How the Emperor Died. (Hymusia x Serge)

Rome was a beautiful country, even she could see that, with it's wonderfully cobbled streets, it's well made buildings, the beautiful rivers that sparkled with their clean waters and the soft warm sands that hugged your feet. There were trees and plants, sparkling fountains and joyous happy birds that sung their sweet tunes while children laughed and played outside. Protected by their mighty emperor and his army of legionnaires, the market place was the best though. Silks, spices, animals, exotic foods, everything there was possible and the noise, clatter and commotion of people, why it was just like home.

The palace was equally beautiful, she doubted she had seen it all but the structure was built on two floors which simply amazed her, and out in the court yard where the numbered harem were allowed to roam on nice days, a balcony provided shade for quiet encounters and looked upon the quadrants broken by the fine pebbled path and wonderful centre piece fountain. The lush green grass in each quadrant was peppered with flowers, rockery and other pretty little things including the stone seats on which often times the girls would talk. It was a place that the Emperor often came to show off his wealth and prosperity, most of his visitors visited here at least once.

It was a lovely and gentle day, the sun was shining brightly but it's rays were cooled by the gentle breeze that stirred her hair and lifted the corner of her shift. Once more the harem had been asked to frolic outside under the watchful eye of two of the emperor's best while the eunuchs cleaned the harem's quarters. Most of the girls unsurprisingly liked to strut around like peacocks or pose like magnificent song birds so that any passing legionnaire might catch a glimpse and later, further more perhaps find their own shadowed spot in which to betray their leader.

Cyra though often sat alone, she did not speak the language well, nor did she have many friends within the harem, her obedience to the emperor being a mocking point. It was not that she loved him how a man would love a woman or vice versa, but she did love him like a mother their child. For at times she had seen the emperor weak and broken but she had also seen his utter rage. She feared him more than she loved him, that was for sure and the brand upon her arm was a constant reminder of what his wrath was capable of.

Looking up from the embroidery she had begun upon she spotted once again the emperor with another strange looking person, diverting her gaze quickly before either caught her looking and continuing with her stitching work. She did not want to catch their gaze, it was not uncommon for the emperor to 'rent out' one of his harem girls to the visiting delegates, not all of them were kind, nor gentle for that matter.

Rome was, indeed, a beautiful country. The high, impenetrable walls and perfect battlements. The brilliant Aqueducts which seemed to stretch out till the end of the earth and the lines of Legionaries which seemed to stretch even farther, with unbridled loyalty. The loyalty, however, was not given to the Emperor, Nero, no; that unrestrained love from the legion was given, in full force, to Cyrian. The men adored him, and as he walked through the palace with his brother, the Emperor himself, the men watched Cyrian with an idolizing gleam.

This was one of the first times in his entire life Cyrian had made it to the palace. His place was on the battlefield, he knew that, but with his recent victory over the Persians, he had to go back home. He'd already been promoted as far as he could, the only place left was the Palace, and his brother wouldn't take no for an answer. So Cyrian walked the huge halls of the Palace, his freshly made steel armor fitting rather comfortably. His bloodstained blade holstered at his side to be used for naught but the occasional foul assassin in the night. It was a sad fate but Cyrian knew that eventually there would be another war and he would go to it, for now, though, this was his place.

"Cyrian, I have prepared a true feast for you today!"

Cyrian looked over to his brother quickly then ahead again. "I'm not hungry, My liege."

Nero stopped in his tracks and Cyrian stopped at nearly the exact same time. They turned to each other and Nero grabbed Cyrian's head in his hands. He brought Cyrian's forehead to his mouth and kissed it. "You are my brother damn it! I will have none of that!" the Emperor looked hurt.

Cyrian touched his fist to his chest plate. "Nero, my brother, I'm sorry."

