SPQR (Roman and sincerelyyours)

[Roman]

Marcus Nerva Trajanus Augustus, ruler of the civilized world, Caesar, Imperator, Pontifex Maximus, Consul in Perpetua and now Dacius Maximus, crossed his arms as he stood in the grand hall of a leader soon to be no more.
He lifted his hand, and the only sound of the room was one of death as the praetorian guardsman plunged his gladius into the soft flesh between neck and collarbone and cutting straight through the heart of a King.
More specifically, one of Trajan’s most persistent neighbors, who had led his people, now citizens of a new province, in war on and off against Rome for almost five years. A war that had earned Decebalus of Dacia a clean, soldier’s death instead of the garrote.
As the corpse of the King prostrated itself before the emperor before Trajan one last time, he gave a sigh. “Take it away, and bring forth the youngling.”
His command, law to his loyal men, was obeyed with judicious haste, and soon a more nobly-apportioned and garbed man appeared at the head of two Praetorians, pilum at the ready in case the boy was so foolish as to attempt to harm Caesar.
“Your father has been granted Elysium,” the Emperor said flatly.
Alexandros Decebal shed a few tears as the words he knew were coming finally came, but he knew now was the time for submission, not for grief. Someday this “emperor” would pay. “Your majesty is most kind,” the prince managed to say.
“Rome has no king, and you will not address me as such,” Trajan said. “You are to be welcomed as a new, loyal subject of our republic, as a full citizen. You should be honored.”
Republic. What a crock. Oh, the Romans still had their Senate, and their People, and all the pleasantries and devices of the ancient Constitution, but even most residents of the Imperial City herself knew that any semblance of Democracy or freedom beyond the immediate will of Caesar was a lie, long-abandoned in practice, sustained only by the residual fear among the emperors of assassination or the disfavor of the Gods.
Still Alexandros had a part in this opera, one he would have to play will to win his own favor independent of Trajan and make his own life, perhaps one day assist his people, though under the yoke of Caesar, that was not likely to be really happen.
“Caesar is most kind,” the Prince said. “How may I serve you?”
“How may you serve Rome, you mean,” Trajan said. “I am but her servant myself, and you shall be my subordinate but my comrade. Rise, Alexandros.”
The Prince stood up, gazing into Caesar’s eyes with his unique emerald green orbs, and knew it would be so easy to exploit his overconfidence, to use the dagger he even know concealed in his sleeve, and have his vengeance. But crucifixion was not a good way to go, and there were no guarantees, so the Prince withheld his vengeance. For now.
Trajan laid a hand on his shoulder. “You may serve by going to Rome, where you shall marry my cousin and make a new living for yourself. This is my reward to your father, for being a worthy opponent.”
“And you, Caesar, where shall you go?”
“Parthia, perhaps. Maybe even beyond. I do not expect to see Rome myself again, there is too much to be done. Too much destiny to live. Now, go.”
If he had only taken his chance…
Oh well. Alexandros knew that a journey awaited him, and would dream of where that journey would go, what he might find in the capital of the world, every night aboard the ship that sailed to take him there.

 

[sincerelyyours]

Orania Adventus could smell Rome. Walking among it's streets, with her silk blue stola wrapped around her lithe form, she could see all her city had to offer.

People stank of sweat and desperation, and their mouths worked lies and showed rotting teeth. Had the young noble woman not had her guards and slaves with her, she was sure to have been assaulted multiple times just by walking the streets and observing trinkets and baubles she might find easy on the eyes.

"Lucia, " her voice sang, an angel among the filth of a wild city. "Be a dear and pour me more water. My throat has become parched from this vile heat."

The olive skinned Grecian girl bowed her head silently, taking a cup from another smaller woman and promptly filling it enough so her mistress could sip from it as she liked. The sun was enough it seemed, to put her into an off mood. They had only just recovered from another drought, and many thought that Jupiter's fury was still upon them, despite the rains they were given only a few days pass.

Perhaps this is retribution for my cousin taking on the role of Caesar

The thought had crossed the woman's mind more than once on occasion, but she had yet to find mind to bring thought to voice. Her cousin was well loved enough by some, but others spoke of different things behind closed doors. Things she had only become privy too because of her closeness with many of the slaves.

"Shall we head home then?", her voice suddenly called out, interrupting her thoughts. The women and guards around her gave a respectful bow, and many of the commoners sought to follow suit as she began the walk back to her home.

A messenger of her cousins had told her to be swift of foot to arrive before the noon hour. There was some nonsense about him defeating a foreign king and leaving her something of a surprise, but she had no idea what that would have to do with her.

"Remember your duty to Rome." Her father had drilled into her this morning, as if she had not heard that same damn phrase thousands of times in her life. Rome was alive to her father and brothers. A living organism whose life revolved around her people. The hypocrisy behind all this made speaking to most of her family a most tedious action.


An hour or so later, she and her entourage reached the steps that led to main room where her cousin's messenger was sure to be waiting for her. Her body was draped silk, the highest quality one could buy in such a well known city. It was the color of sea glass, matching the young woman's intelligent eyes that seemed to be glimmering something fiercely this particular afternoon. Her back was straight as she walked, with her long chocolate curls bouncing with each step and sashay. Her body was slim, with ample bosom and hips, perfect for child bearing as her father enjoyed saying.
Men admired her, women envied.

She prayed to the Gods he was not inviting her from sort of ego-stroking. Her brothers forced most of that out of her, and she was in no mood for it.

A couple of the Emperor's own slaves, two Gallic young men with shaved heads, opened the wide doors to allow her entry. She prayed for patience and guidance, but mostly she prayed that she would be able to keep tongue in check if this was over something ridiculous.