Realistic or Modern Fortune Favors The Bold [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

“Octavius!”

The cry came not from Agrippa, though Octavius could sense the presence of their friend, but from Juba II. Octavius did not open her eyes, but kept them closed, feigning as if she did not hear him. “OCTAVIUS!” Again, louder, before a foot met the chaise lounge she’d been sleeping in, knocking it over and spilling her out of it to raucous laughter from Juba – but not Agrippa.

As she rolled and opened her eyes, she found Agrippa had reached her quickly and set a hand on her shoulder, while glaring across her at Juba II who was still laughing. “You did not drink so much at the party last night, Octavius, get up! You have a wedding today, and you’re not even dressed!” Agrippa, still with a hand on her shoulder, helped to sit her up on the floor as she put a hand to her head.

She wasn’t hungover. She never drank so much and they all knew it, but she almost wished that she had. She looked over to Agrippa, the blonde man wearing an apologetic smile for Juba. “Sorry, I didn’t know he’d do that,” Agrippa whispered, as Octavius took in her surroundings. She was still in Julius Caesar’s old house, not her own home, which explained why Juba was there, and not her mother. Juba lived with her, here.

“Where’s Atia?” She asked, not even feigning being tired as she rolled her shoulder out of Agrippa’s grip and rose on her own, the man standing up besides her.

The darker man shrugged his shoulders and then crossed his arms over his bare chest. Of course he wasn’t fully dressed either, just standing there in a robe from the orient, and pants of a similar fabric. He never cared to appear ‘humble’ or ‘unwealthy’, even if he should. Octavius sighed, “She should be here by no—”

“Rabbit!”

“—w, there she is,” Octavius looked up to see her mother striding across the room, all in red, even her hair. Juba moved aside to let her have easy access to Octavius, who she pulled right into a tight embrace.

“Your guards are rude. They wouldn’t let me in, something about tradition and being with your friends nonsense.”

“And here you are.” Juba noted. She let Octavius go to shoot a glare right at him, hardly intimidated by him.

“Yes, here I am,” her head tilted up. She was shorter than all of them, but held herself like a giant, “You should be gone. And you, Agrippa,” she said pointedly, “I’ll see to it that Octavius gets to the wedding on time, you should all go make sure Maecenas is handling things and not drowning in an orgy or something.”

“He was here last night, and the first to leave…I think he’s fairly sober.”

“I don’t trust him,” Atia stated, “Go.”

The two men looked at each other, looked at Atia, and then Octavius, who just gave a nod. The men politely dismissed themselves then, exiting the home to go to the temple where the wedding ceremony would be held.

Once they were gone, Atia stroked her fingers over Octavius’s cheek, and the woman leaned into it a bit, closing her eyes, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Octavius had learned that, sometimes, hiding the truth from her mother was best. It hurt to do so, once she thought she could trust the woman, but she had witnessed how far her mother would go for power. She would throw her own daughter under the chariot, just as well, for a chance. “I know what I have to do.”

“Oh?” Atia sounded surprised, and Octavius opened her eyes, meeting her mother’s own blue set.

“Marry Verina. Tell Verina the situation. If she reacts poorly, the wine at the party was poisoned and she dies, I get sick. If she accepts it, then we find someone she can discreetly have children with. Things proceed as planned.” She kept up appearances. All would be fine.

Atia smiled, “Clever,” she allowed with a nod, then put a hand on Octavius’s back, “Let’s get you ready, then. You must look regal – you must put on your best toga, oh – and a bit of burgundy!”

“Mother, that’s inappropriate.” Royalty was frowned upon. That was still the color of royalty to all, of stupid-wealth.

“Oh hang what the plebeians say, dear! You’re a Caesar, marrying old royalty of Etruscan blood, a little bit of burgundy won’t hurt anything!”

“It got Caesar stabbed….”

“He was an idiot who boasted of being a god.”

‘An honor he will yet have.’ For how it would benefit her, but she did not say as much as she let her mother lead her back into her rooms so she could be stripped of her attire and dressed properly, regally, for the wedding, with golden laurels and a burgundy sash, and all other manner of nearly-gauche touches. Well, and the binding that was almost unnecessary under such draping clothes.

~***~

Kiya of Egypt strode into the temple of Venus, eyes dancing around at the statues of the ancestral deity of the Julii family, finding it amusing that they chose Venus, and not someone like Jupiter or Mars – rather than a king, or a war god, Julius Caesar had declared he descended from Venus. A Goddess of Love. It seemed so unusual, considering Rome’s norms, and how Romulus came from Mars, that it was almost believable. If one had chosen their heritage, they would have chosen greater than that.

Her eyes flickered around the decorations outside it, where the revelries and festivities would begin, and noted all the strange decorations, not only Roman, but she took note of things from across the world, Africa, India, and other far places, and she smiled to herself as she considered her own presence in the pink dress and rather large, square jewelry, would not be too out of place.

“Oi, you, girl – could you go be a dear and see that the food is almost done?” Some man far younger than her addressed her, hair long enough to be feminine. He was even so slender – and she arched one dark brow at him.

He didn’t look impressed .”Yes, you, I’m sure you’re just here for entertainment, but you can do that much, can’t you?”

“I am not here for your entertainment, boy,” she snarled at him, lips curling a bit as she realized then what he thought of her. A slave. “I am Kiya of Egypt, advisor to Cleopatra. I am here on her behalf as the Queen regretfully could not attend herself. She still mourns Caesar, and must tend to his child.”

The man arched a brow. “I wouldn’t be caught saying that here, dear,” the man smirked, “Well, if you’re here to be useless then, just stand around,” he shrugged, and moved on, shouting orders at other slaves and servants, making a fuss. Kiya bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should do anything to assist.

She knew no one here. No one stood out at all, no faces of importance, and she knew not where to begin with this. She was told a Gaius Maecenas would be here, someone close to Octavius, and he was supposedly a talker – but she wasn’t sure who he would be. ‘Maybe the one shouting?’ She decided to find out, approaching the man then. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, Kita?”

“Kiya.”

“Yes, Kira?” Okay, he was doing it on purpose. Fuck him.

“Where is Maecenas?”

“Probably with his sister,” he waved it off, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Kiya frowned, and turned from the stranger, just as two others showed up who looked important. Well, one who looked important, in gold and black, while the other at his side looked to be just a standard soldier, even if he was dressed in a rather more formal-looking toga. It had plenty of stripes to it, but Kiya did not understand them, only noticed he seemed uncomfortable in it, which led her to believe he was a soldier.

The other did not seem Roman in the least, and did not dress as one.

She decided to approach them with a smile on her face, “Aah, sight for sore eyes!” The darker man spoke before she could, and she demurred, bowing her head slightly, “Who are you, goddess, to grace this dull hall? Venus herself?”

“Venus is blonde,” the man corrected, as if it were obvious.

The woman just chuckled a bit, “I am pleased by your flattery, but I am only Kiya, here for Cleopatra.” They both stiffened, as if the name itself was evil, “I am here to make sure we retain good relations with Rome while the Queen cannot be here.”

The paler man was the first to speak, clearing his throat, “I am Agrippa,” he offered, and her eyes lit up in familiarity. Octavius’s friend, perhaps his best friend, “Join us, it is in our interest to make sure all remains well with Egypt. I’ll be sure you have an audience with Octavius.”

“Politics now? Let the man enjoy his night and his bride!”

“This one is Juba Secundus Caesar – Octavius will see him restored to his throne, too, and we would keep Cleopatra on her own.”

Kiya smiled at that, “This pleases us,” she spoke then with her authority for Cleopatra.

~***~

Quintus Salvidienus Rufus was exhausted by the time he reached the Transalpine Gaul. ‘Antony has 17 legions.’ He heard it from everywhere, and it was why he told Octavius to join him, and why now he began to feel some fear as he wiped the sweat off his brow and pushed back his brunette hair as it started to curl around his face and stick. ‘Octavius has 8.’ The numbers were against them. ‘Brutus has 17 legions, as well, and he will march soon.’ He had been gaining allies in the south, while Antony had done well in the North, convincing Aemilius Lepidus to join his cause.

Quintus knew the cards he had to play to win this, to be aggressive. It was the language that soldiers understood, that Marcus Antonius himself would understand.

Octavius had already written ahead, and so Quintus knew he was expected. Still, when he finally found the camp, he felt his breath stolen away by the fear as his pale eyes settled on the numerous tents and fires. His entourage, which included an aide that served directly under Octavius, looked stunned. “He really does have 17 legions now….” He did not have that many when they fought him in Mutina.

“We could still beat him,” another said, spitting on the ground.

Quintus ignored him. “Let’s go,” he said, urging his horse forward until it was stopped by a guard at the entrance of the camp.

“Name and purpose.” The guard demanded.