Nero smiled at his brother and turned to walk again, Cyrian followed in suit. At the end of the tunnel, which they were approaching closely, was piercing light. "Besides, I wasn't talking about food." Just as he finished his sentence the two men emerged into the harem courtyard. Women squealed as they saw the perfect specimen of a man which entered with the Emperor. Nero smiled at his brother and patted his back. "You've been in that damned war for far too long, I'm not even sure if you've ever even touched a woman." Nero switched his attention to the group of women in the courtyard. "This is my brother, he is a battle hardened warrior and has just won a true, valiant, Roman victory over the Persian pretenders! He is, by far, the most eligible man I know and all he wants right now is to fuck one of you into tomorrow! When he makes his choice, you will treat him better than you treat me! Do you understand?" Despite Cyrian's countless objections Nero continued with his speech. When he was done, there was a resounding affirmation. The women showed all their facets for the man to see and base his decision on.

Cyrian, after a long stare down with his brother, looked at the group of amassed women. They were truly beautiful but they intimidated Cyrian. Women was one thing he never conquered. Cyrian moved his blue eyes over the crowed to find one woman, a single one, sitting in the shade, her beautiful complexion and wonderful hair glimmering in the sunlight. She was looking away yet calling to Cyrian, so he felt.

He looked over to his brother and hinted at the woman across the courtyard. Nero looked at his brother and smiled.

"Her"

"You have impeccable taste, brother, fine. But let me make this perfectly clear. Just this once, and only because you are my brother. That one is dear to me. You are lucky I love you." Nero led his brother over to Cyra with a confident gait. "Take my brother up to you're room. Treat him nicely. He just got back from a war with your effeminates."

Nero turned to his brother and kissed him on the cheek, Cyrian returned the compliment and the Emperor left. Cyrian stared down at the woman in something of an indecisive stance; hands at his sides and in fists, tense.

Please don't pick me, please don't pick me, please don't pick me. Over and again that thought swirled through her mind as she forced her hands steady in an act of quiet non challance. With the women showing off their faculties and her simply sewing it was unlikely to be her that a lust hungry legionnaire chose as his bedding partner for the night. Most of the harem girls were from Rome or the other more exotic conquered states. Persia was still fighting Rome so, except for the Emperor, she was looked upon with contempt by most.

As the two men came down from the parapet to fetch the girl that the brother chose she wondered just who would take the blood thirsty murderer that killed her people and lay with him. She wondered, briefly, what all the fuss was about, Nero was by far the most handsome man she had the pleasure to lay eyes on and while she was sure a brother would have similar facial features they surely could not outdo the emperor. However she was too fearful of catching their gaze, what if this brother was naught more than a brute and a villain dressed in the armour of his brother's country?

To her dismay the emperor stood before her and her dark eyes flitted lightly up to meet the robed chest of her liege and no further, an act of respect upon her part. Every day the harem girls were asked to wear their favours from the emperor, most though didn't need reminding to show off their jewels and gold. Cyra though was different, she had a few small jewels and one piece of gold, the rest though was brass and silver. She did not except the expensive gifts from the emperor, she chose the cheap ones, for she did not serve him to gain items or treasures. She served him as she now had nothing else.

The bangles she wore were pretty things, intricate designs picturing the goddess Aphrodite or Athena, Vesta or olive trees. The circlet in her hair, keeping the shimmering strands up was the gold item, thin plaited gold with a single (and the only one she owned) diamond hanging from the centre and resting against her forehead. It was smaller than a man's pinky finger nail but it caught the sun as sweetly as her eyes. Her outfit was pretty simple fair, a white cloth panel in front and back held onto her form by large brass hoops at her hips. It showed off her tanned olive skin, the strength of her legs and the shape of her rump quite nicely. The shirt was a simple length of fabric, the centre of which was low at her back and then both crossed across her chest to hide the emperor's 'jewels' before being tied behind the neck.

Her voice was soft, timid but respectful with the Persian purr behind it, “Yes my emperor.” Nero was given a polite dip of her own head before her eyes slipped to the chest plate of his brother. “It is an honour to meet the war hero that crushes the Persian heathens. I wish you swift and decisive victory sire.” With that she placed her embroidery aside, while incomplete one could see the outline of Nero's bust in the white linen. She left her work upon the stone bench, knowing that the eunuchs would pick it up and keep it safe, offering then her slender hand to Cyrian and hiding the fine tremor that tried to make itself known.

