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Chapter Text

The Green Leaves of Summer

The city was buzzing. People rushing out and about. Everyone was heading out for their afternoon and nights activities.

Work was done after all. So what was left to do, but to indulge in whatever the capital had to offer?

It was a very special place they found themselves in. For one, it was not down below in one of these filthy places underground, but much rather high above in one of the highest and most intricate towers of the city.

The establishment stretched across two whole floors. There were no walls, only prettily carved pillars to keep the building up right. The outside was protected by a myriad of clear glass windows – the pinnacle of garlean architecture.

The view ranged from the inner city to the north and south, to the bay with the imperial palace and to the outskirts and the mountain range. The natural border surrounding three quarters of the capital. The peaks were covered in ice and snow all year round; a beautiful treat to look at during the day. But it was night and only the lights of the shimmering city below were to be seen.

Muted piano music played in the background. The lights had been dimmed.

A lone barkeeper polished a glass and neatly placed it in the last empty space on the tall shelf behind him. A waitress gracefully walked between groups of comfortable chairs and side tables, kindly tending to the customers before taking the long route back to the bar. On her way through the taller rows of bar tables she collected empty glasses and took new orders. Walking by the stairs to the second floor she could hear the clatter of a newly started game of pool.

Il Mercenario Ripresa

The one who had just opened the game with a quick thrust of his cue was a tall man with gracefully greying hair. He wore delicate black trousers with a neat crease, a white dress shirt and the whole ensemble was held together by a pair of suspenders.

When he straightened his back to his full height, a stray lock fell in front of his third eye. The crease between his other two deepened as he surveyed his work and the wrinkles of his face turned into a displeased frown.

The next game would not be easy to win for him. But he was good at it. Better than his opponent at least.

“Why so grim? Has Hadrian the Great spotted a fault in his impeccable machinations?”

The voice belonged to one of two women slowly ascending the stairs.

The smaller one wore a tight black dress which glittered even in the low orange light of the bar. Her dark red locks had been artfully arranged in graceful finger waves across her head, adorned with bountiful jewellery. The foxy grin around her lips completed the look.

This one did not sport the signature third eye of a true Garlean.

The one who had spoken though, did.

She was a tall, her muscular body draped in a tight fitting dress of dark red. Short white hair framed an imposing, but elegant face of eyes as dark as the ocean, lips of velvet and said jewel in the middle of her forehead. In her hands she held a tablet with three glasses.

“Please,” Hadrian returned the grin with a slight bow, “quit your teasing. ‘tis neither the time nor the place.”

The smaller woman made her way around the table. Her eyes graced the newly opened game, before she walked up to the ‘great’ man and gave him a oft kiss on the chin.

“Don’t let her teasing get to you. She probably only fears that you might win this one again.”

“As if,” Prima laughed. “What a preposterous thought.”

She followed and held out the tablet

“Hadrian, Cerelia. This round is on me. Many thanks for helping me get through this most harsh of a time.”

Each of them picked their respective drinks. A blue cocktail with a cherry on top for the lady; a strong golden whiskey for him.

Cerelia smelled her drink. “It’s not such a bad thing, you know. They are your nieces. They need you and isn’t it an honour to-“

“Hush darling,” Hadrian placed a kiss on his wife’s hair without ever breaking eye contact with the other woman, “t’is true that there is honour in raising the new generation of proud garlean women, but what shame that her brother and her sister in law had to die for her to gain it.”

“I would much rather be back down at the front. But instead of that I will be playing nurse maiden. While that usurper Darnus gets to climb the ranks and that damned fool Baelsar gets to try his luck with the wild ones in Eorzea. And if their past achievements are anything to go by, they will both succeed.” Prima raised her glass of white wine. “To honour.”

And she downed half of it before turning her eyes to the freshly scattered balls atop the pool table. Another smirk grew upon her lips. “I see you took the liberty to begin. Well. Doesn’t this look interesting.”

“Do not think I will make this easy for you. But …,” he handed her the cue, “I may be at fault here, but I do not recall what your nieces were called. Would you mind reminding me?”

“Livia and Lucia. Do not ask me their ages. I do not know. And neighter do I care.”

Prima bowed down, angled the cue and came back up. She grabbed the small green cube of chalk and rubbed it across the tip, before taking her aim once more.

