try as you might, you did not sleep well after your alcove encounter with Geta—it only made you yearn for him more. So when your servants finally entered your room to begin preparations, it was a welcome sight.
“We are here to help you prepare, Domina,” the lead servant said.
With a nod of your head, a whirlwind of preparation began. You were bathed and anointed with the finest oils; your hair was washed and styled into a magnificent bun at the base of your skull, secured with a golden hairpiece that spanned the width of your styled hair, delicate golden chains helping to keep it in place.
The dress made for you was even more magnificent—layers of the finest silks the imperial seamstresses could acquire, with so much golden embroidery it seemed to double the weight of the garment. The neckline appeared to have a necklace sewn into it, with small beads and golden coins that shimmered under the light and gave a soft tinkling sound as you moved, before disappearing behind the silk cape attached to your shoulders.
The last adornment was your veil, made of the most delicate silk, nearly transparent if not for the tiny hand-sewn golden flowers scattered across its expanse.
“Domina, you are ready,” one servant announced, as you were guided to a floor-to-ceiling mirror to take one final look at yourself.
This was it. You had started as a lowly servant, and now you were mere moments away from becoming Empress of Rome—the strongest empire in the world. With the final touch of golden dots painted along your lower lash line, you took a steadying breath and nodded, signaling that you were prepared.
The doors to your chambers opened, and you stepped out for the final time.
The palace hallways were draped with curtains, vases of flowers placed every few feet, as you made your last walk as a servant girl. Surrounded by the finest palace guards, you moved slowly toward the closed doors of the throne room. Trumpets blared, announcing your arrival. Moments later, the crowd inside erupted in cheers—you could only assume Geta had taken his place upon his dais.
The lead guard stepped forward and bowed slightly. “It is time, Domina.”
You nodded once, nerves flaring in your stomach for the first time that day. The guards stepped back, the great doors swung open, and you were met with the most deafening applause you thought you would ever hear. The palace floor was invisible beneath a thick layer of yellow crocus petals, covering what seemed to be the entire expanse.
As you walked slowly up the aisle, the guests on either side tossed more petals, which rained down upon you as they bowed deeply. You hardly noticed anything around you—your beaming smile and shining eyes were only for Geta.
When you began your ascent up the stairs toward the dais, Geta rose from his throne, dressed in golden silken finery to match your own. At the top of the stairs, you curtsied deeply before him.
After you were anointed with oils and blessed by the Pontiffs, a red velvet pillow was brought forth, bearing a smaller, more delicate version of Geta’s own laurels. You dipped your head slightly, and he gently placed the wreath upon your brow.
When you lifted your gaze again, you found nothing but sheer adoration across his face. Taking your hand in his, he raised his voice so that all within the throne room could hear:
“Romans! Your Empress!”
Another deafening roar rose from the crowd. Geta raised your hand and kissed it, his voice lowering to a possessive murmur meant only for you:
“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”
For one brief moment, you shared a private exchange in the midst of the grand ceremony, before you and your Emperor husband turned to walk back down the aisle—this time hand in hand—through the sweet shower of flower petals.
You're barely free of the throne room—the doors slam shut behind you—when Geta means to whisk you away to somewhere more private, but all plans to do so come to a screeching halt.
“Brother. Sister,” Caracalla sneers as he emerges from a side hallway that leads to and from the dais. “May your union be long, prosperous, and as happy as our dear mother and father were. Oh—sister, your parents had a happy union? Oh wait, you don’t even know who they are.” He goads, grinning as he watches anger flare across his brother’s face. “Well, may the feast be better than your elaborate spectacle in there.” With that, he walks away, money in tow.
You turn to face Geta; tension radiates off him. “Do not let him rile you up, husband—especially not today of all days. We are meant to be happy, not fighting your brother.” You place a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Surely you can’t already start ignoring your wife after only minutes of marriage,” you add with a sly smile.
Geta sighs and cups the side of your face. “Surely, after only minutes of marriage, you—dear wife—will not already try to boss your husband around. I am an emperor; I am not supposed to answer to anyone.” He strokes his thumb along your cheek.
“Well, I am an empress now, so maybe sometimes you can answer to me.” You can’t stop the grin that reaches your eyes. “Power-hungry already—what ever shall I do with you, husband?”
“Kiss me, husband.” What begins as a gentle kiss quickly becomes heated. Much to both your dismay, a throat clears behind you, reminding you that you stand in a very public hallway and that your moment of private intimacy has passed.
For an all-powerful emperor, the way he hides his face in the side of your neck beneath your veil is almost comical. He stays there a moment before meeting your eyes again. “You look beautiful, my Angellus.”
“You look handsome, my love.” You share one more heated kiss before allowing yourselves to be led to the celebratory feast, which is no doubt already underway.
Hours later, after countless speeches and many thanks given to the gods and the assembled citizens who celebrate the Emperor and his new Empress, you and Geta have been trading looks for the last hour, trying to make your escape. As the guests of honor, it proves difficult—until the entertainment changes and everyone is distracted by fantastical new tricks. That is when you both manage to slip away.
Darkness has fallen. The hallways are dim and eerily empty; the servants were instructed to be more invisible than usual once the sun went down. Geta removes a torch from the wall with one hand and takes yours with the other as you walk down the corridor, which has been gently strewn with flower petals leading to your rooms. The only souls you encounter on the entire journey are the guards posted at your door, who open it to let you in.
You gasp as Geta leads you inside: thick layers of rose petals cover the floor, candles glow softly, and vases overflow with blooms on every surface. The air is more fragrant than anything you have ever smelled.
When you reach the middle of the room you spin, taking it all in. “Geta,” you whisper, truly speechless.
“A flower for every thought I have had of you, Angellus,” he says softly.
That alone melts your heart. “Do you know how many times I tried to come for you after that first night?” he continues, kissing you tenderly. “How many times I counted the stars to keep my mind off you?” He kisses you again as he guides you toward the bed. “How many excuses I made to avoid having other servants sent to me—”
He kisses you with such passion that it takes your breath away, and you sink down together onto the edge of the bed.
“There is—and there never will be—anyone but you.” You are unable to speak around the lump in your throat, so all you can do is lean forward, press your mouth to his, and hope he understands the depth of your love.
As the kisses and caresses grow more sensual, the practical task of disrobing remains. “You look so beautiful…but how in the gods’ names does one take off such an exquisite gown as this?” he murmurs. You laugh into his mouth and reach up to the brooches that fasten your cape at the shoulders.
“It’s all in the shoulders,” you tell him with a smirk, and begin to undo the pins together.
When one brooch is free and the fabric starts to fall from your frame, the spark in Geta's eye is instant. While you’re not bare yet, he can fondle your breast and duck your nipple through the lesser layers of silk. You reach up to remove his laurels and curly ginger wig so you can see the real him, tossing them both carelessly on a nearby chair. Both of you, with your wandering hands, manage to remove regalia in what has to be record time.
As you lean back on your elbows, you take a moment to openly stare at your husband—his thick arms and toned stomach, with a trail of hair that leads from his navel to the short mound of curly brown hair surrounding his erect and throbbing member. Geta tilts his head, his eyes boring into you.
“See something you like, dear wife?” he asks as he begins to leisurely stroke his shaft.