Quintus tilted his head up a bit more, “Quintus Salvidienus Rufus, emissary for Gaius Julius Caesar.” He used the adopted name, even if no one called Octavius by that name. It was only proper to be formal, even as he saw the sneer come on the guard’s face. “I am here to see the enemy of Rome, Marcus Antonius,” because he was still there, and he wouldn’t let it be forgotten that all of these people were traitors for serving him.

It would all change, soon.

Octavius was not about to allow Brutus to have a proconsulship and be considered still a Roman citizen, while Antony was made an enemy of Rome. He would see it all changed, once he had the power in his hand. It was not something Antony could do.

That was the card he had to remember, to keep playing – Antonius needed Octavius, because Octavius was the only one in Rome who was going to vouch for him right now. He may hate it, but they needed each other to overcome Brutus and make sure Julius Caesar’s legacy wasn’t destroyed.

“…this way,” the guard finally said, and with a gesture, brought the group in, allowing their horses to be taken, and all of them, disarmed, before he would bring them to where Marcus Antonius himself was.

Asteria

 

[Asteria]

Gaius Cilnius Maecenas paced back and forth in his sister’s chamber in the dim light of an early morning – his footfalls were calculated, having a precise rhythm in their discreetness. To the observing eye of his sister, it was certain that his mind was elsewhere, even if he maintained his usual poise with a touch of arrogance. He looked royal, just as his blood, dressed all in burgundy and gold. He was gazing at the walls, the furniture, the floor, picking at the details of the closed space as if he sought something he could fix in order to fill his time.

It wasn’t his quietness that bothered Verina, but that repetitive movement she could not stand.

She had woken early that day, before the first rays of the sun even appeared, to prepare for the upcoming event: her wedding to Gaius Octavius Caesar, a consul, a victorious man, freshly arrived from the battlefield. A trusted friend of Maecenas, so trusted that she could hardly imagine he was worried about the outcome of this marriage or the possibility of Octavius losing his triumphant position.

They wouldn’t be here if Maecenas hadn’t seen something in that young man. Verina could question many aspects of her brother’s nature but not his ability to read a man’s potential.

Yet, she couldn’t help but call him out for his silent uneasiness. “You told me that I don’t have anything to worry ab–”

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” he waved her off.

Verina’s lips became a thin line, stained by dissatisfaction. All she could do was to sigh. though, and, with a small roll of her eyes and a gesture to the door, the slaves who had been working so carefully on oiling her limbs and braiding her now washed hair made their exit. She leaned slightly on her side then, on the chaise lounge she had chosen as her resting place for the day, her form obstructed only by a thin piece of material.

“Do you?’

“I don’t.”

“Then?”

No answer came and she did not believe that he was searching for one. Perhaps he was trying to silence her voice in his thoughts all along. She would let the silence to fill the air between them, but not for long. “Is it your affection?”

He stopped. When, at last, he turned to face her, she saw she had struck a sensitive cord – she was at the center of his hard stare, his eyes narrowing, burning. Verina cocked her head, a lighthearted smile dancing on her lips as her brother tried to appear threatening and, oh, so above her. “I am not blind, brother.” A shrug accompanied the words. “And well… you hardly do well in hiding when he’s not near. Around me, at least. You can hide much – your interests, your true intentions, your traps, but feelings… feelings are a whole another battlefield, brother dear.”

A battlefield he still had yet to conquer as he remained silent. The man who had an answer to every question was now speechless, debating whether it was a smart idea to join this cruel play of his sister or refrain from doing so.

At last, he shook his head at her inquiry, a deep chuckle erupting from his throat as if he was facing a curious child. “Jealous, dear sister? I didn’t know your nurtured such feelings for our Octavius.” Of course he played along in front of her. Seriousness and severity may work with others in such situations but not with Verina. If he dismissed it so easily, she’d only question even more.

“I will nurture whatever you want for whomever you want as long as it makes me an Empress.” That was the aim of all of this, wasn’t it? Once Brutus would no longer represent a threat, once Antony would be disposed of. Even if the Republic would stand at the end of this all, it would only be a façade.

Other women – more sensible women might have still been bothered by such an arrangement. They may not express it, but they would carry a longing for something else, for more. Love, even if it was a luxury only the poor could afford – and even they would end up regretting marrying one for sentiments and nothing more –, those above them would still dream of it.

She did not seek love. She sought power and the comfort and safety that came with it. Verina could not recall the number of times she and Octavius had spoken to one another, but it hardly mattered. She had made herself liked among Maecenas’ circle, swirling her tongue among those of importance from which she could gain in the future.

That’s what Maecenas enjoyed about his sister. Their interests were never split or in opposition. There was an understanding between them even when they simply gazed at one another. She was his twin in every aspect of the word. “Smart girl.” A wicked smirk spread over his lips.

Her own came to match his. “And we can share, of course.”

Unwilling to continue on the subject, Maecenas approached his sister. He leaned above her, his hand resting on the back of her head as he kissed the top of it – a sweet and tender gesture with the sole purpose of announcing his exit. “Don’t waste time, you must be ready as soon as possible.”

He broke away from her then.

“You are avoiding the matter!” But it was too late. Her brother did not lose time in reaching for the door and he did not turn as he waved her off once more. Verina smiled, though, for she won again.


Upon entering the temple of Venus, the Goddess of Love, Maecenas was once more reminded of the reason why he had chosen Dareios, the heir of a trading empire, to take care of the day’s festivity. A perfectionist as he were, Dareios had respected his wishes and yet, had made everything so much more.

Regal, traditional, and with a touch of exoticism to it, the decorated temple was fit for a wedding between a consul, the favorite of the late Julius Caesar himself, and a royal of Etruscan blood, a member of his family. Perhaps the expression of his face did not give it away – as he were still stiff and, perhaps, slightly perturbed after the words shared between him and his sister – but Maecenas was far more than pleased with the outcome.

And he left it be known once he caught sight of Dareios, giving him a nod. It had met his expectations.

However, his attention was easily caught by his friends and the foreign woman at their side. Word had reached him early on that, even if she would not be present herself, Cleopatra would not miss the wedding and the chance of reaching Octavius’ ear. It should be no surprise then, if his presumption was correct, that this woman was truly Cleopatra’s advisor.

Seemingly her wish came true. Maecenas approached them then, his lips slightly curving at the sight of Agrippa and his… proper attire. Juba’s eccentric outfit wasn’t something unusual. “Juba,” he greeted. “Agrippa, look at you. Don’t tell me you have, at last, decided to leave your military career and join the Senate.”

It was then that his eyes landed on the woman. “And last but not least, you must be Kiya. It is saddening that your Queen could not attend the wedding herself, but Caesar would be more than pleased to see someone who is close to her no matter – a representant of Egypt.” Keep up the politeness. It was to their advantage. “The procession will begin soon, once my sister will arrive.”