“Age does not matter anyways.”

And she hit her target.

The Surrender (La Resa)

It was much later in the night when the swing doors to the lower floor burst open. The handles almost crashed into the windows. The plunking of the piano slowed and faded as all eyes turned towards the intruder who dared to disrupt this well deserved night of thoroughly structured relaxation.

A group of soldiers rushed inside and came to a halt on the quickly emptying dance floor.

Prima had been angling her cue for one more devastating blast against her smirking opponent. But with the loud crash and the following silence she opted to postpone her sure-fire win for a glance down to the lower floor.

The new arrivals steps echoed through the suddenly rather quiet bar.

“By the order of his Radiance, his imperial highness Solus zos Galvus! All present are to return to their respective domiciles immediately!”

The guests gave each other unsure looks. The order did sound quite serious. But-

“You will need to tell them what is going on, boy.”

Prima had taken a few steps towards the stairs. She stood tall, shoulders back, chin up and with both hands on the cue stick as if she held the handle of a sword, ready to strike at any moment.

“This is an establishment of undoubted repute. All of its patrons serve or have served the very military you are a part off. And if I may,” the authority in her voice tilted just the tiniest bit towards sarcasm, “this is frankly not the way to address your superiors. Now. Speak up and do tell your most intriguing tale.”

Though, the soldier did not seem to hear her.

“Move,” he ordered once again, slowly reaching for his weapon.

“I would not proceed any further if I were you.” Hadrian stepped up behind his enemy in pool and comrade in battle. Standing tall like this had been a challenge ever since his ‘accident’. But he ignored the twitching in his left leg for the moment. If done right, this would not take long. “Speak your cause or leave.”

The soldier looked up. At the sight of him, he begun to stutter.

“Lord van Titus! My apologies! I was not aware-“

“Cen Titus. Have your superiors forgotten to teach you basic manners,” the man formerly known as van Titus harshly corrected, “speak or leave.”

It took the soldier a moment. He looked to his peers, but they only shrugged and stepped backward. Perhaps to get some distance between themselves and their comrade.

“Well,” one lone warrior in the middle of the dance floor stammered, “the Agrius has fallen. The emperor has decided that all abled current and former soldiers shall return to their homes to receive further instructions for … possible deployment to the front.”

The crowd murmured.

Hadrian shook his head.

“You have come to the wrong establishment, boy. You will find no abled bodies here.”

The former Legatus turned his back to return to his drink and wife. Downstairs, the people’s chatter arose once more.

The soldier tried again to order them all to go home. He tried once, twice. After the third time he simply shook his head and finally left for the door.

There would be other establishments. Perhaps they could fulfil their duty better in the bars and clubs of the lower class. Having the old guard at the emperors beck and call would have been quite the accomplishment. But it did not seem like they were

Prima watched the dancers return to the parkette before following her comrade. There still was a game to be won.

She inspected the tip of her cue one last time before leaning down again, when Cerelia’s voice cut through the returning of the piano.

“One would think the two of you glad. Which you are most certainly not judging by your rather sour expressions.”

While Prima decided to ignore her, Hadrian obliged.

“What are you eluding to, beloved?”

“Well. It may be just the smallest silver lining. But while Darnus might still be climbing ladders, your old friend van Baelsar seems to have stumbled upon quite the stone in his path, don’t you think?”

Prima could not agree more. Instead of answering though, she angled the cue and hit the ball.

She won that night.

Chapter Text

"One Silver Dollar" (Un Dollaro Bucato)

It was another night. Just as beautiful as the one had been all these years back. The city had grown significantly and it’s lights had slowly crept further towards the mountains. What once had been neighbourhoods of villas with large green gardens, had over time been converted into more structured neighbourhoods of tight-knit apartment blocks.

With each newly acquired province the people’s wealth and health grew. Which in turn lead to more Garleans in general and a higher demand in housing space. And of course – the state happily obliged to entice any new recruit with the prospect of their own place to return to when they had been successful in war.

And therefore new lodgings had to be built. And the old manors of the elite had to make way for newer, bigger buildings with enough space to house twenty families instead of just one.

The city centre had changed too.