“Very much so, husband,” you hum. “You claim to be such a master wielding a weapon—” You run a delicate foot up his abdomen and let it rest there, cocking your head to the side and goading him. “So prove it.”
His eyes darken and a sardonic chuckle leaves his mouth. “Oh, Angellus, I’ll show you exactly what I can do with my weapon.” He lifts your foot to drape it over his shoulder and gently kisses the protruding bone before kneeling on the bed, preparing to feast upon you.
“The great Emperor Geta on his knees—what would your empire say?” you tease, trying to get a reaction out of him, and judging by the look on his face, you’re about to succeed.
“Watch yourself, Empress, or the only person here who will be on their knees is you.” He punctuates the sentence by sliding a finger into your already dripping hole.
You arch your back and moan his name as he slowly thrusts his finger inside before adding a second. “Not so ready to try and get a reaction out of me now, are you, Empress?” He starts to twist and move his hand just right, making you squirm beneath him as he hits that spot inside you perfectly.
It’s not long before your legs are shaking, and he leans over you to gallantly swallow your cries. There’s a moment where you’re gasping for breath, not sure you can move at all, before Geta flips you onto all fours. You let out an undignified yelp that turns into a moan as Geta plunges his throbbing cock into your entrance.
“Gods, it’s been so long since I felt your wet heat around me,” he hisses as he inches himself in until his hips are flush with yours. He grabs a fistful of your tousled hair and gently pulls your head back. “Now that you’re mine, I’m gonna fuck a baby into you.”
The pressure of Geta pulling your hair and the fullness of his cock has you screaming like a whore.
“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He roughly slaps your ass cheek with his free hand before leaning over to speak directly into your ear. “My wanton little slut—only my cock can make you act this way. Only my cock will fuck a baby into you. Only my cock will fuck you.” He releases your hair to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze. “Come on my cock, you emperor’s whore.”
And that’s all it takes for you to come undone. You barely register Geta reaching his peak inside you, only realizing it when you feel the extra wet warmth leaking out around him. As his orgasm wracks his body, Geta doesn’t move right away, leaving only gentle kisses along your spine.
When he softens enough to slide out, you whine at the loss of him. Geta flops onto his back and gathers you in his arms, gently stroking your hair.
“Don’t whine, Angellus—we have all night. I’ll be inside you again.”
You just nuzzle his cheek as you start to doze off, languid and content.
“Do you know who I am?” Aurelia enters the small dark cell, the man they call ‘Hanno’ facing away from her, his features hidden to her prying gaze. Aurelia can’t help but notice his muscular back covered in a mixture of sweat, dirt and blood. Hidden beneath the grime, she can see the telltale brand of a slave, freshly burned into his skin.
“You should not be here.” Despite the many years that has passed, the man in front of her still holds signs of nobility and royal birth, in his voice and the way he holds himself, confident and unyielding.
“I know I should not, yet here I am. Do you remember me or not?”
“You are not easy to forget, Elia.” A nickname, her nickname, one that she has not heard in 16 years.
Aurelia slowly but surely places her hand into the rough calloused hand of her childhood companion, encouraging him to turn towards her. ‘How different his hands are,’ she thinks. It tells her an untold story of the laborious life he must of led after he was forced to flee Rome. The moment he turns to face her, their eyes connect, the burn behind Aurelia’s is instant, for those blue eyes are ones she could never forget. Not even if she wanted to.
“I thought I lost you.” Tears silently cascade down Aurelia’s cheeks while her dainty hands gently trace along Lucius’ features, trailing from his brow down towards his bearded jaw. Time has changed the boy she remembers, yet she can still recognise his boyish features in the man before her.
Both their eyes rake over each other’s faces, drinking in every changed detail. Aurelia immediately notices when Lucius’ eyes drift down to her lips, a movement she subconsciously echoes. The air in the small cell has changed, crackling with unsaid tension.
This is a little sneak peek of something I am writing for Lucius Verus and an original female character. It will follow the movie as much as I can. Hopefully you enjoy it and more than welcome to comment and like it! If you would also like to be tagged when I post the entire thing, let me know!
Here is an idea for a Gladiator 2 fanfiction Lucius Verus/OC. I’m a terrible writer but definitely have some ideas for stories if anyone wants to write this story.
The idea is that the story can be an about girl that is Lucilla’s ward , when her parents died Lucilla took in the girl and raises her from a young age and grew up with Lucius. Lucius being a couple years older than her. Was always a spirited girl that always had a play sword in hand when her and Lucius would pretend to be gladiators like Maximus growing up. From a young age she and Lucius always cared for each deeply. Even though lucilla would ways teach her to be a lady she was always would take any opportunity to learn how to fight. When Lucius is sent away she wanted to go with him but wasn’t able to which both devastated them. As the years went on lucilla remarried to Marcus acacius which became a father figure to her and he thought of the girl as his own and taught her more how to fight and they became close. Taught her everything he knew from hand to hand combat, sword fighting, archery and horse riding. Lucilla taught her everything she knew about being a lady but also learning the art of being a healer as well. But she always missed Lucius as the years go on. As she grew older she became a beauty that didn’t go unnoticed by both the emperors, Marcus has tried to protect her from a marriage with geta. Even though she was at an age that she should have been married by then. Anyways, she would sneak out of the palace a lot to go train with the gladiators that macrinus would purchase. Thats when she reunites with Lucius and it’s like nothing has ever changed even though she can see that he is full of vengeance and grief from what he has been through in his life away in Africa. They start to fall for each other again but it becomes complicated when he finds out that the general he wants revenge on is the father figure of his love. The story will follow the movie. I haven’t seen it yet but idk I think it would be a cool story.
If anyone wants to take on this story be my guest.
Warnings: Just the usual on a gladiator school enviroment. For the sake of this we imagine Maximus was single and not recently widowed when Proximo bought him.
Summary: In his process of learning the ways of the ludus, Maximus discovers that certain rules don't apply for everyone. Champions are allowed the indulgence of an inside partner chosen among the house slaves of the master, and the Spaniard had catched the attention of a lovely girl known for being unavailable to all the rest. Aware of the situation, and as someone already touched by such privilege, her friend encourages her hopes of being his chosen one.
Note: @wildsaltair and I are the originally intended audience of this little piece. OCs used are tecnically not fully fleshed characters, but a vehicle to self insert less generically than " x reader". By straight definition it doesn't fully count as a reader fic either, because the insert characters have tangible inspirations with some physical descriptions.
Fic format inspired by the lovely @themuseinthewoods, who previously wrote for both of us a self indulgent Troy piece that made me fall in love with the idea of customizing a fic. It's not OC, yet not quite a Reader, but a secret third thing:
" Writer self inserts to set up friend with blorbo of choice."
The first scene of the fic itself was slightly inspired on a moment from Hel der Gladiatoren (2003).
The overwhelming heat was a threat to the performance of gladiators in the arduous training sessions needed to prepare them for the dangers of the arena. In places like Zucchabar, this practical problem could become a very serious issue if the inclement weather wouldn't be taken into account from time to time. Used to the temperate climate on the mediterranean peninsula, the Spaniard was most likely to become aware of that sooner than everyone. Accustomized to it on the long expousure over the course of his existence there, the leader of the trainings intended to use it against him as a test of endurance. Germanic of birth and raise, Haken knew very well what the extreme and sudden switch of weathers would do to the newcomer. He kept him well surveiled, evaluating his growth as more than information for the master. An impressive outcome on his first public performance showed the Spaniard was not to be underestimated. In fact, in him he had discovered a possible contestant for the glory and his very first serious rival.