And just as soon he would have to join their hands.

~~~~~​

‘It’s not so amusing to be deprived of your victory now, is it?’

Word had spread – Antonius had deprived Octavius of his victory. He had lived. He had reconstructed his army – a retreat that had been seen as a cowardly act proved to be a strategic move on his part, despite his lieutenants’ initial beliefs. He had regrouped with the legions brought by Ventidius Bassus and he had only to gain from then on, forming an alliance with the commanders Marcus Aemilius Lepidus himself, Lucius Munatius Plancus, and Gaius Asinius Pollio.

Seventeen legions, all under his command. ‘Now, now, Octavian, you fucking little brat, outnumbered from all sides, aren’t we?’ Brutus was waiting in the South, while he was in the North.

He could take no action against either of them on his own. And, as much as Octavius disliked the thought, Antonius would make a far better ally than Brutus, the murderer of his uncle and protector. If he had betrayed Caesar himself so easily, the man who treated him as he would treat his own blood, Octavian would not be foolish enough to believe that he wouldn’t do the same to him, were he given the opportunity.

So would Antonius, in truth, but for the time being – with Octavian’s emissary on the way – he could tame these thoughts.

“Are you going to accept?” Lepidus’ voice was heard, at last, questioning. Until that moment, only the chair’s creaks, which were provoked by his fumbling, had been heard in the tent.

Lepidus’ presence had become more frequent than Antonius could endure, especially since he had heard that word from Octavius would soon arrive. And he had foolishly thought that no one could be more vexatious than Posca…

Another creak was heard as Antonius did not hurry to feed his curiosity, more preoccupied with the task at hand – peeling an apple with a pugio. It was Lepidus’ interruption that stopped Antonius from perfectly peeling off the skin. “Making sure you’ll get some meat off the big bone, old friend?” He inquired, watching the man from the corner of his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the intent of his question. “Would you?”

Lepidus was not going to let this opportunity pass. The moments in which Antonius asked for his insight or even listened to what he said were rare and far in between. “I consider that this opportunity–”

It wasn’t to last, though, as the flaps of the tent parted to reveal one of Antonius’ men. “General Antony, sir, Quintus Salvidienus Rufus, emissary for Gaius Julius Caesar,” he announced.

At last, some action. He had been tired of waiting. “Now, this shall be fun.”

With one gesture, Quintus and the party that accompanied him were escorted in. Antonius’ eyes travelled from their feet to their heads.

He had stopped peeling the apple and with a swift movement, the tip of the blade pierced the surface of the wooden table. It was unexpected enough that it made Lepidus turn his gaze from the party and to him, yet Antony’s features did not seem threating in the least – if anything, he was smiling. Grinning.

With the apple left on the table as well, Antonius pushed himself off of the chair. “You can go, boys. Our guests must have come with friendly intentions, I am certain.”

His men did as commanded, exiting the tent as Antonius moved around the table and reached Lepidus’ s side as the General remained seated. Antonius’ hand rested upon his shoulder, tightening his grip upon it before patting it harshly. “Didn’t I tell you, Lepidus, that the sly bastard would reach out to us?” It was some sort of relief on Lepidus’ side, no matter, once Antonius moved away from him and to the front of the table.

“Don’t look so stiff now!" He called out to those in front of him. "Go on.”

Lucyfer​

 

[Lucyfer]

“Gaius,” Juba greeted in turn, in similar familiarity, giving the other man a slight inclination of his head as his lips remained turned up in their own wicked fashion, “You must be so proud,” binding himself ever closer to Octavius, through marriage now. It was not a bond so easily broken, and Juba could envy it in a way. It put him on more equal footing with the young Caesar, after all.

Juba would always be below. He had accepted it, knew he respected Octavius enough on most days to deal with it, but who didn’t want to even things up?

At the comment towards Agrippa, the other man flushed a bit, but shook his head, “I’m only doing this for Octavius,” he murmured, the truth to his words. He felt so uncomfortable in these things. A soldier’s tunic was better than a toga. He didn’t fit it. He didn’t want to have anything to do with politics, ever doubting his capabilities. Those things belonged to men like Octavius and Maecenas.

He was a tool in the game to see their dreams realized.

“It would not be proper to wear a soldier’s garb in a temple, unless it were Mars.”

“Doesn’t your Venus love Mars?” Juba asked, and Agrippa sighed at the logic Juba was clearly trying to impress upon him, before attention shifted once more to Kiya.

She who smiled up at Maecenas, “You must be Maecenas,” she returned, “We are pleased to meet you,” again, speaking with Cleopatra’s authority, before adding, “Her Grace may be absent in body, but she is here in spirit and in her blessings. It would not have done well for her to be here, she must mourn her lover, and care for her child, but soon she will return. I am here to promise her continued loyalty to Rome.”

Her smile was all charm.

“She’ll be joining us, apparently – to meet Octavius, because we can’t let him have one night of peace, no, all politics,” Juba huffed.

“Juba, you do know all marriages are political, don’t you?” The voice that startled him was that of Octavius, who had entered the Temple without fanfare or announcement.

Her mother’s words still echoed in her head. ‘Smile. Be light, be easy – you should be relaxed at your wedding.’ Though Octavius was hardly that, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try and smile, and to join her friends in some casual conversation before she was stolen away to stand before the Pontifex Maximus, to have Maecenas give away Verina, and then try to participate in the revelry while worrying about the night.

Juba looked back with a wide smile, “Sneak,” he accused, before reaching out as Agrippa stepped aside to open the circle to his presence, “It isn’t all about politics, you are marrying a friend’s sister – hopefully that won’t ruin your friendship,” he laughed a bit, “you’re finally going to become a man!”

Octavius rolled her eyes, fully aware of what Juba meant by that, and not giving him the satisfaction of confirming or denying it. She never did. Her eyes instead drifted to the stranger in their midsts, “I’m afraid we have not met. Gaius Caesar,” strangers would not call her Octavius.

“Caesar, I am Kiya,” she greeted, bending a bit at the knees. Not quite a bow, nor curtsy, but the impression of one. Rome was all about its illusions. The burgundy sash bespoke royalty, as well as the position of consul – the golden leaves, a crown, but none would dare to call the one standing before her a king.

Even if she imagined that was the goal. “I am here for Cleopatra, who sends her warmest wishes for you to have a happy marriage, and know love as she did with your father.”

Her words were always meant to remind them, to keep that topic alive and well in Rome – Caesar had a son, a true son, and it wasn’t Octavius.

“Does she?” The smile was there, but Octavius read the threat too easily in Kiya’s words, “I appreciate the sentiment, I do hope she will come to visit soon, there is much to discuss about Egypt and its place under Rome.” Not besides, but under.

“She will, once the mourning period has passed.”

“Of course,” mourning period. Right. Cleopatra did love her drama, didn’t she? Before more could be said, either tight-lipped or otherwise, the Pontifex Maximus noticed her, and called out for her, and for a settling of the gathering into their seas, and their positions, for the ceremony. Octavius looked to Maecenas then. “Thank you, friend,” she said, hoping against hope that this match was right, that his sister was every bit as cunning and ambitious as he was.

It was a laudable trait, and certainly how she and Maecenas got on so well. He could keep her focused when sentiment or frustration threatened to overwhelm. “You should see to your sister,” for he would need to lead her, to pass her on from his hand, to Octavius’s.

She would go to stand with the priest.

~***~

Quintus Rufus was soon to learn there was no preparation for Marcus Antonius. Though he’d been in camps that were with Antonius, though he had helped chase Antonius off the battlefield, in truth he’d never been within the circles ran in. After the shipwreck, his circle was usually Octavius’s – it was Octavius who led the survivors to Caesar, across enemy territory, and Octavius’s circle usually did not involve Antony despite how close they both were to Caesar.

So he jolted a bit when the dagger was thrown into the table between them, after his entrance. He tried to relax his shoulders, but already he felt on edge as the other man – grinning, moved around to the older senator and spoke too casually. It was surreal, so much so that Quintus almost forgot all the warnings he’d given himself to remain aggressive, remain on the offense in dealing with Antony.

It was Octavius’s aide who remained poised, the freed Greek not seeming impressed in the least with the display. He kept his hazel eyes wary upon Antonius, “Thank you, Antonius,” he was the one to speak, and then to look to Quintus.

“Oh! Right,” Quintus took from his side the scroll then, the sigil of Caesar sealing the wax upon it, and he held it out to Antony, “I know you received one letter earlier, but it did not say it all, Caesar could not trust his true words to just anyone.”

If Antony would not accept the scroll, Quintus would eventually draw it back, but he’d continue to speak regardless. “Caesar bids you return to Rome. He seeks an alliance with you against the true enemies of Rome – Cassius, Brutus, and Cicero,” he named them easily. Perhaps Octavius would not say Cicero so openly, for the man had been his mentor, but Rufus knew he was named in the letter so he felt no shame in mentioning it.

Not to mention he was fully aware of how much Antony and Cicero did not get along. It was a selling point. “And, let’s be honest,” there, Rufus did don some of his own cockiness, allowing a light smirk to touch his lips, “You need him if you’re ever getting back into Rome. He’s the golden child now, Julius Caesari’s favorite, son of Venus,” through the adoption of Caesar, and his own bloodline – the Julii did claim descent from Venus, after all, “His word will get you right back into being Rome’s darling little soldier. Even you must understand that declaring war on Caesar’s son is going to ruin you further, and only let Brutus win in the end, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”



The letter, should Antony read it, would not be so blunt as Quintus’s words.

It would indeed declare that the true enemies were Brutus, Cassius, and Cicero. It would not tell Antony that they needed each other – Octavius would never admit to that – it would instead confess a deeper understanding of the machinations that Cicero used to ruin his reputation, and turn Rome on him, and promise that it could be reversed, if Antony would side not with him…but with Caesar, whom they both loved.

And despite all that language, it was still signed not as Octavius, not as Octavian, but as Gaius Julius Caesar.

Asteria

 

[Asteria]

“You must be so proud.”

Juba’s comment was met with the usual reaction Maecenas presented one with when he was congratulated – it was a suppressed smile, satisfied, and yet, cautious. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He was pleased, of course. His achievement to be tied to such a prominent figure of Rome through marriage was no small feat. However, over the years, Maecenas had grown so accustomed to the favorable outcomes of his conquests that he hardly found himself proud. He didn’t know if he should consider certainty a blessing or a curse, for it turned most affairs tedious.

He didn’t want to think that Verina may have been right in her assumption, that he was, indeed, bothered by what was to come. It was easier to turn a blind eye to that possibility as he found himself amused at the exchange between the two men, the talk of gods and proper attire.

Humorous could be a way to describe Cleopatra’s advisor and her words as well. He imagined there would be no end to the talk of mourning, of the love Cleopatra carried and would continue to carry for her lover, the care, and protection of Julius Caesar’s true son. Continuous reminders. Maecenas knew them well. “I see. Your Queen’s loyalty is something of importance to us, to Rome. Were Caesar here, he would say just as much.”

And it was Octavius’ voice that took them by surprise then. Maecenas straightened his back as he recognized it. Perhaps his entrance was too simple for his position, but his appearance was not – the burgundy sash, the golden leaves that melted into the golden hair spoke of his position.

The appearance of an Emperor.

He paid no attention to Juba’s tease, but the threat Kiya placed in the exchanged pleasantries did not remain unnoticed. Bold little thing and that was, indeed, the way Maecenas saw her. A tiny piece in the greater game. A tiny piece that could be thrown off the board so easily.

His eyes shot to Octavius, though, as his gaze moved to him. He spoke of gratitude and Maecenas’ heart felt heavier in his chest. His smile was sincere this time. “Always, Octavius.” He’d always help him rise. He’d always go for what was advantageous for him.

“Of course,” he added, as his sister was mentioned. It wouldn’t be long then, until they would call each other husband and wife. With an inclination of his head, Maecenas excused himself from the formed group.

It was then, as Maecenas strode towards the back of the Temple, that he wondered about what was said before about the match – it was a political marriage, an arrangement as many others. It secured Octavius’ position and the future of his legacy, as well as their family’s influence over Rome. It was known to him, it was known to his sister and the exchange of words from that morning assured him of that aspect.

When he saw her, though, when he saw her green eyes gleaming with mischief even through the veil, he couldn’t help but think about her future with Octavius. He had worries and regrets, thoughts he could not tame. Perhaps he had shielded her too much until this moment, perhaps he should have allowed her more freedoms before tying her to a man such as Octavius. They had grown together in their mother’s womb, and yet, Maecenas had grown to be cold and distant in private, a mass of darkness and secrets, while she burnt brighter than the sun, more violent than an untamed fire. Passion embodied.

Octavius’ was hardly that. A feature of his that Maecenas could describe – forcibly so - as passionate were his eyes, those damned striking blue eyes. But even those resembled ice more often than they resembled the clean sky of a quiet morning or the wild waves of the sea.

“Hopefully that won’t ruin your friendship,” Juba had said. Maecenas did not think it would, for he couldn’t imagine that Octavius would mistreat his sister or make her truly unhappy. Yet, for the first time, he felt puzzled, as he could not say for certain how would he react to such a situation.

Despite his thoughts, it was a smile Maecenas greeted his sister with, one she returned as her red-tinted lips curled underneath the veil. She looked beautiful, even with the thin material hiding so much of her. “Well?”

“Did they tie your girdle tight enough that Hercules himself has to walk into the temple to undo it?” He asked, moving his hand to pull at one of the corners.

Verina batted it away before his fingertips could even brush the material. “You have no shame,” she called him out, laughing as she did so.

His own expression was amused, seeing her reaction. It was for one moment more that he just looked at her, his eyes locked firmly on her own, as if he wanted to say something.

But his lips didn’t part again and Verina did not allow him more time as she raised her hand for him to take. No father to lead her to her husband, no mother to tie her knot properly.

She only had Maecenas.

And Maecenas had her.

He would lead her, through the gathered guests, underneath the gazes of family members and friends, of allies and not yet sworn enemies.

Whereas Verina found herself immensely pleased at the sight, at the wandering looks and the hints of jealousy some displayed, she could sense that her brother’s unusual tension followed him even then. If it weren’t for the confident and prideful steps and the neutral look his eyes carried, she would have considered him even displeased. She could feel him softening though, his hand relaxing underneath her own as he came to a stop in front of the priest.

Even she left the imperious stance aside. She was in front of Pontifex Maximus after all, and over the last few years, the gods had been closer to her than others had ever been. ‘Who would pray for us, if not I?’

She hardly believed that the Gods would even turn their ears towards Maecenas after all that had been said and done. But even he had a solemn look on his face then, one she hadn’t seen in so long.

His free hand was brought forward, between the space that kept Octavius and herself from one another. It was Octavius’ hand he waited for and Verina’s would follow it after. United, at last

He would leave them then, with a heavy heart and one glance to Octavius, but he did not leave far off from his sister. Still at her side, just as the ceremony requested from the family members.

Words from the priest followed the union of hands, asking for blessings from the present spirits, from Juno herself, whom he had invoked.

It was when his prayers became silent that those present could hear the well-known exchange.

'Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.’

‘Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius.’