While the architectural archetypes of skyscrapers still lined the bay and had the best view onto the imperial island and the harbour, new ones had slowly grown around them, replacing older but less profitable structures. A new group of young artists had been allowed to put all they had into the designs and it showed: One tower seemed to have been twisted like a cable of pure Garlean steel. Another had been constructed with holes inside of it. And another one was made up of two towers looking exactly like each other, being connected via glass tunnels and bridges.

The people said the emperor was more than pleased with how the city had transformed. It was a well-known fact, that said emperor was a big fan of culture. And what other part of the empire had been growing more over the past decade and some?

Sure. Farming was a task made much more easy by the people being allowed to do it on healthy soil instead of bloody battlefields. The cattle also benefited greatly from being allowed to graze on lush green fields instead of having to make do with ceruleum covered hay.

But culture? Culture bloomed.

A new young generation who had not yet seen the throes of war mixed with the veterans, both groups composing thousands of new stories – shorts and epics alike. Musicians from all over the empire, from the main land just as much as from the provinces, travelled to the capital to perform, mix and gain fame. With the gradual improvement of food the people were also suddenly confronted with a plethora of new restaurants and bars. If one felt fancy, they could dine at a traditional doman place and afterwards go for drinks at a bozjan bar.

But the changing times could not be felt better anywhere than in the theatre.

The emperor himself loved the performances, big and small; and rumour had it that he had seen each and every play. Be it the grandee displays at the state theatre or the one-man performances in the side alleys downtown.

Everyone who thought themselves something or someone of import simply had to visit the newest plays and be knowledgeable about them.

But of course. There were also new military advancements. And even though the last decade and a few years had been rather quiet with the empire more intend on holding their provinces than gaining more, there had been changes.

For one, the border between Ala Mhigo and Eorzea had been fortified with a monstrosity of a wall. For another, the free state of Thavnair had become a big trading hub for wares from the empire to Eorzea and vise versa. And lastly, the Black Wolf had slowly and silently begun to erect new military basements within enemy territory.

A victory, as some would call it.

Gaius van Baelsar had always been a patient man and he was an expert at playing the long game. His colleague van Darnus on the other hand … less so.

Nael van Darnus’ plans had been a carefully kept secret and even to this day it wasn’t quite clear to the general public, what had actually happened. Normal people knew they were getting less products form Eorzea. Veterans and current military personal though were better informed. They were of one opinion: Dropping the planets secondary moon onto Eorzea alone would be deemed horrible. But also sacrificing a whole legion – namely the VIIth and endangering the XIVth – made the whole deed sacrilegious.

But even this big event - which cost thousands of life’s abroad - did not affect the Garlean mainland as much as it probably should have.

And even now, five years after the fall of said moon, nothing seemed to have changed.

Davon Geht die Welt Nicht Unter

A new night, many years after their initial meeting. The same bar, the same piano silently in the background. The barkeeper was new, the waitress too. The view across the city was a new one of course, but then again – this was just one side of the building. The other still overlooked the bay towards the imperial palace, which of course had not changed too drastically over the years.

But other than that, nothing in here had undergone any of the drastic changes the world around them had. Perhaps the layer of dust on the top shelves had thickened. Who knew. Nobody checked. Even the guests were still the same.

The old pool table creaked beneath new, heavier balls. They were scattered all across. One of the players leaning against the wall. He polished the tip of his cue while leading a conversation with a sitting man right besides.

Hadrian crossed his legs and took a long drag from his halfway done smoke. For this night he sported another dark pair of suit pants and a wine red shirt for once. The ensemble was held together by a sleek belt and topped off with an elegant bowtie. Aside from the ensemble, he had visibly grown older: His formerly black hair had yieled to a dark grey and his formerly less pronounced wrinkles had deepened enough to give his face a constant look of displeasure.

His companion, the one standing with the cue, seemed a bit younger. He sported a similar choice of clothes, but had elected to wear his shirt in white with a brown waist coat. His hair was light and short. It almost looked as if he was bald. Between his eyes he too sported one of those jewels marking him as a rightful citizen of the country – and a wiry glasses frame in gold to help with his sight.

The two men were lost in a deep conversation. Their accompanying ladies nowhere to be seen.