Taking his hand after a moment she listened to the disappointed mutterings of the other women around her. Have him, by all means, I have only ever laid with the emperor. Of course she said nothing but he scared her. His stiff stance, his tensed balled fists, she'd heard stories of violent legionaries hitting the girls or doing unspeakable things to them in the bedroom. Like playing Persian and legionnaire. Her room was not far and the eunuchs were finishing off the last of the cleaning, but Cyra dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

The harem girls all technically shared a room and a bed, however when entertaining for the emperor it became a private affair. The bed in question was placed in the centre of the room, a large and almost circular, well made and surrounded by gauze and taffeta drapes in shades of red and purple. Gold and black, red and gold and gold and blue cushions surrounded the foot of the bed and were peppered on top of it. Varying from the size of a small house cat to the size of the largest hunting dogs. Incense burned constantly from bronze containers at the rooms corners and around the edges were other simpler beds and lounging seats or chairs. Shutting the large double doors to the harem she bit her lip and forced herself to remember why it was she served here. She had to do this and she had to do it well, Nero would have her head if she did not please his brother.

Turning to face him with a small smile on her lips she reached up behind her and untied the linen of her shirt, allowing the fabric to fall slack but cupping it in her hands before it exposed her entirely. “How do you want me master of the battle field?” Her eyes still travelling no further than his chin, respect and fear driving her inaction to look into his face.

Cyrian's heart fell down to his stomach as the woman spoke in harsh tones. It was hidden behind a soft voice and a pretty face but Cyrian felt it. The man, being a warrior, understood people; despite what others might think, warriors are keen and perceptive when the issue is other people.

He followed behind the woman into the harem quarters. it was grand and recently cleaned, the eunichs, which seemed to be at the Emperors disposal, had recently cleaned it. They were dismissed by the beauty. She seemed terribly nervous but Cyrian imagined so did he. She almost removed her gown before holding it in place with her hands. She was doing what she was supposed to do and Cyrian appriciated it, while being unable to help but feel uncomfortable. She asked how he "wanted" her. Well the answer was, he didn't. It was a terrible affair that the Emperor, his brother, had planned but Cyrian knew he had to take part in it. All he could think to do was skirt around the issue. The woman was perfect beautiful but he couldn't take her, not like this, not when Nero had certainly had her-- in the worst way.

"What is your name?" He finally asked, smiling a little. He unclenched his fist and walked toward the bed. He pointed at one of the seats and sat down near it. His eyes sparkled with juvenile ignorance of the fact of the matter while still holding a sort of untapped passion.

He replied to her question with a question, had she done something to offend him already? Nero was not going to be happy if she didn't satisfy his brother in every way and for a moment she was lost to her thoughts. She had done everything she'd been taught to do when servicing the emperor. To come in and make the room secure, to disrobe but only partially should the emperor wish to strip her. She'd even spoke in gentle tones to the man who had likely killed her family, cousins and kinsman.

Clearly it was a trick, her name had been taken when her right to be free had been. So why would the Emperor's brother want to know her name? She couldn't say it, so she had to say the new designated name. “Vee.” Which was of course the Roman numeral five, branded into her arm just under the emperors mark. Only the Emperor had the right to speak her name, he'd made that quite clear several times.

The soldier tapped the cushion beside him, foreplay? It seemed that was the idea at least, releasing her garments the sheer cotton ran across her curves and dips, pooling at the floor to leave her devoid of clothing. Naked she stepped without issue from the fallen fabric in nothing but the footwear she'd worn outside, moving to the seat the soldier wished her to perch at and dropping to her knees at the legionaries feet instead. “Do I displease you sir? I can send for one of the other girls, or more, to join us.”

Her slender fingers splayed across the man's shin and slipped up slowly to rest upon his knee, her other helping her keep her balance on the floor.