~~~~​

It was the sight of the emissary’s reaction – his momentary loss of words – that delighted Antonius. The Greek’s unimpressed manner did not affect him at all. The scroll was extended then, but the General’s gaze remained fixed upon the young man instead. It was amusement he sought in this ordeal. Octavius’ concealed plea for help had only so much to offer, after all.

The game of predator and prey was more enjoyable when played with those that weren’t used to his whims and sudden outbursts of anger and violence; to his playful and threatening gestures. His hand reached out, however, to accept the scroll, but he had no intention to actually keep it. Whatever meanings would be found written in it would not remain unsaid, he presumed.

The scroll was supposed to go to Lepidus, for he noticed the hunger the man held in his gaze at the sight of the exchange. Only that Antonius decided to keep it for a moment longer. The sigil – Caesar’s sigil – stood out to him. A reminder.

Antonius had never known what to make out of the man. Caesar had been a canny politician and a skilled military man, one that Antonius had learned to respect. In his younger years, the General had had a strange fascination, perhaps even admiration, for Caesar. From the various men Antonius had in his life, beginning with his late father and then his mother’s second husband, to the men he had associated himself with in his younger years, none had stood out to him as Caesar did.

However, a man of his intelligence had to be at least half mad. The son of a god. Antonius still mocked the thought.

The emissary did not speak in vain, though – his words were heard and acknowledged. The young Octavius became bolder. Brutus and Cassius were known names, ones who threatened Octavius’ rule. Cicero’s was a new addition, but that fact wasn’t as surprising as it was meant to be. The old dog would choose Brutus over Caesar’s favorite any day.

It was at the mention of ‘Rome’s darling little soldier’ that Antonius’ raised his gaze from the sigil and let it travel back to the young man. His impish grin had only grown, stirred by the said words.

“Quite the tongue you have,” Antonius began. “It is as if you are my emissary. You seem to represent my interests well.”

With these words, the dark-haired man threw the scroll towards Lepidus – the big bone he had been waiting for all this time. The General caught it, but he was no longer as curious as he used to be in the beginning. Everything had already been said. He unrolled it. though, in case it had anything else to add.

A moment’s silence followed as Antonius placed his hands on the table, leaning against it. He sighed a sudden laugh parted his lips. It was scornful in its shortness. “Cicero. Oh, Cicero,” he mused. “I did warn the old arse that if I ever again hear his name along words of treachery, I’ll nail his hands do the Senate doors. I shall do the same thing to that tongue of his.” Antonius had allowed him to keep it for too long. He had used it far too many times against him in his dammed speeches. Against his father and family. Against Caesar.

Lepidus had learned to be a patient man around Antonius. His ways were well known to the man – Antonius enjoyed the chase and making one wait.

However, he never resisted long when it came to Octavius.

“But indeed,” Antonius added then, escaping the daze, “you’ve said well. He’s the golden child… for now. Caesar had many favorites over the years, many so-called sons. He even has a son in Egypt, does he not?” He hardly thought that the Egyptian whore of a Queen would let Rome forget this fact now that Caesar was dead.

Caesar had a son, and it wasn’t Octavius.

“Brutus is in the South… and Cicero would pick him over our Octavian any day. And I am here, in the North.”

His next words were accompanied by a wry smile. “You know how brothers are and how they squabble. If they feel their father’s choice is unjust, they will easily stab one another in the back after his death. Only that we don’t have knives, a woman’s poison or hired thugs… we have legions.” This wasn’t a child’s play.

“And how many does our Octavian have, Lepidus? Ten?” Antonius’ brow rose in curiosity as he turned his head towards Lepidus. He knew how many legions Octavius had. He was only playing – Octavius needed him and his numbers just as much as Antonius needed his word to get back into Rome.

“Eight.”

Antonius mimicked a wince at the number, puffing out. “Only eight legions protecting Rome’s gates? Such a dire situation…”

No matter Antonius’ play, there was a silent understanding of the situation. Antonius preferred Octavius – especially an Octavius that needed him – over Caesar’s murderers. And in his position, he was easier to control as well. Easier to impose terms to.

He also appreciated the cockiness of the young man. The blunt words. There was something in him, something that reminded Antonius of the past.

It wasn’t he who spoke next though, it was Lepidus – precautious, as always. “Their immunity needs to be removed.” They needed to be declared enemies of Rome in the Senate. Through a motion.

Somehow, that thought unsettled him. “It would tear the Senate apart.” Brutus and Cassius still had many supporters, many of great power. And many others would rather support them than the memory of Caesar’s so-called tyranny.

Lucyfer
​

 

[Lucyfer]

Octavius could fret as much as she liked, in the silence of the moment as she came to stand before the priest. Technically speaking, Aemilius Lepidus was Pontifex Maximus, but he was away. Standing in his place would have normally been Octavius, but he could not officiate his own wedding – besides the fact Octavius’s regards for the gods had slipped over the years. So it fell instead to Lucius Celerus, the deputy Pontifex, who carried out many services while Lepidus was absent.