One of them stood in front of the restrooms marble sink, looking at herself in the mirror. She wore green tonight; a one shouldered evening gown. It stood in perfect contrast to her still very much red, but slowly whitening hair. This time though it was loose. Trembling fingers tried to drape it in a way she wished for it to stay, but the moment she let go it fell back into it’s place.

She grit her teeth.

Between her more than irritating locks skin was showing on each side of her head. Old, scarred tissue surrounding deep dark dents in her skull with only a thin layer of artificial membrane protecting them.

Her very own badge of disgrace. Not only did she not sport the Garlean eye, but she also had to constantly hide this. Double the trouble for one who lived in the capital of Garlemald.

Another pair of heeled feet clicked on the floor. Cerelia quickly covered her shame. But it was only Prima.

The last fifteen years had left their impact on the Garlean woman too. Her hair had been white before already. So no change here, except for it having grown long enough to be put it into an elegant updo and new wrinkles across her face and hands. She had opted for a navy blue dress of expensive velvet for this evenings occasion.

Cerelias hands went slack and she moved aside to grant her friend access to soap and water.

“The last time I saw these was when you were trying on veils for your wedding,” Prima leaned forward to wash her hands, “don’t you usually drape your hair to keep them hidden?”

A deep huff from the red haired lady with the wounded pride.

“If you recall, I wore a hat when we first entered. But since they are no longer allowing ladies to wear hats in this establishment, I had to give it up.”

The hat rule had been established in all of Garlemald after an attempted assassination. The emperor had not looked kindly to those who would hide deadly weapons beneath even something as mundane as fashion accessories. But of course, his Grace did not simply outlaw hats in all of the empire. He was kind enough to just make it illegal to wear one in public places. And of course, even the most distinguished bar was a public place after all.

“So where is your bag? Did you not bring your usual styling equipment?” A valid question, as Prima turned off the faucet and took one of the neatly folded towels on the shelf to her right to dry her hands.

Cerelia on the other hand grit her teeth, starring at her unruly hair in the mirror.

“I’m afraid my bag does not contain anything that might help me right now.”

“Then what does it contain?”

“… bracers.”

“Come again?” The inquisitive woman was genuinely puzzled.

Cerelia took a deep breath. Her whole body went from a generally tense posture to a much more relaxed one.

“You remember why Hadrian had to retire?”

“Well,” Prima sighed, “of course. He got shot in the knee and fought to the highest court against his early retirement. These bracers have something to do with it?”

A nod from the fox. “They help him walk. He had to wear them ever since he got dismissed. And it wasn’t too bad for many years,” she curled a lock of hair around her finger, “but his knee has gotten worse within the last few months and we had to get him a new one which would give him more stability. But…” She took another deep breath. “This one has to be worn above the pants – it’s not just a bandage any longer, you know. So he asks me,” Cerelia lowered her voice and raised her eyebrows, “’does it go with the suit?’”

“He did not.”

“Oh yes, he did.”

Prima watched her friend with an expression of disbelieve and almost understanding.

Because – of course – they were talking about Hadrian, the former legatus of the second legion. The man who had retired under protest after some savage shot him in the knee. The Garlean who had married a mutilated Miqo’te not just out of love, but spite and contempt. For his family. For his superiors. But most of all for those who had pushed so hard to retire him, that the emperor himself could no longer ignore their pleas and had asked Hadrian, one of his most loyal servants, to leave his services gracefully.

They were talking about Hadrian het Titus. The man who had – against all the odds – made do with what meagre resources he had been given in life and in battle. The man who under whose command the second legion had conquered not one nor two but three new provinces.

They were talking about one of the, if not the most stubborn man in all of Garlemald.

She was his wife. She was her friend.

Prima sighed deeply. With one hand, she carefully disentangled the pins from her own hair.

“Well then. The way you support your husband is admirable. Now let me support you, my dear.”

And Cerelia could have sworn that she spotted the hint of a smile on Primas strict face.

Un Amico & Ennio Morricone

Hadrian shifted his legs. Again. He just couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how hard he tried. If he had one leg above the other, his bad knee would start hurting. But when he changed it up to have the hurting one on top, it felt almost worse.

How pathetic had he become to flinch at having his knee in an inconvenient position. This pain would not even have been an afterthought just a few years ago. And now he wasn’t able to sit comfortably any longer. How utterly ridiculous.