All the others were caught in the middle their beef, collectively enduring the punishment only so the teacher could apply the ounce of power given by the master in satisfying the needs of his ego. If he was already in a terrible mood, this extended overall as the heat was bringing everybody to the limit of exhaustion. Haken didn't care to be playing with his own wellbeing as well, not as long as he could still show off on being the strongest and prove Proximo he remained the best man of his ludus. Perhaps because he was the onlyone there able to keep a cold head, the regent of the place was smarter and ordered the needed pause the school desperately needed to keep functioning as it should. He adressed the widespread discontent only because the exceptional situation warranted it, allowing them to rest and drink in order to gain back their strenghts.
Sitting in line on the high step that usually served them as bench under a precarious roof, they were being served a strange beverage many of them haven't tried anywhere else. To the reaction faces the odd taste was causing on some, one of the girls pouring for them explained it was a mix of vinegar, honey and vegetal ashes as if listing the ingredients could ease the disgust while insisting that it would be good for them despite it. Her companion, less shy to play with the effects their presence could cause, commented in a coquettish tone that they had worked on the mix themselves, as if that should make the men drink it in order to impress them. Both girls were beautifull, perhaps an accidental factor of morale boosting in their innocent labour.
Inseparable team from the beggining, the Spaniard and the Numidian observed in silence how the irascible temperament of the German was applacated in sight of the women. His eyes chased one of them, the cheekiest one, with particular determination and they couldn't imagine anything good would come out from that.
His ways were a clear attempt of seducing her from afar, but she wasn't approaching him any faster. Getting her attention was all he cared about from the moment that he saw her, as if the mere sight of her would have infused him with renewed energy. She was trying to concentrate in the task, but he didn't mind and wasn't going to stop the chase untill she would be paying attention to him. A simple surveilance of the place showed how her companion prefered to do her task on the opposite extreme of the line, away from him. It was easier to guess she could have had a past confrontation with him and was trying to avoid a new one, perhaps seeking to protect herself with the few tools a slave girl still had available in a world of devalued men she was meant to serve.
For as cheerfull as she intended to be, making a joke out of the fears any sensical woman would have surounded of so many men usually adressed as caged beasts to beware of, that other one was no seductress either. Charming, perhaps, but with no aim to flirt. Her long and well kept brunette curls seemed to be her pride and joy, judging by how the fingers of her free hand revisited the shape of her locks anytime she would stop to talk. She cared to fight the weather in order to keep her hair in place, curious attitude to observe in a maid of gladiator school. Or it was perhaps a way to cope with her nerves, something they would find more understandable.
Haken's misconduct had finally made her so aware of his presence that she accidentally skipped the other two right next in order to serve him first.
"They got me the most beautifull girl we have ... How am I supposed to cool down like this? Now I am twice as thirsty."
She chuckled softly, but didn't encourage him afterwards.
" I can only solve one of your problems, love."
He kept the vase still as she poured the drink for him, watching her intensely through the entire action. Her attention juggled between following his eyes and the direction of the liquid untill filling it.
Haken swallowed the disgusting drink in one long sip, then pridefully smirked at her.
" Come, ... sit with me."
Her index finger reached by instinct one curl at the side of her face to twist around.
" The place is full, I see no seat for me. "
In an authentic display of himself, he squeezed his thighs inviting her to look down.
" You will always find it here. "
She didn't appear to be scared, but his plead for special treatment wouldn't come to terms.
" I really can't, handsome. I am sorry. "
Before she would get the chance to turn back he was pulling her closer, firm grip contrasting with his playfull ways.
It was the sign of alarm the Spaniard had been fearing in base of simple prediction of that man's behavior since their meeting. A reasuring glance from Juba send him in the direction he wanted and would have taken anyways: standing up to help her out.
His grip of Haken's arm released her, and his frame shielded her from him.
" Let her go! Do you think we aren't seeing you obstructing her work? Save the bragging for the arena."
The German raised up to what he initially interpreted as the very first open provocation of his rival.
" And who are you to tell me what to do? Proximo keeps me in charge, don't let one single triumph that wasn't entirely yours make you expect otherwise. "
Sensing that the presence of the guards anticipating a fight could complicate matters, the girl intervened for both of them.
" In name of my friends here I am very glad to see there are still righteous heroes among gladiators, but you have picked the wrong battle ..." She sweetly informed to the man believing to be helping her, leaning a hand on his shoulder so he would turn back to look at her. " I need no savior, Spaniard. In fact, nobody would lay a finger on me because I am the woman of the reigning champion."
That clarification ended the confussion on both parts, given both men managed to find themselves surprised of something. If on the perspective of the nameless by choice gladiator, it was the lack of a wrongly perceived threat, for Haken it was the realization that he had been judged a danger to the slave girl.
His woman, even if she wasn't formally his to own. She only tried to keep reservations in public because the master got tired of catching them and she feared to face punishment. Men who had been there for longer than the Spaniard have been submitted to the spectacle, since he loved bragging her and often ventured beyond simple praise words. It was a necessity in such enviroment: from the gladiators to the guards and every worker in between, they all needed to know she was off limits since he had claimed her his. Unapologetically expressing his love and desire for her was not a great issue for him: in the limits of the school he was a king, and her, his queen.
" Are you sure he wasn't bothering you? " The Spaniard asked her right away, in the softest tone he had ever heard him use. " Even if you are together, as it seems so, he has no right to ... "
Haken started laughing and she followed with a few chuckles, stepping in front so she would be no longer hidden behind one of the gladiators but in the middle of them instead.
" ... I would have jumped to his lap if I could, but Proximo applied some restrictions to our relationship we have a hard time accomplishing. " She then began to explain, giving a mischievous side look to her beloved. " ... We are not supposed to get too physical untill he will win another fight. He claims it motivates him, but I think it tortures him. Neverless for what I think, one of us has to obbey the master. He could have me whipped, or even worse, ... he could chop off my hair!!! "
Her reaction was quite amusing for the new gladiator, but he was able to consider that the logic behind it was not necesarily the one of a whim from a vain girl. Being whipped was a mundane punishment for a slave, an expected part of the condition. Losing her hair, however, would be being like stripped from the last piece of individuality she had left. That one thing that was still hers to feel proud about, a trait people could recognize her for.
Her remaining humanity.
" It would be a great loss, it's very pretty. "
It made her turn back and smile, sweetly and genuinely because she realized the compliment was clean.
" I like your beard, even when unkempt it fits you. Don't shy away from making suggestions to the barber, Proximo would get one to change that soon if you keep winning. "
The friendly exchange was being surveiled by her man with amusement, but certain playfull suspects.
" Was this why you wanted to play hero? Did you think you would stand a chance against me?"
Her hands trembled a little bit, risking the amphora she was still carrying, because Haken pulled her to his side. Her cute giggling was the one of a woman in love blissfully giving in to her lover's embrace.
" I bet he thought I was a brute up to ravish you, can you believe it? " He then commented her in a mocking tone. " The dreadfull barbarian attacking a helpless maid. I am so vile you must be terrified! "
Seeing his guesses were wrong was a relief, but the Spaniard was not going to let it ridicule him.