Octavius could have claimed that role, but saw more reasons not to do so.

She did not spend that time flustering though, as others went to their places to await the event, all at her pleasure, and her command. It was fascinating how many now flocked to be a part of her life, with Caesar gone, with her so named his heir, and Antony and Brutus far. Some, certainly, like Cicero who found his place, considered that she may be turned to his whims. ‘No, all.’ Yes, all thought she was still malleable.

She’d told Cicero as much, had she not? That she had much to learn, that she would, in fact, be the more submissive consul and allow him to reign? It was a lie, but he would learn that soon enough. They’d not yet drawn the Senate to meet, to welcome her into those ranks.

This had seemed more important to Cicero, that she appear with a spouse, and so more like those she spoke with, with concerns like those she spoke for. So the game was played – it was sound advice no matter, at her age, she should have taken a spouse by now.

Soon enough, all eyes were on that future spouse, as she came in alongside Maecenas. Verina was indeed a beautiful woman, Octavius knew it from their interactions, but there was something about the attire before a wedding that did make one seem all the more beautiful, especially the way the light fell upon her face and brought out the red in her curls that could be seen. ‘Even so….’ Octavius couldn’t help but wonder if this would be easier if she had an attraction or women as her sister did.

For she would, at the very least, have to kiss Verina. Affection was already practically foreign to Octavius, but this, with no desire? ‘Think of your other desires.’ For power, for position, for revenge…she may not have passion or desire for Verina, but for those things, she could at least find it in herself to kiss Verina.

To let her hand move out to Maecenas, who brought it to Verina’s, and united them in the moment. She did spare Maecenas one further glance, before her gaze returned to his sister, and to her hopes that Verina was just as cunning, just as ambitious, just as…just as everything that made Maecenas her own dear friend.

She tried to see through that veil as if it might tell her something, hardly listening to the priest’s invocations and prayers, though she knew the moment it was her time to speak.

Her words followed after Verina’s own: “Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius,” almost clever, given her name was ‘Gaius Octavius’. Well, now ‘Gaius Julius Caesar’, or ‘Gaius Octavius Caesar’.

With those words spoken, Lucius did declare them formally joined, and of course moved on to request it be ‘sealed’, and Octavius felt her stomach tighten with the thought, but it didn’t stop her from stepping forward, or using her free hand to lift the veil that covered Verina’s face, and to allow a moment to take in her look, and to make sure there was nothing malign in her gaze, no threat that might show Verina did not want to be there right then.

And she was beautiful.

She certainly deserved a husband who could appreciate her, not only for her mind – for Octavius would appreciate that, as well as her company, if she was able to, but for those things Octavius found herself thinking after now and then – someone who could appreciate her deep green eyes, or the set of her lips, who would enjoy clasping her face with a hand, as Octavius lifted her own to do, thinking to what she’d seen, what she thought she’d enjoy.

There was a flutter of a smile, quick, nervous, and then Octavius did lean forward to close the gap, to seal the kiss, and so, the arrangement. This was all that was needed – a kiss. Then there was the sacrifice of the pig, the feasting and the sharing of bread, before eventually she could go off with Verina alone, and hope for the best.

Octavius would not press hard, still barely knowing what it was she was doing, and briefly wondering why people liked kissing so damn much.


Naturally, there was some raucous uproar with the sealing, and though Octavius didn’t look, she was fairly certain it started with Juba – and it threatened to twist her lips in a smile, even in the kiss.

~***~

Quintus actually smirked as Antonius praised his tongue. He knew why he was chosen for this mission, above all others, and that was just a bit of it. He was no Maecenas, when it came to words and threats, but he did not need to be. Maecenas could never talk to men like Antony, but Quintus liked to believe he could, and so he relaxed a bit as he noted how well his interests were represented.

That was the point. He had to convince Antony this was in his interest, after all.

The mention of Cleopatra, and her son, caused the Greek to shake his head, “Caesar did not acknowledge him,” and so, no one could say it was his son. Cleopatra would, endlessly, and if she said it too much, she’d have a dead son. She was fortunate that he wasn’t dead already as a rival. So far as the world was concerned, Caesar only had a daughter, who was dead, and no heirs from her.

But it seemed Antony didn’t really care about all that. He spoke of him and Octavius – or Octavian, as he kept saying, as brothers. Squabbling brothers, and Octavius with fewer legions.

Rufus did shrug at that, but didn’t deny what Lepidus had to say. It was fewer. It was made of veterans, rather than newbloods but even so – fewer.

“I assure you, Octavius has plans for removing them. Octavius was made consul,” at an age where he technically should not be consul, “along Cicero,” perhaps some would see that as a liability, and though Quintus Rufus had no idea what Octavius had planned, he had seemed fairly confident that being consul was better than a triumph. He’d almost seemed…happy that Cicero had denied the triumph.

“Their immunity will be removed. That is not under question, and if the Senate is split…,” Quintus shrugged. He was sure Octavius had plans for it, but it wasn’t his arena. What would they do, run to Brutus and die in combat? Send a letter to warn them? Brutus had to know it was coming, Brutus was not an idiot. That was why he was down south, trying to gather further allies. “The Senate is split. Hardly the first time in Rome’s history it has happened, and we are already in the midst of quite a large civil war.”

Antony on one side, Brutus on the other.

Perhaps Rome was acting as if all was peaceful right now, but they knew the truth.

They were still at war.

“The question remains, General Antonius,” some deference, but Quintus’s smile remained, “Where do you want to be in all of this?” he could wait, and hope that when Octavius and Brutus came to blows, it would weaken one or the other enough that he could then take them down. It was a gamble, no matter what. Or, he could strike first, and hope Brutus didn’t create a force large enough to take him down when Brutus came for Rome.

There was no getting out of the fight with Brutus – that much, Antony had to see. Yet, with the forces Octavius had, and his own, the fight with Brutus would be much easier to handle.

Numerically, and strategically. Octavius’s soldiers were better, over all. That was how they’d pushed Antony back, in spite of Antony being more versed in combat. Agrippa and Octavius used their veterans and wrecked him with Agrippa’s genius strategies.

Asteria

 

[Asteria]

A veil could be more than a shield meant to ward off the evil spirits that would dare threaten the bride’s happiness, Verina came to acknowledge. In those sacred moments, as the Pontifex lost himself in his ardent prayers and welcomed the gods’ blessings, she found comfort at the thought that the veil concealed the shameful pride – a pride fed by Octavius’ looks, as well as the ones of those present – she dared to parade in front of the gods.

Yet, the pleased curl of her lips could not be contained. It only appeared to grow as the ceremony carried on, bringing her closer to the moment she could call Octavius her husband.

To the moment she would be known as Octavius’ wife.

She enjoyed the way her tongue rolled around the word. Husband. Her newly acquired position tasted even sweeter – wife to Gaius Octavius Caesar, adopted son and heir of the late Caesar. Wife to one of the youngest consuls and, one day, with enough patience and understanding, she would hold even a greater position through him.

Her husband.

Octavius.

No matter how pleasing, though, the combination was still fairly strange. Strange and amusing, for she had never truly considered Octavius a possible suitor. On the different occasions she had joined him along her brother, she had found him cold and unnerving, but also knowledgeable and calculated.

It had been no surprise to her when Caesar had claimed him as his heir. She could only hope and pray, even more so now, that he wouldn’t share his fate.

When he lifted the veil, Verina welcomed the sight. Her smile hadn’t faded in the least and she thought herself favored by the gods as she laid her eyes upon him; there was a softness to his features that made him endearing and a grace that couldn’t go ignored. Not many women could boast about having a young husband, and one in such a position of power. Perhaps she wouldn’t love him, nor lust after him in his absence, but she could at least nurture a tenderness for the man.

And, as he smiled and his palm caressed her cheek, she raised her head.

Their lips met. She felt his hesitance and she did press, only slightly, as the kiss threatened to come to an end. If there was something Maecenas had allowed her to learn properly when it came to such closeness, that was kissing. However, she had learned how to do so with women, not men.

She hardly noticed a difference as she kissed Octavius.

When it came to more, she had the knowledge, but not the experience. That was for later. They would indulge, later, when they were alone.

Her lips curled underneath his, then, as an uproar erupted around them. And when Octavius broke from her, she greeted him with a smile as his golden wreath shone in her eyes.

A small victory; this was merely the first step.

Lightheartedness would stain her every movement from then on, even if, throughout the sacrifice of the pig, she tried to show some piety. She never broke from Octavius’ side and her smile became broader, bolder, as the ten witnesses signed the marriage contract.

By the time they had to share the bread, Verina ended up laughing as she fed Octavius his piece and her hand settled on his arm as he brought forth hers.