The familiar voice of his drinking companion pulled him back to the surface. “Are you quite alright Sir?”

“Yes, yes. I am quite alright.” Perhaps he had answered a tad bit too quickly.

The other gave him that knowing look through his glasses.

“Oh don’t patronise me.” The man with the eternal frown reached for his drink. “We are here to celebrate your retirement, old friend. I am no longer your commanding officer and,” he forced a smirk onto the surface, “I am no longer your charge.”

“And I did not miss your stubbornness for even a day. Van Baelsar had his flaws, but when I told him and his officers to stay in bed, they obliged. Not a word of protest given.” The new one in the round gracefully nudged his glass against the one in his former commanders’ hand and emptied it in one go.

“Oh are the two of you about to spill some whisky on our least favourite still active legatus? Please, dear Quintus – share all of your wisdom with us.”

Clicking heels announced the return of their dearest ladies to the table.

Prima, the one who had spoken, gracefully grabbed her drink and hurled herself onto a chair opposite of Hadrian.

“Come, join us and tell us all the latest gossip about … the Black Wolf.” The last words echoed across the table with mostly pathos, but also a hint of sarcasm.

“Aye, sit with us Quintus,” Hadrian gestured invitingly towards the table, “it has been too long since you gave us the news in person. And … oh my!”

Cerelia followed Prima to fall down on the sitting arrangement between the lady and said husband. The later one’s eyes looked her up and down, gracing her freshly done up-do.

“Does it please you, love?” The fox curled one of the few strands left loose around her fingers. “Our dear Prima here is quite amazing when it comes to hair.”

“You look ravishing,” he assured her.

While husband and wife shared a chaste kiss, Prima rolled her eyes.

“Now. Quintus, do tell. Will you give us the latest news from the Eorzean front?”

The former member of the second and fourteenth legion took a deep breath. He joined his comrades in retirement and began gently stirring the last few drops in his glass.

“I take it none of you have heard what happened in Eorzea just a few weeks prior, correct?

“Well,” the man in wine red turned from his wife to his former physician, “rumour has it that a well connected group of scholars from Sharlyan have been working tirelessly to reinstate the Eorzean Alliance. But according to the most recent Acta Diurna … their efforts have been futile.”

Quintus snorted.

“Futile indeed. You remember five years ago? When the heavens would be covered with dark clouds for weeks?”

The three retirees glanced at each other.

“Did they drop another moon...?” Cerelias question was timid, but she knew well that Prima and Hadrian thought exactly the same:

What if they dropped another moon somewhere on Aldenard? Last time it happened, the higher ups had decided to sweep the incident under the rug. They had not let the general public known. Questions about why the heavens had been continuously clouded with black thundering smoke had been dismissed and anyone who did utter the question needed to be prepared for repercussions. Two of the empires most renowned astronomers were still in prison for … well. At least officially not for asking where one of the planets two moons had gone.

Of course, the trio was more than pleased by van Darnus’ failure and less surprised by the empires strong reaction. But that the usurping bastard had come as far as being able to do what he had done on the other hand … that was more than simply concerning.

So what could have happened, that the empire saw fit to cover up again?

Quintus grabbed the half empty whiskey bottle, refilled his glass and took a deep sip in preparation.

“No, no they did not drop another moon. But …” he lowered his voice, leaning in towards the others and they followed suit. “Said Eorzean Alliance made their move and to keep a long story short … they ousted us. I was waiting in Ala Mhigo for my transport back to the homeland, but I have never seen such massive troop movements. Well,” he nodded towards his former leader, “at least not since our days. Van Baelsar has fallen and nobody knows about the location of his highest officers-“

“Great,” Prima mumbled, “and so my families only hope for a decent name in this forsaken countries history is gone.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Not that you ever truly cared. Well. Not since the other one vanished.”

The sole living member of the Junius family nodded, burying her face in her sherry.

“About that,” Quintus started but was abruptly interrupted by Prima coughing out her drink.

“You found my missing niece,” she wheezed.

“If that’s how you would like to call a defector? Then yes.”

The table fell silent.

Primas niece Lucia had vanished while on active duty quite a while ago. Nobody could tell what had happened. It had been weird: She had been just … gone. And now they were being told that she was not just alive – she had actually changed sides?