" The satisfied expression in your face as you smacked me repeatedly is one of my first memories of this place, so I have good reasons to expect the worst of you. "
That unflatering reminder only made the girl melt harder.
" He may be mean to you, but never with me. It's part of his charm ... I have never felt so special! All his tenderness is reserved for me. And trust me, he is adorable! "
Inspired by her praise, Haken took the amphora so she would be relieved from the load and once he did, she inmediately clinged to him with both arms. Heat wasn't an inconvenience for them when it was about being together, happy as she was of rounding his naked torso hugging him from one side while looking up in adoration to meet his face. Only one of his huge arms was enough to keep her secured in the embrace, while the other could keep occupied in easily holding the object for her.
" Look at you! So cute, the sun got you all red. I'll have to rub a refreshing balsam on your skin later. "
The smile he had for her then was something his fellow gladiator had never seen before. He had became a completely different man: there were no signs left of the arrogant cruelty he constantly displayed.
" How about a kiss now? "
She raised on her tiptoes while he leaned down in order to break the distance settled by their height difference. Their lips barely brushed because the position made it difficult, what made them chuckle for an instant before he would hungrily claim hers. His move was firm, but not rough, handling her as if she was as delicate as the pottery.
Their point was proved, and the watcher of her honor found himself useless.
" It's nice to see you aren't a self centered headache all the time. "
She giggled to the mockery and Haken gave her one last peck on the lips before replying to his circunstantial rival.
" You have to get yourself one, Spaniard. See how lovely my Lux is? ... She has a Celt friend that always wanders nearby. i've heard men complain it's impossible to impress her, but nothing seens impossible for you."
The Spaniard opted for an elusive answer saluting the girl whose name he had just learn.
" It's a pleasure to meet you, Luz. "
" I would say the same, ... If you would dare to finally tell us your name. " She mocked him in return, the absense of a remark in the different pronunciation expected from a spaniard showing she was familiar with it. " What's stopping you? Is it cursed or have you made of mistery part of your strategy to win the crowd? "
She made him laugh, mostly because the observation was on point.
" ... A bit of both, If you don't mind I would rather preserve it."
She questioned him no longer and they chose to mutually ignore the suggestion that had been made. Not necesarily because it made them uncomfortable, but due to the quick conclussion in the implications. Haken was being too direct, as if the tangential closeness with the good friend of his woman had lead him to guess a singular finding. One she didn't want to divulge, potentially explaining why he augured him an easy win over everyone else's failures.
It wouldn't take too long untill he would meet her and figure out, for the girl was right there taking care of the task her friend had neglected, serving all the men that she had skipped in order to rush towards Haken. Once his facade as the Spaniard would have been secured again, Maximus found her in casual conversation with Juba. She was making him laugh and laughing more herself. The topic was not hard to guess, since the effusive couple continued to do their thing once they were left unbothered.
" ... I swear, she used to be the most shy of us. When I meet her she was flighty because she was terrified, now she has no fright and no shame ..."
The overheard observation was very on point, first detail he liked of her. A modest girl still concerned for her dignity, even in a space that invited her to do the exact opposite.
" ... I guess Haken being a man of spectacle must have a certain effect. As you see, he has never been a reserved man. Ever since she first returned his advances he has been bragging this new privilege: a steady partner, proof of how long he has survived. "
" I wouldn't have imagined of him, but it makes sense. " Juba was replying her, still sitting calmly in the same spot while she served other vase attending the talk. " To even envision something as such, a man has to have spent an amount of time here most don't have. If found, it can mark a difference between an ordinary gladiator and a champion. "
The Spaniard reached enough proximity with them for his presence to be acknowledged and she turned back to face him guided by the look of his friend warning her. Used as he was to disagree with the German, Maximus was not ready for the close sight of the woman that was staring back at him. She had a beautifull smile crowned of lovely freckles and the most vivacious blue eyes he had ever seen. It was a true cruelty of fate that beauty as such would be confined to the cold dehumanization of slavery instead of the warmth of a home. Seeing her it was no longer hard to guess why the gladiators would complain of her lack of interest in joining one of them.
She was made for something better and she was still aware of it. Being the pretty serving girl chased by some champion wasn't her route to rediscover her worth, like it probably happened to her reckless friend. As surprisingly well kept, her hair was tied up in a tail so it wouldn't get in the way of her task. That showed she prioritized modesty and comfort, that she knew she had nothing to prove. Straight haired brunette, practical and less chaotic, but not for that any less beautifull.
" Do you want a drink? " She kindly offered him. " I saw what you did there, very brave. If you endure the taste, I will let you drink twice. "
Smiling back was a spontaneous, almost unconcious gesture. Once praised by Emperor Marcus Aurelius himself as a paradigm of stoicism, then incapable of hidding his surprise to the harmless flattery of a simple servant girl.
" No need for honors, it was all in vain. I would have never expected it ..."
" ... Nobody does, not at least at first sight, but never before had a new man tried to act out on the same guess. " She cutted him off, praising the intentionality over the act itself. " Their fear of Haken keeps them careless, all they mind is staying out of his way. If he is wooing her or molesting her, that's not their concern."
Juba passed his empty vase so she would refill it for his friend.
" We don't want to grow accustomed to ignore. "
" That's nice, but now that you know it's safe I would recommed you to ignore them."
The three agreed on the observation sharing a few chuckles as the Spaniard presented to her the vase with firm grip for the pouring. Remembering the awkward example he had witnessed, he fought the urge of following the act with his glance fearing it would make her nervous.
He peeked at the inside of the vase for a first verdict on the drink, then sniffed it. His excellent sense of smell was the best tool to judge, and his preferred way to experience the world.
" I got used to the taste of Posca in the army, so if this resembles it on any way I may accept the refill."
As he took the first sip, he did notice her eyes following him with curiosity. If it was merely on his judgement or in him, he couldn't possibly tell yet.
" Not so terrible! The smoked taste, i assume must come from the ashes, makes the difference."
She smiled for him once more. Happier, yet shyer than before.
" ... I have heard of your first fight, you were incredible. " Was her sudden, inconnexed reply. " ... You both were, of course. I got the whole story from my friend, Proximo sends her to her champion everytime he wins. Even from his peculiar point of view, it sounded outstanding. "
It cleared his doubt, also explaining the change. He had enough experience on the matter to recognize the extent of the compliment, mostly because the slight add of nervousy was giving her away.
" Thank you, ... we appreciate."
He took another sip from the drink, letting the bright of his eyes speak for him in the sweet glance he gave her.
" I have been warned not to ask for your name, but I see no reason to hide you mine. " She continued, rushing the words a little bit. " I am Juliana, name so roman it's obvious I am not roman."
A very clever joke about the assimilation of conquered populations, detail he didn't miss.
" You must be the Celt I've been told about, that would explain those adorable freckles."
The compliment surprised her, as if she expected no praise in return for her words of admiration towards him.
" Who told you about me?"
" The men whose illusions you dissapoint expecting you would have for them the asumed wildness of your heritage. "
His joke matched hers perfectly and she decided to follow it.