With the ceremony reaching its end and the festivities their beginning, Verina was charm itself. She shone when she smiled and she shone when she looked up at Octavius as she stole a moment to whisper to him, “Thank you, Octavius, for looking favorably upon this union. Perhaps I will not make you the happiest man,” they had not married for love after all, “but I hope that I will ease some of your worries along the way, at least. That I will bring you peace, a sense of security even. I can promise that much.”

She meant it. That peace would benefit her as much as it would benefit him.

~~~~​

Most women would have at least trembled in fear and uncertainty; others would have wept the night before and the redness of their eyes would betray their overwhelming sentiments the next day.

That wasn’t the case for his sister, no. Not for Verina. She smiled underneath the veil. She smiled when Octavius raised it and she smiled underneath his lips as an uproar filled the air. And she smiled, triumphantly so, when she met Maecenas’ gaze among all the others, nodding lightly as if telling him: ‘Look at me, brother, I’ve done as you’ve asked. I’ve done it for us.’

The green of her eyes bore a light unknown to him. The malachite that stained her eyelids brought it out, fueled it. When her gaze left him and settled upon Octavius instead, Maecenas thought himself witless for believing that it was Verina’s well-being he should be worried about. He should have worried about Octavius' instead.

He had had his reservations towards this arrangement. When Octavius had found himself in need of a wife to secure his position as consul, Maecenas hadn’t hesitated in offering his sister as a potential match.

It was when he had returned to their villa that night that he had questioned himself and his hasty decision. Verina had the grace and intelligence of a respectable Roman woman, she had educated herself above the daily lessons she had received in her youth, and she had a gift for charming those that would benefit her cause, but she also carried a spontaneity that their mother had found unbearable – she would run from her guards, cause chaos among the slaves, and, once, much to his amusement, she had cut her own hair after hearing of an Egyptian practice.

Even when their father had mentioned marriage in passing, she would simply shrug and tell him that the gods would know what had to be done, better than any of them.

They did not know. Maecenas knew. That had been enough for Verina to accept his proposal.


“So easily?” Maecenas had jested.

She had not shrugged that time. Her smile had been softer than usual. “Trusting you is like trusting myself.”


He, too, trusted her. It was easier to see Octavius with someone he trusted with his whole being – his other half.

“Is it your affection?”

Verina had always known, no matter how many times he had denied, no matter how many times had dismissed the subject. Stubborn as he was, he continued to deny himself the truth even throughout the ceremonial and the early stage of the festivities.

But, as his sister continued to smile and laugh, and, sometimes, caress Octavius’ arm as a lover, Maecenas knew as well. She shone in her pristine white dress and she was happy – not because of Octavius himself, but what he represented to her, he knew – and so was he.

And yet, whenever his eyes fell upon them, Maecenas’ heart sunk.

It did not matter. It wasn’t the place, nor the time, for childish displays of emotion. The wedding itself was a battlefield when it came to politics and he followed his sister’s example; he smiled and laughed, and whispered in the right ears, and raised his cup when a man would salute him and offer his blessings.

“We should join him while we can,” he spoke, at last. He hadn’t parted from the couple’s side during the ceremonial, but, as the festivities had begun, he had allowed them some distance, joining his usual companions.

His eyes rested upon his almost empty cup as the words parted his lips. but he decided against refilling it. Later. He will indulge, later, when he was left alone. “I’ve heard that marriage changes a man. Who knows who he’ll be tomorrow?”

~~~~​

Despite the young man’s reassurances, Lepidus remained wary of the vagueness of his words, for nothing was truly certain – Octavius’ position or the power he could exert over the Senate with Cicero at his side. The old arse, as Antony had so fondly referred to the orator on numerous occasions, would not allow the passing of a motion that would stain the names of his beloved Brutus and Cassius with accusations of murder and betrayal of the state.

He would not allow the unity of the Senate to be dissolved so by an inexperienced boy who had been charmed by dreams of power and revenge.

Most men were quick to forget that they had been young once. Young and hopeful, and willing to anger the Gods themselves in the search for their desires. Or, perhaps, that was why they watched the young with such spiteful gazes – fearful even, envious –, for they remembered too well.

They had even more reasons to dread those who weren’t open when it came to their intentions. Octavius wasn’t open. Even if he was at a disadvantage due to his age and lineage, Octavius had still proved to be a force to be reckoned with, militarily speaking, at least.

That, combined with his quiet and secretive nature, could make one wonder.

Cicero must have wondered too, just as Lepidus. He and those at his side must have wondered enough in order to decide to keep Octavius close and feed him with a position in the hopes that he wouldn’t repeat Caesar’s mistakes. Now though, considering how precarious Octavius' position appeared to be and how fast Brutus gained allies in the South, Cicero must have wondered no longer.

Foolishly so. What seemed to be a disadvantage for Cicero represented an advantage for Octavius. It was hard to believe that the old arse would have thought that the young consul would seek support in Marcus Antonius of all people.

Lepidus expected Antonius to laugh at the emissary’s words and continue jesting about Octavius’ position. Yet, he did not. He could notice, though, from the chair he hadn’t dared to rise, that Antonius’ mood had not been dampened. His lips were still turned upwards, mischievously so, and his gaze continued to bear that dangerous gleam.

“The lack of men in his command and a good battle made him feeble,” Antonius spoke then, as if Lepidus wasn’t just some steps away. “He worries too much. If the Senate is split, he will force it back together. We saw what happened to Caesar when he allowed the old men to bicker, when he forgave them for their unfaithfulness. They must’ve had a dispute even over Caesar’s death. No, no more of that.”

Cicero was right about one thing – Octavius would not repeat Caesar’s mistakes. Perhaps that was why Caesar had named him his heir. He had known.

Antonius knew as well. It was why it bothered him so much.

When the emissary’s question filled the air between them, Antonius did not remain still. He broke from the table and approached the young man. His hands reached forward, settling over the leather-covered shoulders.

The smile remained, “Caesar’s friends are my friends… or, I shall say, Caesar’s family is my family. And Caesar’s enemies are my enemies. Brutus and Cassius have become his enemies from the moment they have left him to choke in his own blood at the base of the Curia.” Brutus, the stupid and naïve idealist, would regret that he had spoken against Antonius death. Cassius would at least regret that his attempt at Antonius’ life hadn’t gone as planned.

His hands moved up then, resting on either side of his neck. He did not add pressure, the touch appearing to be tender, as if there was a brother in front of him, an old friend, and not one of Octavius’ men. “We shall be friends. Don’t think you would still be here, alive and big-mouthed, otherwise. I would’ve had this Greek over here take your bloodied tongue back to Octavius after your first words.” His tone remained calm, his expression amused.

When Antonius removed his hands from the man with a light shake, Lepidus almost considered that he may indeed move for his mouth instead.

He did not. He returned back to the table and around it, lowering himself into the chair with a longing sigh. “And I miss Rome, you know? There’s only so much you could do here. A soldier may be restless, but home is home, after all. It must miss me just as much.”

Antonius seemed lost in thought but not for long.

“I want to see him,” he added. “Emissaries and written words… messy work. Doesn’t compare to the real thing.” And Octavius had always been an entertaining man to have across the table. Hard to break, yes, but that was what made him entertaining. “Once the motion passes in the Senate, of course.”

“If it passes,” Lepidus muttered.

Lucyfer
​

 

[Lucyfer]

Octavius felt the return of pressure in the kiss – and then more than she had applied, was added. It was startling in its way, but Octavius did not back away from it, though she hardly had any real clues of how to meet it, and was somewhat thankful when the kiss was broken, and the scene of the wedding restored. The world around them came crashing back with the noise of the applause and the party.

‘Step one.’

There were more hurdles yet to face in this affair, and she hoped that smile on Verina’s face would remain through it all.

It seemed to shine through the rest of the event, at any rate. Verina may as well have been Venus to her own Diana, a warm, loving woman, charm itself, besides a chilled, pale visage. Of course, Octavius smiled in all the right places, and played the role expected. Of course, not a soul could fault her, and few would even see through it.

She was not known for warmth, but her own anxiety was constant. She was distracted by the rules of the event.

Perhaps it was Verina who sensed that, for she did steal a moment to whisper a few words into Octavius’s ears, and the young one lifted their head a bit to hear all the more clearly, what Verina meant to promise to her new spouse. She allowed a touch of a smile, smaller than others perhaps, but for all that, more sincere than others, as well, “Your promise is more than sufficient, Verina,” she answered, “those things are what many who marry only dream of.”

Even those who married for love, often found other areas of their life lacking. Love would not, in the end, conquer all problems. It truly seemed to cause more problems than it solved.

Then again, Octavius was blamed for being too pragmatic. “That brings me enough happiness.”

Maecenas had been close at hand through much of the ceremony, and as this would move into the celebration, he seemed to give them space, much as others would. Octavius knew how this would end – with the parade, and carrying Verina into the house. Assuming she could even lift Verina. Ah, well, that would be figured out, Verina was no doubt aware her ‘husband’ was not the strongest individual in the world.

No Heracles by far.