But while Prima drank whatever was left of her spirit in one go and Cerelia at least tried to comfort her – loosing two nieces at once was after all quite the shock - the gears in Hadrian’s head had been turning further already.

“You say Gaius has fallen. What do you mean by that?”

“I knew you would ask. The thing is … Castrum Meridianum, the place where he resided and governed from, well. It burned to the ground. There is nothing left of it. From what I’ve heard, they found the remnants of a few of the high ranking officers. Dear Livia among them.”

“But?” Hadrian raised his eyebrows, deepening his already magnificent forehead wrinkles even further.

Quintus chuckled.

“But no trace of the man himself. Or of his engineer. How was he called again ….”

“Garlond? Did the Wolf not raise Midas’ son?” Prima had recovered from her fallout. She was a Garlean lady. She would not let this get to herself. At least… not until she was at home.

But the former medicus shook his head at her question.

“No, some other lad from the academy. I think the name was Scaeva. Nero tol Scaeva, if I remember correctly.”

“You were their doctor. You should remember.”

Said doctor snorted.

“Do you think I remember any of your names? Harold cen Tibet, right? That is your name?”

What would have been quite the offense to his pride a just few years prior, now only made the retired legatus grin.

“So why did Baelsar need another gifted engineer? Judging from your tale none of whatever the man invented was helpful in finally getting a firm grasp on the savages.” Hadrian’s eyes bore into his old colleagues. The implication was rather clear: What are you not telling me, Quintus.

The new veteran gazed deeply into his drink, seemingly pondering about how to phrase his next words.

All eyes on the table were on him, when he finally decided to answer.

“… I cannot say how much I am allowed to speak about this.” An explanation to cushion the blow if needed. “But from what I understood … they seemed as if they were trying to revive a weapon.”

“A weapon?”

“… a weapon of allagan make.”

A loud sound straddled them.

Prima was on her feet, hands firmly grasping the edge of the table. Her expression angry, cheeks burning red. When she raised her voice though it was naught but an angry whisper.

“And this is exactly why we need experienced men in the field! Men with principles! In our days of active duty playing around with anything of allagan make would have been out of the question simply by it being of allagan make! We did not play with things we did not understand and instead did all we could to face and subdue our savage opponents and their thrice damned magicks! If Hadrian had been in charge-“

“Prima. Please sit down.”

That was all it took. Her name and three words from her superior and the woman with the eyes of an eagle and a tongue as sharp as any Garlean blade stopped her attack on the establishment.

Hadrian closed his eyes.

“I commend you, my dearest. And I truly understand. I am with you. But if our leadership deemed these kind of measures necessary, then we must respect their choice. And-“

“Darling,” Cerelia placed a hand on her husbands arm, “would you mind and listen for a moment?”

As the table fell silent, a static noise from below reached their ears.

The fox stood up gracefully. She made her way towards the stairs, the eyes of her companions following.

“Barkeeper… Harvey...? Right. Mr. Harvey,” Cerelia leaned down a bit to ensure her words would be heard on the lower floor, “would you mind raising the volume of the empfaenger? Please.”

A small crowd had already gathered before it. “Harvey” had to push people aside to get through. The sound of the static almost popped the ears of everyone in attendance before the broadcast came through loud and clear.

“… we implore all civilians to remain calm. Please return to your homes. Please stay indoors.”

Hectic movement broke out all across the bar. Chairs scrapped across the floor as the visitors scrambled to get closer too the source of the message.

Uneven steps announced Hadrian by his wife’s side. He put an arm around her shoulder. Partially to reassure her, partially to take the weight off of his bad leg.

The broadcast continued for a few minutes with safety instructions and where to get help from if necessary, only to then return to the beginning once more.

“Attention! Attention! Loyal citizens of Garlemald,” it crackled, “this is a public announcement. This afternoon at three hours and fifteen minutes our dear emperor, his imperial highness Solus zos Galvus took his last breath at the imperial residence in the presence of the royal family. We ask you to remain calm. His majesty, the royal prince-“

But nobody listened any longer. All eyes turned away from the crystal transmitter. They followed the stairs and caught onto shining boots, black pants and a wine red shirt.