" I am too boring for the roman image of a celtic woman, but that's how I like it. Ironically, Lux comes from italia. "
In the direct contrast between the girls all behavioral assumptions that the conventions of roman thinking had for foreigners were debunked. Roles attributed by the misconceptions were switched, proving how insignificant the reasonings he once fought on were.
" I don't find you boring, more decorum is exactly what this place needs. "
His reassuring comment was followed by a proper demostration when he took her free hand to place a kiss on top of her knuckles. Gesture as such had no place among their kind. She was a slave and so was he, what made of the formality a very lovely absurd. Used as she was to work among men, never before had one directed her the same respectfull tenderness owed to a free woman. For as nice as some could be, most gladiators were far from having such exquisite manners.
Even if he wouldn't intend it, that was enough to make a woman melt. Coming from a man as stunning as him, the one who had bewitched her since the first time she saw him, it was practically like dreaming awake. For days her mind had wondered without an answer, waiting for the moment when a serving task would justify a proper meeting to find out if her guesses of him were correct. She had looked at him from the distance of their different routines and in various occasions her peeking had became an exchange of glances. Then she gained the certainity that, beyond his innate gallantry, the Spaniard was even more impressive than what tales or fantasies could tell.
She had a hunch regarding the outcome of their spoken meeting, but wouldn't rush to let herself be guided on it inmediately. He seemed to like her, although she couldn't be sure on which extent this quick foundness could prosper. As the instigator, rushing to take the task for herself and dragging her into it, her friend was probably already waiting for the details. Knowing that her best friend had became instantly infatuated with him was one good reason Lux had to remain nice towards the Spaniard despite getting progresively used to hear Haken complain of him. When many others used to make fun of her for thinking the germanic gladiator could have a consistent interest on her, it was Juliana who took her side claiming they were just jealous. if for everything else in the hardships of their routine they were close, romance was a topic in which she owed her much of her support.
Everytime the master would bring a new crew of wretched men to the ludus, she would always encourage her to give them a look on the hopes of settling her up with someone. Although appreciative of her good intentions, Juliana rarely cared to think in the detailed analysis her friend would do of them for her as something more than a source of amusement for both. At least that was the usual, untill the newest adquisition happened. Following her ideas while they observed him from afar like a game of guessings was how she started falling for him, unaware of what was happening for being so used to never take those instances seriously.
Their brief encounter only strenghtened the feeling that he was the one she wanted, only she couldn't be fully sure if he had felt a similar curiosity. The moment she had dreaded for so long had arrived and she found herself in the need of planning strategies to attract a gladiator.
Merely introducing the plead for advice got her friend too excited, enough for some clarifications to be made.
" You want the Spaniard! I knew it, that's exactly why it had to be you the one accompanying me out." Lux started to celebrate at the slightest implication. " Him trying to defend me from my man was not what I had in mind, but it's a good start. If he thinks he is good enough to challenge him, then he is good enough for my best friend."
Her optimism was admirable, specially given the conflict of interests left to expect.
" Aren't you afraid their rivalry could grow? What would be of us if they end up having to face each other in the arena?"
Very sensical fear that yet didn't worry her as it should.
" Dear, I am more inclined to believe our friendship could soften their relationship than to imagine us deserting each other on their cause. "
It was the end of the afternoon and cleaning up the pottery was the most bereable of the chores left to do before the rest of the ordinary servants would fill the kitchens to start working on dinner. The minimal contact of the skin with water that the task implied was enough to cheer the process in such heated day.
In orden to dissipate the grim thoughts from her friend's mind, the curly haired maid splashed her with tiny drops left in her hand from the previously cleaned vase.
It made her stiffle a chuckle, not wanting to be too loud in case someone would call them out.
" Your loyalty is a gift, but we are still ignoring a very important detail … How am I supposed to even start pursuing the Spaniard? "
Some very low little giggles escaped from them and they looked around to check if they weren't being watched.
" You are right! After all, I didn't pursue Haken. He came to me on his own … "
" … And that worked perfectly for you, but i fear i can't wait for the same to happen because the Spaniard is very different. " Juliana interrupted, her glance fixated on the surface of the plate she had finished scrubbling and then intended to dry. " He is discrete, subtle. Even formal, at least for a gladiator. Today he kissed my hand as if I was the Princess of Rome. "
The memory had relaxed every fiber of her being with delight. Her clothed caressing to the pottery was like a mimic of her yearning to caress the beautifull face of the man.
Two sighs that were one at unison augured the growth of the mutual excitement.
" He LIKES you!!! Why would he do that, if not to flirt? "
Regardless of how it was starting to affect her, Juliana didn't want to give a biased answer.
" Because he enjoys of being a proper gentleman? You have seen it yourself, when he thought you could be in danger he rushed to your rescue. Must we suppose that he fancies you for that? "
The objection made Lux stop her scrubbing so suddenly the piece fell into the water.
" I know how this game goes, that is exactly why i am stopping it now … "
She picked the item her friend was rushing only so she would pay her full attention for an instant.
" … Those are the same excuses I used to tell myself. Don't you remember me thinking Haken had looked in my direction only because you were right next to me? How many ' maybe he is just trying to be nice!' I had for everytime he was clearly trying to win me over? That's wasted time, a luxury in this place. My insecurities robbed me of precious time and I couldn't stop it untill he made me see it. "
She made a brief pause, only to evoke her memories more clearly.
" He once said to me : ' You live so away from the arena that you forget of what happens there. Because you know I am the favorite you are giving my life for granted, but I can't afford to keep playing. If you want it as much as I do, for us it's now or never. ' … And he was right! I should have given in way sooner, he trully wanted me from the beggining. That is my advice for you: risk yourself now, or you may regret it later. "
Not only it was sound advice, it also explained a lot about their questionable attitudes. The constant physicality was not mere bragging, a show of the gladiator king enforcing dominance in his subjects doomed to stand it. Arrogance aside, he was still conscious of how any moment with his woman could be the last one and loved her accordingly.
" ... I was not aware Haken is capable of such wisdown. "
The enamored girl smiled with pride.
" He plays the role of a dumb brute for the crowd, that doesn't mean he is one. Only that his moments of sensitivity and bright aren't meant to be experienced by everyone."
" Fair enough, you have convinced me. " Was her friend's answer." I must let the Spaniard know I am interested, then let him decide for us. "
It was all the other one needed to start scheming in support of the goal, excited as if the plan would be her newest found priority over the simple task.
" Excellent! When do you envision to strike? It can't be tonight, I have to fullfill the promise I made to my champion. "
Juliana smirked with mischievousness for a reprehension that was more of a mock.
" Weren't your private visits to him becoming limited? "
" Someone has to treat his skin, he is a germanic under the sun of Zucchabar! Relieving massages for his good sleep won't harm anyone. And why bothering the healers, when his partner can provide those to him? I am sure Proximo would agree, I have done it before."
The infidence revealed a sensible detail of the experience as the woman of a champion in the ludus, something that made Juliana crave it even harder. If the Spaniard would choose her, would she be sent to perform those caring tasks? Would the master allow her to behave with him as the simulacrum of a wife? He seemed like the kind of man that would enjoy of that, for in him it wouldn't be as surprising as it was from the German. Her good friend had performed a feat with him, since no one was sure of how she managed to tame him. Something she had given him made it so he no longer wanted any other.