Cyrian looked at the ground, away from the woman who'd called herself Vee, as she disrobed. His eyes shifted and chased the sparse cracks in the floors. They all lead away from the woman so he was pleased. Cyrian looked over to her when she toched his leg. His eyes were focused on hers and he felt something. It was a sort of burning in his chest which he'd never felt before. It wasn't like the burning one got after eating half a pig and a whole bottle of wine. It wasn't the burning from an old wound which'd opened up again. No, it was different and it was strong.

He chuckled at her suggestion and shook his head like a child would.

"No, you are more than fine." he looked away with a stupid smile on his face and his red cheeks blushing, he was embarrassed. He looked back down at her but was completely uncomfortable with her nudity, it was something he wanted but it seemed dirty to him, unfair. He grabbed a stray sheet from the bed and gave it to her. "Here, please." he said. Cyrian looked off as he waited for Vee to wrap the sheet around herself. "Vee, that certainly doesn't sound like a Persian name."

Was mortified when he handed her a sheet and for a moment couldn't understand what she was supposed to do. He wouldn't even look at her body? What was wrong with him? Back home she had been a flower bud readying to bloom but the emperor had plucked her flower before her kinsman had the chance. Since then all she could remember were the ways the eunuchs told her to please the emperor and those the emperor told her to bed with. The child king; as she liked to think of him, did not usually let her bed with any others, for unlike most of his harem she was loyal to him. The soldiers that made attempts on her were usually rebuffed and then disciplined, she was for the emperor unless he commanded otherwise.

Now though that he had she seemed incapable of pleasing the one she was assigned too. “Yes.” She uttered, wrapping the sheet about her body and covering her nudity from his sight. What part of her disgusted him? Or perhaps he was a man that would prefer the eunuch's company to her own? It was possible she had seen those types around before. When her name was questioned she glanced away herself, her eyes staring at the floor with the intent of trying to melt the rock with her glare. “It is not, it is the name your brother, my emperor gave me when I came here. My other name is bound and only he may use it or speak it without fear of reproach.”

She hesitated a moment and then uttered, “I beg of you humbly do not take this in the wrong manner, but my lord, why is it you wish to care for such trivialities as conversation? I am your reward for your well won victory, do you not wish to indulge? I assure you just because I am Persian does not mean I am sullied or dirty. Your emperor regularly takes me to his chambers.” Then again the Emperor as naïve and sweet despite his wickedness. “He is the only man to ever take me to bed, so I am not dirty.”

She didn't understand. She didn't understand that the fact that she had laid with his brother made her dirty. Or partly. Her eyes, they were powerful things. Everytime Cyrian looked into those eyes he couldn't help but respect them. That's what they were made for, to be respected. She didn't understand. How could she? There was no precedent for his hatred toward his brother. It was something unheard of that the Emperor of Rome could be disliked; especially one as powerful and tactful as Nero. He was a beast, a fool. A murder without the skill. He wasn't aware of what he were doing, or he didn't care. The latter seemed more likely.

Nero was a monster of a man. He had cold vision and relentless passion; the second reason he was Emperor. The first was that the was the first born, but that was a given. He'd sent Cyrian on an expedition of the west in a search for expansion and power. Nero considered it an honor for Cyrian. A prideful thing that he should be thanking him for. Cyrian, but a young boy, thrown into an officer school. Trained until his brain hurt. Sent onto the battlefield. Trained until his hands bore callouses and his wounds could no longer hurt him. The boy should have been happy, so he pretended he was. He accepted the honor of leading the battle against the Persians and lead his men into the fray.

As Cyrian came back into reality he noticed that his jaw was clenched forcefully. He slacked it and looked at Vee. She'd covered herself. Cyrian sat next to the small framed woman and put his hand on her knee. He felt some sort of fear in her. Whether it was the touch of a man that she wasn't used to, one of affection, he wasn't sure. Cyrian looked down at the woman before him, his eyes watered as he pictured the things the other him had done to beauties just like her. The other him had raveged her world and her people and now he was to touch her? He removed his hand quickly and stared at the ground as he gave up the hunt for a way to engage the woman he was to lay with.