Cerelia studied her beloveds face. He seemed too have grown older by another decade in just this one instant. While he had closed his eyes in contemplation, she let hers roam across the other visitors.

She saw men and women. Most of them wore scars and did so proudly. Most of them were of Garlean origin. At least, their third eyes indicated as much. Some were not. But they did not look any less ferocious and of course, wore their battle decorations wherever they went the same as the purebloods.

And all of them looked up to where they stood. Of course, they did not care for her. Much rather-

“Hadrian. What shall we do? The choice is yours. ‘t has always been.”

Primas voice from behind drew Cerelias stare. The woman was calm. Collected. Quite the opposite of what she had been before.

She was awaiting orders. As she had done so many times on the battlefield. Relying on her friend. Her leader. Her legatus.

Their new companion too stood rigid. He had only left the military a few weeks ago after all. He was used to this, even more so than the others.

The grip on her shoulder grew stronger. Cerelia turned her gaze back to her husband and met him eye to eye.

“We are with you.”

It was naught but the tiniest whisper. The voice she usually used to sooth him. To calm him when he’d wake at night from reliving another fight for the lifes of his men. And for his own.

The civilian with the greying hair closed his eyes. But when he opened them again, it was Hadrian van Titus who addressed his loyal soldiers.

“You heard the broadcast. Please calmly return to your homes. Our great emperor has died. This is a time to mourn.” And his last words were almost silent, meant for the ears of his love only. “This is not the time to fight. Cerelia… my coat?”

And while the lesser officers filed out one after one, Cerelia got his coat.

Prima sighed. Quintus nodded in agreement.

This was a not their time to fight.

Yet.

Chapter Text

Cat People (putting out fire)

Garlemald as they knew it was history. They just didn’t know it yet. But as such things tend to do, this doom of yet another empire in the history of the star came slowly.

The news of the Black Wolfs failure spread like wildfire. Even though the empires high command limited communications between the provinces and the mainland, information seemed to slip through the cracks left and right. Some daring souls would even say that losing their footing in Eorzea was of greater consequence than their beloved emperor’s death. But even the most daring of souls did not utter these words too loud.

They did have other problems to take care of after all. Eorzea could wait for just a while longer. It would have to. Because how would an empire conquer an enemy nation of any size if it was without a leader? How would said nation ensure previously conquered province would stay in line?

Nobody knew how the „war of succession“ would end and the matter seemed to split Garlemald in half: There was one rather big group which was trying their hardest to make their claim to the throne known, while the other half enjoyed the chaos with a cold drink in hand.

The former leadership of the second imperial legion belonged to the later group. Much to Primas dismay. If she had a say in it, they would have called all their old allies to arms, marched into the royal palace, ensured the power to rule for themselves, leading the empire into the direction it should have gone long ago.

As stated, this was Primas furthermost wish.

Quintus and Cerelia might have joined her.

If the former military doctor would have seen how her plan could spare lives and lead to less trouble for his still working peers, it would have been his preferred option. But he knew better then to try and fight for a power he did not even want.

As someone who hadn’t been born in Garlemald, Cerelia was even less inclined to put her life on the line for some fancy throne and power. She did not care about who wore the crown and ruled Garlemald. But she would have followed her friends into battle. On the condition, that Hadrian lead them.

And even to the surprise of a few former allies and friends: Hadrian (formly) van Titus had no interest in succeeding Solus zos Galvus. It was he who tempered his friends expectations. He who helped Prima calm her mind. He who persistently asked everyone to refrain from violence and who made them swear to accept whoever would end up on the throne when everything was said and done.

Though, he was not opposed to the betting pool they started. Was this a good idea? Probably not.

But who could blame them. There was so little entertainment to be had after all. Between all the drinking, dancing, celebrating, enjoying art and especially all the „not dying because we are no longer at the frontlines“.

Since the late emperor had neglected choosing a proper successor it was the winner takes all: Would you choose to back one of the state officers? One of those who had been priming their greedy hands for exactly this day? Or was it one of the more exotic candidates? One of the dethroned but still living kings who decided that being royalty gave them a chance? Or would you bet on one of the safer options like the late emperors last living son or perhaps even the grandson?