If his heart was once covered by a hard shell pierced by the sweetness of his girl, the case of the Spaniard resembled more the image of a letharge. His heart was asleep, and Juliana fantasized of waking it up with her lovefull adoration.
" I know I said many times that wasn't for me and you should stop trying to find me a man ... Please, forget it! I've found the one. What do I have to do to get there? "
The slight glimpse of desperation on her voice near the end spoke of the intense yearning, something her friend knew well.
" Would you keep full trust in my advice, even if it goes against your natural instincts? I will have for you, my friend, the kindness no one had with my inexperienced self. The mistakes of that silly girl will not find you, we will quickly win for you that champion in the making. "
" Don't begrudge her, I guess she must have done something good to captivate her man as she did. " Juliana comforted her in the face of her regrets. " My memories of the process are different, I remember a cheerfull man showing off to a shy girl hidding her blush in curtains of hair. The more she would try to hide, the more persistent he would become. All just to make her smile, as if he treasured the sight. He wouldn't let her leave untill accomplishing it ... And if he would make her giggle, he would hit his opponent the hardest during the training excercise. Not because he aimed to be more cruel, for one could see how joy had ruined the focus and measure of his strenght. "
The beautifull way in which she described her observations had endeared her friend. She lost the hability to keep masquerading their interaction and hugged her with wet hands.
" I love you so much, Juli! That stubborn Spaniard would have no choice but to love you. "
A consecuential scolding for her happy outburst paused the conversation for the rest of the activity, that they still finished while silently sharing the same excitement. Detailed discussions had to wait untill nightfall, when the needed secrecy would be granted.
It was not unusual they would get sent to serve away from the ludus, in the internal part of the complex considered the house of the master. Perhaps because they were the youngest among the few female servants, Proximo was inclined to keep them in the most domestic side of the environment where he could keep a close eye on them.
Despite both girls, under different circunstancies, remembered the initial fright of being given to that old man of harsh ways, he wasn't by far the worst fate that could have encountered them. Never had he seeked to lay with any of them, neither threw them at his house guests as means to impress them. He rarely had any house guests, rarity that occured only for business reasons. Usually, the girls would finish the day settling the table for his dinner and serving him as his only circunstantial companions.
It was not something he seeked, but an incident of habit. His routine was to eat alone, and as the ones witnessing the scene every night, they eventually started to feel a strange sense of pitty. They knew well how to masquerade it on their approach so the pridefull man wouldn't find it insulting and shut himself.
When he was on a good mood, it could even get to be somewhat fun. He had told them a few stories of his past as a gladiator, revisiting his old glory with cheerfullness unseen before. His pleased reactions to Lux's expressed admiration for his stories often showed why it was no mistery that Haken had choosen her. Juliana listened with respect, but the tales often made her wonder for all the unspoken suffering that man must had endured. Suffering that he inflicted on others as a free man because he knew no other way of living.
That night she mostly witnessed the persuasive attempts of her friend finding a rational-presenting motive to give a loving late visit to her champion. The outcome was remaining rather unsuccessfull, but in an outstanding effort to weave both causes together, she changed the angle of her pleads.
" I understand, seems that you are no longer concerned on Haken because of the Spaniard. The man is quite a rebel, he consistently rejects the rules of the ludus. He must be a source of headaches for you, as much as he is to him on the task of enforcing your rules. Haven't you considered using the same strategy to win him over? "
The comment was delivered casually, almost innocently, while she poured more wine for the master directing a cheeky glance to her companion standing at the other side.
" I have nothing of value to bribe him, he is a rejector of fame and glory. " Proximo followed her, suspicious yet invested in her words. " It's a terrible irony, finding such talented man with an absolute lack of motivation. All he does is kill, the bare miminum to continue a purposeless existence."
" Master, you are answering yourself ... Let him find a girl! " She cleverly recalled as he sipped the drink. " I am not ignorant on the fact that you use me as means to deal with Haken. For instance, you are currently conditioning our chances to be together to blackmail him ... And it's working, the poor man is suffering! Today's incident is proof. Let me enter his cage for a quick visit, just to take care of his skin and ensure a good night's sleep. Let the Spaniard see it so he would learn there are nice privileges for those who serve you well ... As we both do! "
The last part got a skeptical chuckle out of him.
" For most you are an incompetent, but you manage to tame that bastard like no other and you are saving me some costs by spreading your legs for him after the fights. "
To Juliana's disbelief, her friend and her pridefull smile seemed to have chosen accepting the rather insulting comment as praise.
" I do more than that, I give him my heart! And I think that's also what the Spaniard needs in order to find the motivation you need to be awakened in him. Survival is not enough because he is all alone, he needs of someone!"
She started to understand the ultimate goal of such reckless intrusion. Lux was trying to plant the seeds in the mind of Proximo, so when the conditions would be given, he wouldn't dissaprobe or punish Juliana herself for loving her gladiator. It would come out naturally, as if the idea of matching them would have occured to him.
" Master, I beg you to indulge her before she would drive all of us insane." The celt pleaded for her, weaponizing her fame as the sensical one in order to help her with gratefullness. " I can finish any leftover of a task she may have, although I am sure there is nothing left. The hopes of seeing Haken again had motivated her even in this cursed weather. "
In a last attempt, Lux brought out her charm in a lovely performance of her most tender side.
" Have I ever told you that you are the best master I ever had?"
Proximo remained unamused, even if the try was hilarious.
" The onlyone you ever had, thanks to your father back in Capua having nothing else of value to answer for his debts. "
" You are not my first owner and I still find you bereable. " Juliana followed. " As heartless as the owner of a ludus requires to be, yet not as horrible as he could get to be."
Something of her managed to break the distance, and it was probably the fact that her righteous honesty evoked him the same kind of answers the Spaniard was often inclined to give him.
" I tend to think you are a foolish woman, Lux, but it seems that you speak with some truth ... "
Context made it feel as if the observation was only regarding their opinions of him, but beyond that he had been guided into the right direction. To consider that, if he would ever neet to try getting him a partner as a control strategy, Juliana was the perfect choice to offer for the new gladiator. She had proved herself a reliable one too, based on her stainless behavior.
" … The problem with the Spaniard is that he turns into an eunuch away from the arena. One can't guess what he likes, nothing seems to excite him. " He complained directly to her. " If you would try enough, I think perhaps you could figure this out for me."
Juliana swallowed hard before objecting.
" … Are you instructing me to seduce a gladiator? Never before in my time on the ludus I have done such thing. "
" Don't worry, I can help you out. " Lux replied for him, happy to guess their wishes had been turned into a command. " … It's not as hard as it seems, those men are bored of staring at each other's faces."
" Don't get too excited, I don't want a chaos. " Proximo stopped her." I need to tame the Spaniard somehow, but If i want him to live up to his potential I must also find him something to do when he comes back from the arena. "
She smiled innocently at him, then mischievously questioned her friend with the exact words she wanted to hear.
" What do you say, Juli? If the new one chooses you, would you be his partner? "
The situation got her in disbelief, it was simply unbelievable what the newly found confidence had done for that girl. In a matter of instants, Lux had guided the master into accepting a relationship that haven't even started between his slaves. Proximo was convinced of it as a practical necesity of his for them, like a father who encourages an arranged marriage out of finantial convenience for his home. Excitement and confussion kept Juliana expectant, for she had no idea of how her beloved Spaniard would react to such thing.