"I need conversation, Vee." He managed. "I've been grunting and yelling for too long." He looked at her then; brought his hand to her chin, rubbed her cheek affectionately. He took his hand away and returned his eyes to the floor. "I just need someone to listen to me without calling me 'sir'."

For a moment his words confused her and she simply looked at him with passive eyes, it was hard to read the hatred in their depths. The man who had murdered her family -maybe not by his own hands but by his orders-, killed her lover, destroyed her beautiful home now had the audacity to refuse her, she'd be a laughing stock and the Emperor would be so angry at her all because of him.

However there was not a complete lack of compassion for him he was Nero's brother and thus he was part of Nero. Further he seemed to be suffering and it would not be the first time she cradled a man in something other than her legs. She was sworn never to speak of it but several times the emperor had summoned her to his bed chambers and after he was spent he'd rest his head in her lap and whisper away his worries about the day.

With a small sigh she shifted one arm to wrap about the legionnaire’s collar and she would aim to pull the giant man so his head would rest either against her bosom or her lap. While she was neither strong nor forceful, if she felt no resistance she would make sure he was resting against her bosom, one arm would gently drape over his shoulder and the fingers there would stroke in a soothing manner. “I used to hold my little sister just so Cyrian.” There was no hesitance on her part to call him by his name rather than his title, her free hand would slip then into his hair, brushing gently through the locks from the start of his hair line to the base of his neck, following the curve of his ear and lifting her hand completely free before placing it back at the start. A slow comforting caress that she'd used on her siblings when they couldn't sleep.

“I used to sing to her as well, would you like me to sing for you?” She seemingly didn't need to hear his answer, her voice was a whispered melody that was sung to children to aid their sleep, “Lavande bleue, dilly dilly, Lavande vert, Lorsque vous êtes roi, dilly dilly, Je serai la Reine.”

Cyrian allowed himself to be lowered into the bosom of the Persian woman. Her heartbeat was a fine sound which soothed the traumatized warrior. He tried to make himself hard, rigged. Tried to stop himself from being lulled into the position he was already in. It was useless. His heart was warmed by hers and he couldn't understand why. All the time, as he lay his head on her breast, he tried to think of anyone who'd ever made him feel this way. He could not.

Cyrian had been a quiet lad. While Nero was being trained to be Emperor, being chided at every turn, Cyrian was doted on by his mother; he was protected by her. She made sure he would grow to be a good man, despite all the outside influences to the contrary. He would play tactical games with his fathers adviser and Cyrians Uncle. He was always a handsome boy. Girls would swoon over him. Cyrian would enter a tavern, being allowed such freedoms, and every woman in the place would want to lay him. Deflower him, as had been rumored. The men would all want to fight him. He'd taken all the attention, why not?

None of the women Cyrian had spoken with were anything like Vee, they hadn't the passion. The burning intensity which was emblazoned in her eyes. He'd always left the bedroom unfulfilled; despite women attempting to please him one way or another. Yet now, as he simply rested his head on the breast of this woman; he knew he'd found someone to love. Possibly.

Of course, that would be an absurd thing. She was a slave to Nero, clearly. Not able to escape. Perhaps with Cyrians assistance she could... No, it was inconceivable. Perhaps just a test. A show of disconsolation. A presentation of affection and also distaste.

"It is Nero," he said finally, "He is... Misguided."

He uttered these words into the soft, safety of her bosom. And as he did, he recognized the foolishness in his actions. She could be a total slave. A spy. But he felt something with her, a relationship of sorts. Spanning back hundreds of years. Spanning to a fortnight ago, while he slaughtered her people. He felt the connection then to. An intrinsic yearning to end it all. Take the sword to his brothers throat.

Cyrian stood turned away from the woman. Turned back to her, apologized, then walked away. It was a shameful display; both the confession and the exit.