And not to be alone much longer, if she could tell anything by the gesturing coming from near Maecenas and her usual group of friends.

She would not point that out, and resisted any apology for taking Verina from a lover, if she had such a thing as that. She would certainly deny it – and there might yet be time to remedy it later, anyways.

“I think we’re soon to be bothered,” she did allow that, the slight curve of her lips indicating this time it would not truly bother her so much.

~***~

Agrippa, Juba, and Dareios had managed to steal away from plenty of the others with Maecenas. While Agrippa and Juba would not quite consider Dareios a part of their group, nonetheless, it was easy to accept him when he brought such good wine and offered it freely. They knew him, at least, and knew his familiarity with Maecenas and his work on much of this event, which had indeed, turned out exceedingly well.

Not an issue. Not even from Cleopatra’s advisor, who seemed to stay an observer, rather than anything more.

And Dareios did, desperately, want to meet Octavius. That meant hanging around his friends.

Maecenas did not disappoint with his wish to see the man again, and Juba was the one to laugh heartily at the commentary, “One can only hope this might remove the stick up Octavius’s ass!” It was said in jest, but it still earned a slight glare from Octavius’s steadfast protector, Agrippa. “But something tells me not even the sweet caresses of a lover will change him, or those honeyed words.”

Which he was certain Verina was skilled at whispering. She was sister to Maecenas, after all.

“Which is good for us,” Agrippa said, rather than think otherwise, as he sipped more of his wine, “we are hardly done with things here,” the marriage was to help consolidate Octavius’s power, and while Agrippa might like Octavius to, one day, settle down and be happy, right now that wasn’t what any of them needed.

Octavius had to remain in the game.

Antony was alive, and Cicero still a viable threat.

Not to mention Brutus.

And Brutus was the all-consuming worry right now.

“Well, if we’re going to see them, we should at least go with full cups,” Dareios had noticed Maecenas’s was nearing empty, and he reached for the jug of wine. Juba eagerly pushed his own cup forward and had it refilled.

Agrippa followed suit, though not so eagerly, and then Dareios looked to Maecenas.

Poor, love-sick man. The rumors seemed more true every time he looked at his face, and so the offer of more was made out of pity, as if it might somehow steel Maecenas before he had to confront the couple.

~***~

Quintus knew that Marcus Antonius could be unpredictable. In truth, he did not know how, and when the man rose, he almost wanted to rise and move away himself. Thankfully, he did not make any such gestures, and he followed the General’s progress to him, and felt his hands fall upon him.

He tensed, but he did not attempt to remove Antony’s hands.

Yet it was in that moment he understood why many thought Antonius dangerous: all that mischief now seemed turned to danger. His words were as playful as they were threatening. Antonius meant every word – he would have killed Rufus without a second thought for the fact he was there as a peaceful negotiator.

At least he seemed to want to side with Octavius on all of this.

That didn’t ease his concerns too much when Antony’s hands rested on his neck, though, but he never once shot his hazel eyes over towards Lepidus to reveal more of that concern.

“I assure you, it will pass. No one will dare oppose,” Quintus stated, rising to the defense of it immediately, “I will tell Octavius as much; I am sure he will be happy to converse with you and see you once again,” no he wouldn’t, Antony may play it like they were brothers, but Octavius was simply desperate.

Perhaps that made it better for Antony. He may have guessed as much. He had suspected Octavius would reach out, after all. “Would you have anything you would like me to take back to him, General?” He was more deserving of that title, given the near-agreement to join the cause and help Octavius.

Asteria

 

[Asteria]

Certain observations that were shared in order to arouse one’s amusement might hold some truth to them – Maecenas’ remark was a jest, but it was known that marriage could change a man. For the better or for the worse, one could not say for certain.

But Octavius was no simple man and he never could afford such a commodity to begin with, considering the path he had chosen for himself. The path he had chosen for all of them, in truth.

Especially his sister.

He did look back to the spot where the couple had settled amidst the crowd as Juba spoke about how immune Octavius may prove to be to his sister’s attentions and attempts at persuasion. At the expense of underestimating Verina, he did believe it to be the truth.

Octavius was hardly the man to fall for such sentimental tricks. There was a clear distinction between home and Rome and the former suffered at the expense of the latter often. If anything, the tensions and misunderstandings that existed behind closed doors only seemed to fuel the ruthless determination that characterized Octavius.

All around, though, sentimentally wasn’t necessarily a negligible asset – the word father could make some to be fairly wary these days.

Even Cleopatra had sensed the opportunity it implied.

When Maecenas’ gaze returned to his companions, there was a subtle humourous upturn of his lips to greet them with. He enjoyed this, he enjoyed them – even though he was known to prefer Juba’s company throughout such events, Agrippa’s ever-present alertness was a welcomed addition that day. Maecenas felt the self-punishing need to be alert, to remain aware of everything that was happening around him.

Dareios’ offer of more wine intervened with his plans, though. Juba and Agrippa had their cups filled, and, Maecenas, after a passing moment in which he thought of his earlier promise, extended his cup as well. He was brother to the bride, after all, and, more or less, Dareios’ representant in front of Octavius. He had to enjoy the services he had to offer.

And it wouldn’t be the first cup of wine that he would seem to enjoy without actively touching it. Another illusion.

He did spare Dareios a glance, recognizing his look well enough, but it was Agrippa that he watched closely as he canted his head in amusement and approval. “Well, then you will be relieved to hear that my sister shares your sentiments, Agrippa. Her… sweet caresses and honeyed words will only aid our cause, I assure you.”

Verina had no intention to sway Octavius from his path unless her intervention would prove to be beneficial in the long-run. Her brother’s loyalties may be at fault for her blind trust, but, for the time being, Maecenas wouldn’t have it otherwise.

Setting his free hand on his thigh, Maecenas raised from his stool with a light sigh. “Though,” he began, “I’d advise you to appear less grim in front of her from now on. To bore my sister is one thing, but to bore the wife of Gaius Octavius Caesar…” He raised an eyebrow at the thought, as if his pause was telling enough. “You might be sent to handle some barbarians in a land long-forgotten by your Mars or, even worse, you will be kept away from the battlefield altogether.”

That was unlikely. Above all, Agrippa was a steadfast servant of Octavius’ interests. Despite the flightiness of their meetings, Verina was aware of that much. She enjoyed loyal servants to a fault.

But, no matter, messing with the poor man was an enjoyable way of spending one’s spare time. Play. Deflect. Maecenas was good at both.

He gripped Dareios’ shoulder then, smiling as he did so, and he would gently push him forward – he was aware of his desire to make Octavius’ acquaintance and the young merchant was a good man, good enough to remain entertained.

And, after all, merchants made terrible good birds.

Maecenas would throw Agrippa a look over his shoulder then, a wink. “Come along now,” he encouraged.


Verina’s reassurances might have proven to be a bad bargain in the company of a man with grander desires, but Octavius smiled one of his quiet smiles, one that she had seen more often in the presence of her brother and their usual company and less so during the events she had attended alongside them. Her own smile softened at the sight; he did welcome her words, easily so.

She had expected just as much – Octavius was a practical man, one who would treasure a peaceful household of his own more so than a desperate, passionate love affair. She might be proved otherwise as time went on, though.

There must be a fire hidden deep inside him, somewhere. She just had to find it.

She would settle a hand on his arm, encouraged by his words as she was. “It brings me just as much happiness to hear you say so. We shall do more than dream, then,” and she did wonder about other dreams of his, dreams she might be able to bring to fruition, but she did not get to inquire further as Octavius mentioned a possible intrusion. Verina’s gaze followed his own, easily spotting her brother and his friends – Dareios Achaz was among them now, and it was he that her brother pushed ahead.

“Mhm,” she easily agreed with Octavius as she looked up to him again, letting her hand fall. Her smile would betray the same thought; their presence wouldn’t truly bother her either.

Maecenas seemed to be in a favourable mood – not as if she had expected anything else from a master of illusions. He was the first to approach them.

“What a precious sight you two offer,” he complimented easily, and Verina bent her knees a little, playfully so, in gratitude. “We thought we could keep you company in the little time we have left before you will be taken away from us.”

There would be little interaction during the parade and, even though the festivities would continue throughout the night, Octavius and Verina would be rather… preoccupied.

Maecenas did not want to think of it. Not yet.

Though, Verina took notice of the humorous aspect of his comment and decided to make use of it. “Oh, you miserable man,” she pitied her brother as she extended her hand for him to take, fingers drumming against her palm. A demanding child she was.

Maecenas barely contained a mournful sigh, but he took the offered hand. She used it to draw him near, only to place her arm around his back. He mimicked her gesture and she let her head rest on his chest.

She had to keep him occupied. Keep him close. He, too, was tied to Octavius. They were family now – that was more important than any fantasy. “No need to worry, brother. I will not let anyone deprive you of me,” not even her husband.