Would he reject her, as an expression of his rejection of the ludus itself? Would the offer tempt him, allowing her to become for him the ray of light meant to smoothly illuminate the darkness on his life? Her newly found dream come true, something she never imagined herself wanting and then couldn't escape from. If being personally choosen by a gladiator as his reward used to be one of her self imposed limits working there, determinated to escape it no matter what, she found herself fantasizing of it.
Sharing the bed of the Spaniard wouldn't be an horrific labor, but a yearned delight. Man as honorable and tender as him would make it feel like a wedding night, not a degrading concecuence of slavery falling upon her. There was no other she ever wanted, only him making sweet love to her. To avidly roam every corner of his sun-kissed skin with her hands and lips would be like finding happiness for once in their misserable existence. She would give herself to him with her whole being and her fame for being reticent would make him the envy of the place. He wouldn't reveal a single thing, but it wouldn't be necesary for them to know he had won her over like no one else could.
He didn't even have to try, for she was his from the first moment that she saw him. The great push that her friend had given her made her feel confident to let him know of it.
Under slightly more gentle weather conditions had her attempts started, using whatever excuse of a task that could keep her close to the training yard. Normally, she would have been the one making fun of Lux for coming up with hilariously creative ways to peek at her man from afar, but then she herself became the instigator. Her hair was loose and carefully combed, falling like a cascade on her back and shoulders as she kneeled down to feed the beasts. A bunch of birds, usual wanderers of the space, had gathered around her waiting for something to be thrown at them. Their sounds deviated the attention of a few gladiators, fortunately incluiding the Spaniard.
His eyes caught her in the middle of the gentle action and he couldn't help smiling. She pretended not to notice untill the gesture would develop into a more clear salute. More than shyness, it was her interest in finding out if he would chase her what motivated the delayment. Noticing that he did, and finding in that a clear sign that his interest on looking at her haven't faded, her responsive smile was the sweetest she could have given.
It got her a short wink from him, and she felt like she could have been about to faint.
Neither slow or sluggish, her friend made use of the master's absense to do some mischief. Given he was out for the morning attending matters of the outside, the responsabilities for the activity in the nearby area were completely on Haken. In practical terms, that meant she had some freedom of action untill someone would call her out.
She seeked the attention of the stubborn giraffes always pacing nearby, animals they have been trying to bond with in order to resolve Proximo's complaints. Their best advance in the task of helping them mate was finding out their behavioral patterns were opposites. At least regarding humans, one was more social than the other. Detail that they would never completely get used to, because there was no easy way to tell them apart.
Not yet prepared for it, Lux squeaked when the creature licked her face and the high-pitched sound distracted everyone. Only the fear Haken inspired in them stopped a laugh outburst, so she joked ahead to show she was fine with it.
" Not me! You should be kissing your partner. Imagine how cute it will be when we will have baby giraffes walking around! The master wants some, and the ludus of Proximo has no space for rebels."
The only answer of the animal was aiming their long neck lower so she would be able to give some pets, changing her fake serious semblance.
" You win: my weakness is tall men bowing down to me. "
She stroked the sides of the long snout while overhearing the loud laughter of Haken. For her, the most adorable sound, often driving her to try dumb occurences in order to obtain it.
" Still haven't given up, love? " He teased her in return. " It doesn't look good "
In the meantime, Juliana had approached with some of the leaves Lux had brought for the animals.Offering it to the most shy, she managed to feed it, detail that subtly captivated her one man audience while the loud couple playfully argued.
" The smart little man said giraffes don't act out their heat and they don't have a mating season. " The curly haired slave girl was then explaining. " As far as we know, hopes aren't lost, but it can take forever."
Her frustration on the imposible task was an outlet to say what she wanted, pretending to talk with the giraffes so the ones that should be listening would hear.
"There is no need to make this overcomplicated. Stop watching each other from afar and do something about it! "
The mock reached the misterious gladiator, making him smile to himself. He had no shame on recognizing his guilt, for he had been silently observing Juliana for longer that he dared to admit even to himself. Getting involved with someone wasn't in his plans, yet the temptation of seeking the comforting company of the charming girl was there. It was no mistery to him that she admired him like no other, since it was only him the one obtaining from her sweet gestures and praise. The lovely way in which she reacted to his compliments and her eyes adquiring a special bright everytime they would follow his image revealed enough. For an observant man like him it wasn't hard to tell she had a crush on him, and with the limited weapons she possesed, her shameless friend tried to help her out in her wish to act on it.
Seeing that sort of behavior coming from slave girls in a ludus was extremely comforting on itself. If they were still able to act like maidens would in the outside, it meant the life there still managed to preserve them from the worst dangers associated to such enviroment. Regardless if it came from an active effort of Proximo to keep them safe, or the eventual involvement of Lux with Haken acting as protection for both, neither of those girls carried the sadness of those who have been broken by the hands of men.
They were still full of light, taking advantage of the small nooks of freedom they could get in the mundanity of domestic work that constituted their lives. Facing it with dignity and spirit, then transmitting the same to the gladiators in their daily interactions. What they had accomplished was miraculous and it was hard not to feel fascinated. In the confines of his captivity Maximus was finally experiencing what he couldn't get in years of keeping his personal life neglected for the pointless war on Germania.
Finding himself captivated by the tenderness and grace of a woman that invited him to dream of having her. One he could one day call his own, to love and protect for the rest of his probably brief life. A selfish thought, he would tend to believe, given the subsequent heartbreak awaiting his partner once he would perish on the arena. If that beautifull girl wanted to keep the life on her piercing blue eyes, then the best for her was staying away from him.
That was the sensical thought process he would feel inclined to follow, to restrain himself from keep showing interest on her own wellbeing, yet he couldn't get convinced of it as a witness of Haken's joy. A damned man just like him, submitted to the same dilemma, yet careless of it in presence of the woman he loved. When she was with him nothing else mattered, and feeling the King of the ludus was only usefull as long as he could make her feel his Queen. He loved her fearlessly, refusing to let doubts of the future get in the way of their present. If this was a conscious choice, or a reckless result of his trust in having good chances to win his freedom, the difference mattered very little. The practical result had made of him the happiest man of the place, what was an excellent way to make the most of the time he had left. Inmersed in the same bliss, the girl seemed more concerned on keeping the master supportive of it than on any dangers of the outside.
Their atypical domesticity gave them a home even when they had nothing. From all the points the German brought up to brag, the one that managed to make his rival somewhat envious. The displays of cheer, as the attentive eyes of the smiling celtic maid following him as if she waited for sign, were to him like being presented with an alternative. Suddenly, the one who refused to engage in the most bassic of trainings at his arrival was fighting fiercely in hopes of catching her reactions to his skills. Not because he believed to be in need of an arrogant showoff to impress her, but due to how seeing that she liked to watch him meant he would rather give her his best. This rush of motivation lasted for as long as the girls were outside, to be found again only at the time they stopped to have a meal.
Not only it was a very much needed break of food and rest, but in that oportunity she was back to serve them. Something that didn't occured in past days, even at other moments where they ate sitting in the yard. Her friend was distributing the bread she carried on a basket while Juliana would start reaching them the wooden bowls of bean gruel. Even if he wished so, he wouldn't be the only one looking through her comings and goings. He was the very first in raising up to help her, reason why no one else dared to make a similar offer.
Something had changed in the hours of her absense and she made it reflect throught little details on her looks. The belt keeping her tunic in place was readjusted thighter to enhace her figure, and two cute braids were carefully crafted after combing her hair again past the heavier work of the morning.
It was a simple yet very efective deliberated effort of making herself prettier, and he was sure to be the cause of it.
" Spaniard, always such a gentleman! " She greeted him happily. " How was training today? I hope Haken didn't turn harsher on you once we left. "
Her startup for small talk, although logical, sounded to him so disconected from the latent tension of being closer.
" The good mood lasted him enough, he doesn't concern me now. I fear I can't blame him, not when you have cheered me up as well. "
She eased her surprise with some nervous giggling.
" Me? How have I done such thing? "
" By being my most lovely admiror. " He sweetly replicated. " It's curious, how the chantings of the crowd do nothing but to make me sick, yet one smile of yours was enough to keep me motivated this entire morning. "
It only made her smile grow brighter, inmediate response to her great delight in his unapologetically romantic words.
" Don't tell Haken, we are friends and he may find it an offense, but you are my favorite of all gladiators from this ludus. Past, present and probably future … "
Only the distance of the bowls they picked mediated between them, but he managed to tease it just a little in order to whisper his matching response.
" Don't tell Luz, but i think you have the prettiest hair. It looks increíbly longer when you let it loose, and I haven't touched it, but I can already guess how soft it must feel. "
They finished the task together, using the distance from the others provided by their need for constant movement to keep whispering lovely observations to each other that had been accumulated through all their time of silent watching. Only once it was done the regained full awareness of the surroundings past the brief contact of handing everyone their food.
After concluding her first task, and noticing someone else she couldn't interrupt was taking her place in helping delivering the rest of the dishes, Lux had been filling vases with the same strange beverage from the day before. Acting as contextual nexus between both, she had made Haken and Juba take seats nearby.
The three of them seemed amused by the same spectacle, observing from afar how they have been chasing each other.
From that point, Juliana understood they had only two ways: they could shy away or double it down. She choose for both of them the bravest option, surprising everyone by taking a seat in the man's lap while holding his bowl for him.
" You skipped him again. " She complained to her friend with absolute naturality. " I hope is not personal, because I really like him. "
They bursted into laughter, unable to process the insane outcome of the situation otherwise.
" I knew it, you traitor!!! " Haken accused her in mocks as fast as he recovered. " What am I supposed to do now? Must I fraternize with my competition? "
" Our friends … " Lux corrected, easing him with a relieving touch on the shoulder. " You have told me yourself of their amazing capacity for teamwork. That's not something you should easily disregard, they may save your life in the arena one day. "
Juba accompanied her attempt of approach, seeing in it the best possible solution for the tensions. Bonding with her would keep him at bay, and that could at least grant them some peace.
" I would like to know what he says of us, then ask to be judged separatedly from his stories. "
The girl picked up the amphora she had forgotten when she ran out of presents to serve.
" I do my own judgements, and I am amazed because you are so nice! How haven't I realized before? "
Juba smiled in approbal, then replied.
" Because you haven't paid much attention to me before. "
She admitted her guilt, seeking to rectify her mistake.
" Want some more? Juli putted some extra honey on it, because today she is feeling sweet. "
The friendly mock got a few chuckles from its victim, too happy to care.
" Would you handle me some?" The Spaniard answered for her. " The curious creative choices of your lovely friend have inmovilized me. "
Caressing his face with her free hand, Juliana dared to get a little playfull.
" Do you want me to leave? "
He let himself fall for it, but keeping the display of his enjoyment as subtle as he could.
" I have to admit that not even in the army I got this receivement. "
They smiled at each other and she placed the bowl higher so he could comfortably eat a few spoons before Lux would get his drink.
" Here you have, Spaniard! I hope we can start over. I have nothing against you. In fact, I don't see you trully invested on the idea of stealing glory from my man."
She handled him the full vase, for him to pick with the one hand that wasn't occupied in securing her friend against him.
" It's what I have been trying to make him see, thank you for noticing."
They chuckled for a brief instant before he took a sip, enjoying the commented improvement by measure of his own taste. The sweentess of the honey gave way to the smokey aftertaste from the ashes, contrast that have found a perfect balance.
Balance that mimicked the one Juba had been advicing him to search in his life, contributing himself through their friendship on the part he refused to cultivate. Since the betrayal had reduced him to a misserable existence he had shut himself down to the idea of getting anything good out of it. Beyond simply rejecting his new condition in silent protest, he proceeded as if he was convinced of only deserving the pain that came from it.
Paradoxical example of the opposite approach, too lost on the perks to acknowledge the sufferings, Haken wouldn't easily understand why a man skilled enough to fairly compete against him would choose not to do it.
" That's what he says now, just wait untill he would have collected enought triumphs to get a real taste of glory ... "
He gave a side look to Juliana that worked almost as a complicit wink, implying he believed that once the Spaniard would have had a taste of her his priorities would change. Perhaps, seeking to use his obtained glory as a way to elevate her prestige among the servantfolk.
" For me it's enough if he makes it alive. I never cared for the stupid hierarchy and I think that's part of why I like him so much."
The Spaniard looked down and smiled, pleased with the answer. Reaction that was so tender to the eye it conditioned Lux to reassure her beloved.
" Do you know that I would love you even If you were at last place on the lists of the gamblers? " She sweetly told Haken, approaching him from behind to round his shoulders with her arms and whisper near his ear. " You are the favorite of my heart, always will be. "
She kissed his cheek and the result of her lovely adoration of him was the most unapologetically foolish smile, that Haken tried to hide kissing both of her hands.
His fellow gladiators were in disbelief of what they have witnessed, sharing complicit glances while fearing that the most minimal reaction would disturbe the scene and make the germanic aware of the vulnerability he had exposed to them.
" Nobody believes me when I say he is adorable, yet look at him! " She commented to them, moving to the front so he could round her waist with one arm. As soon as their eyes meet, her speech switched its aim towards him. " You are so big the chair is too tiny for you! It's the most adorable thing I have ever seen! "
" Haven't you look at yourself?" He sweetly replicated, following the spirit of the praise. " Those round cheeks that blush so easily, and your cute ringlets. Whatever gentleness I have left, it's your cutness what inspires it. "
Juliana and her Spaniard chuckled to the little lovely scene, untill he started whispering very discretely near her ear.
" You won't have to do this anymore. I would rather reserve this kind of íntimacy for our private encounters. "
Her eyes went wide with surprise.
" Would you ask for me after the battles? "
" It doesn't have to be what you are thinking, we can use it as a framework for dates. " He sweetly clarified, believing to be tranquilizing her. " One date after each victory, plenty of time for getting to know each other untill you would feel safe with me. And only then, … if you desire it … "
On the intention of lowering the volume so the more delicate part of the proposal wouldn't be heard, his deep voice had turned slightly huskier.
it taunted her, even if he wasn't trying to be a tease.
" I would love to be romanced, but time is a luxury here. My friend says that when you love a gladiator the worst mistake you can do is to waste time. "
He smirked with amused skepticism, then whispered once more.
" I have no fair match for my fighting skills, … we will have plenty of time to waste. "