Maecenas huffed in amusement – he wasn’t as loud as Juba, nor as grounded as Agrippa or Octavius. Not when he didn’t need to be, anyway. “And such a relief that is…”

He felt the light smack on his back, though Verina betrayed no ill feelings as she glanced at those he had brought along. Agrippa and Juba she was rather familiar with. Dareios, too, though she wasn’t used to seeing them all together. “I see that you’ve brought Dareios,” she mentioned. “It is he that we have to thank for the many good things that have come out of this celebration, I believe.”

“It is he, yes,” he agreed, slightly raising his cup. “Octavius,” he moved his attention from his sister. “This is a good friend of mine, heir to quite an impressive trading business outside of Lesbos,” utility first, “Dareios Achaz.”

~~~~​

Quintus Salvidienus Rufus did not disappoint Antonius with his reactions. The terrorizing, wild urchin inside him found amusement in the tension and confusion he provoked in the young’s man heart through his playful and threatening gestures, but the General could admire the man for a moment. He could hold his ground.

In a tent, at least.

It remained to be seen if did just as well on the battlefield.

The quickness with which he moved to defend Octavius’ future success in front of the Senate was slightly off-putting as it was entertaining, though. That little bastard seemed to be surrounded by loyal dogs from all sides.

If they would remain as loyal until the end, that, too, remained to be seen.

Lepidus turned quiet at the boy’s statement – he still desired to inquire how exactly would the motion come to pass, but it seemed that Quintus did not know more than either of them in that regard. Somehow, that did not bother Antonius just as much as it did him.

Unspokenly so, the situation appeared to be rather clear and further questioning would just be met with the same unfounded reassurances from before. Lepidus let Antonius speak further as Quintus mentioned that Octavius shall receive his words favourably. “Mm,” Antonius mused, “I am certain he will be all thanks and joy.”

No, he wouldn’t be. Antonius wouldn’t be so, either.

As Octavius’ loyal messengers announced their leave, asking if there was anything else that he wanted to add, something they could take back to Octavius, Antonius leaned back into his chair – he was silent for a moment too long, perhaps, but his eyes had not once left the men before him.

Lepidus spared him a side-long glance as he waited for his response.

When he did speak, Antonius did so calmly, smiling, “You all have a funny way of thinking of me.” They, Octavius, many others, no doubt – he could think of a few names right off the top of his head.

He chose to not go into detail about the way they saw him. He did not need to. He was dangerous, unpredictable, reckless, fickle when it came to his loyalties. A little mad. A roguish boy, indeed.

He would let that observation sit between them for a moment before he continued, “I know where I stand. I have thought of how I will return to Rome,” he had a lot of free time to do so recently, “I march on Rome first and then I wait for Brutus and Cassius… I let Brutus and Cassius march on Rome first…”

So many possibilities, possibilities that Antonius pushed aside with a simple wave of his hand. “Quite a bad gamble all this thinking, eh? More so when I could be… how did you put it? Rome’s darling little soldier?”

“If Octavius knows where he stands as much he seems he does, he shall survive this.” They would join forces, be on the same side once more.

Rome’s side.

He would not say as much through a letter of his own, though. There would be no letter. All Octavius should have was the word of his own man. Let the young consul ride North with a stick up his arse, wondering if Antonius had a change of heart in the meantime.

He was, after all, a fickle man.

“Unless you have anything else to say, you are free to go.”

Lucyfer​

 

[Lucyfer]

Verina seemed notably more willing to touch, notably affectionate, though Octavius had seen this throughout their day so far. She wondered how long it might last, wondered if she would maintain the illusion so well when she understood that it was an illusion. That was still a problem for later, but for now, Octavius supposed she also had to play into the illusion a bit more than she was. She had a reputation as cold, still, she supposed with Maecenas approaching she should try to show a little more interest in his sister.

It was still such a strange thing for Octavius.

She was used to second-guessing these gestures too often. Her mother was always, well, questionable when she was in such a mood.

Agrippa was trailing behind, looking a touch worried. Octavius did wonder why, or what Maecenas may have said. It was usually Maecenas who disturbed Agrippa so, and as the group approached, she silently caught Agrippa’s eye and arched a brow. He forced a smile, and shook his head to dismiss his own expression. A shrug, a glance at Maecenas, and then Agrippa watched the siblings reunite.

Best not to mention that Maecenas had played his worries again for a moment. Of course Octavius wouldn’t send him away from his side for being, well, boring. It was good that he was boring! That meant he was alert. Octavius appreciated this. He wouldn’t change just for a wife…would he? Agrippa needed to shake the thoughts.

Even as Octavius let a small smirk betray their amusement with the scene put on by Maecenas and Verina.

The two were terribly endearing when together, it seemed. Octavius allowed herself another sip of wine, “I’ve no intention of separating the pair of you for overly long,” Octavius said in response to Verina’s promise to Maecenas, all in good humor, it seemed. Of course it was meant, too. Octavius was doing this to secure alliances.

Alliances didn’t stay secure if family was deprived of each other.

“You two are hopeless,” Juba chuckled before Dareios was introduced. He stepped forward with a smile, and Octavius assessed him as the two siblings spoke of him, thanking him for the whole affair. Of course, some gratitude was now doubt deserved, but Octavius knew much more of it belonged to Maecenas himself.

Those who worked with, or for him, were chosen well, but also knew to fear him.

It was quite possible this Dareios would not be so good as they wanted, but nonetheless, Octavius would great them well, “Dareios,” she repeated, “You have my gratitude for this, then,” she gestured out, before stepping forward and offering her hand, “We’ll have to talk more business and soon,” she allowed. No better time than the present, “I have more plans that will require more of a celebratory feel.”

Her rise to Consul, of course.

More than that, her revenge against Caesar’s killers. Once it was in motion, she would not give Rome time to mourn the upheaval in the senate, but wash them in the vindictive joy of getting revenge on those who killed Caesar at last. She would have to set that mood, and there was not often a better way than with celebrations and free food. Was Caesar himself not known for giving them bread?

She had quite the legacy to honor, and she had to keep the people on her side through it all, and not fall prey to the delusions of the Liberators. Of course, she wanted to hear from Antony soon to know this was secure – but that would be a while yet.

No matter what, she still had to take action before others could.

Dareios lifted his brows at this, taking Octavius’s hand briefly, “It would be my honor. I will be in town a little longer, and I have access to much here. Call on me when you see fit.” He released the consul’s hand.

“Since when are you a partier, Octavius?” Juba said with that feline grin.

Octavius lowered her eyes a moment, but looked back up soon enough, “When there are reasons for it, I suppose,” she said, a touch of a sly smile on her lips that left Juba wondering what was next. There was always something with this one, and he let out a low chuckle at that familiar look.

Octavius lacked passion, perhaps – but never ambition, and it was a cold, determined sort, not so fickle as flames were. Iron. It was iron.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to it, and I hope I can make some suggestions next time.”

“Perhaps,” Octavius said, but was mostly lying. What was up next had to be quite…Roman after all, to hold to the illusion. Juba’s suggestions would hardly be that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to listen and gather ideas. Later.

~***~

‘Hardly.’

Rufus did not say as much, knowing Octavius would only be satisfied at best when he returned with the news of Antony picking their side…for the time being. It could always change, and that was unspoken in the moment, though heavily eluded to by the man himself. Rufus wondered how much of this picture Antonius was doing on purpose, and how much he did not think of. Was he trying to appear this way?

Or was he simply aware of how he appeared?

Rufus knew plenty curated their appearance for the masses. Caesar had, and Octavius seemed to – although to many complaints, that he could be more lovable, at least. Octavius never seemed to respond well to that idea, and remained chilled, but practical, in most interactions. Octavius could smile, and Octavius did seem to care, but it was gentle embers compared to gregarious figures like Antony and Caesar.

Of course, both were known for tempers, too.

Octavius did not have that behind them.

They were ever-calm.

Stoic.

Rufus managed not to respond to the General’s question, though he did let his gaze flick to Lepidus, wondering if he ought to. Lepidus didn’t seem to give much of a reaction. He remained as he was, long-suffering of the antics of the other man, and letting him go through all of this without much advice.

“We do not,” it was the Greek who spoke first, casting a look to Rufus to keep him from saying anything else to Antonius. They had his answer, and had nothing else to say on the matter.

“Right,” Rufus sighed and rose, “We’ll take our leave,” he wasn’t going to ask to stay. They could leave and find shelter elsewhere for the night, and then get on their way again early in the morning. They’d camped enough on the way, this wasn’t unfamiliar to any of them, “We’ll deliver your words to Caesar as soon as we can; you should not be waiting long.” Of that, Rufus was certain, at least.

Octavius needed this.

And Octavius would take the foolish risk.

So, Rufus rose, and the Greek after him. He briefly pressed his fist over his heart, before he would turn to leave, figuring he might get out of there without further incident, and leave the man to stew on the situation a bit more. Hopefully, nothing ill would come of his time alone with his thoughts.

Asteria