Cerelia’s money was on the Quaestor. The man had bought himself into the pockets of many a garlean noble man and had strong ties to the underworld. „He basically rules already, simply by controlling the black market,“ she reasoned, „if he said the word we would no longer get any of the goods we import from Eorzea and beyond. And if he wanted it to happen, he would probably simply close the official trading routes too and starve us out!“

„Possible. But highly unlikely,“ Quintus would reply. He had been much more conservative with his money and choice than Cerelia. „One sestertius on the crown prince. Titus is first in line and shall bring peace to our lands.“ Peace. Something one who had seen what Quintus had, would naturally crave for.

Hadrian and Prima on the other hand were of one mind when it came to this matter. This was Garlemald. A country built upon war and military prowess. They knew that only the person with backing from a big portion of their armed forces would stand a chance of truly ruling in peace. The both of them placed their bets with the emperors grandson, Varis. He was one of the most prominent figures in their recent history as the current leader of their armies and had at least the backing from one more legatus in Regula van Hydrus. And of course: With his son as viceroy of Doma and legatus of the XIIth, Varis had (including his own) three seasoned legions at his beck-and-call. Quite the impressive force.

Of course, the rest of the military’s reaction was a complete wild card. Nobody could truly fathom how the replacement for van Darnus would act. Valens van Varro was not well known in the capital. The same could be said of Noah van Gabranth, the legatus of the IVth. Most of the other legati usually kept their distance from politics – unless they saw the need to act. A highly subjective decision, really.

It took weeks for the political battle to yield a winner. Exactly how it happened? Nobody not involved could tell. For them it was simply weeks of continued nervousness. The military kept out of is as much as they could. The legions were in charge of keeping the peace in the provinces after all and the lack of a central leadership did not make their job any easier.

Especially the soldiers stationed in Doma got hit by the fallout: With the emperor dead and no replacement in sight, rebels rallied their people to rise up against their „oppressors“. Their saviours, really. If you were to ask any Garlean. Their little uprising though quickly fell to the swift and harsh intervention by none other than Zenos wir Galvus. Said son of one of the strongest contenders for the throne lead his forces into battle and crushed the freshly sprouting will to resist in its infancy.

Even though this gave Varis an edge over his rivals, it wasn’t quite enough to oust the only other probably candidate, Titus. But it took exactly one direct confrontation between the two, to cement the winner of the battle for the throne: Nobody knew the details of the night it happened, but it took Varis exactly one well timed intervention alongside his strongest allies to crush his uncles dreams of ever becoming emperor.

It was an early Firesday morning when the empfaengers all across the empire began to broadcast a message from the yet uncrowned emperor to be. Varis assured his people of his good intentions and wish for stability for the future of the land. He even went so far as to offer his hand to his former rivals for the throne – if they were to accept his position.

Hadrian and Prima were rather satisfied with their choice of horse to back while Quintus and Cerelia begrudgingly paid up their dues. All in all they were rather glad about the outcome. Varis had been a great high legatus with quite the number of battles won to his name. He even named his son heir, a move especially appreciated by Hadrian. He did not know what kind of person Zenos yae Galvus was, but having him as heir was much better than having none at all. The empire might not survive another battle royale for the throne, he reckoned. Therefore having a straight line of succession was preferable.

With the matter of succession sorted the group assumed that everything would go back to how it always had been – at least for them: Going about their days and meeting up in the bar whenever they felt like it, gossiping about the empires newest moves and military accomplishments. Bashing whatever new tech their engineers had come up with. Snorting at the newly drafted development plans for the capital. Teasing the new apprentice barkeep about how he mixed their drinks.

But not exactly.

Fresh news from the outskirts of the empire would reach their ears. Slowly, but surely.

Surprisingly, their new emperor named his son not only heir, but also send him to take over the vacancies in Ala Mhigo left by Gaius van Baelsar – on top of his duties in Doma. A move which raised a few eyebrows across the establishment. Wouldn’t the emperor want to keep his son close to ensure his safety? Weren’t there enough loyal and capable men or women who could take over these duties? But once again: Nobody dared to speak these thoughts out loud.

The quartet though couldn’t care less. The gossip was rather welcome and they relished all the news. Especially with the slow decline of other suitable distractions: Their new emperor did not cherish the arts as his grandfather had. First he cut the culture funds in favour of military ones, then a new law restricted their contents – anything deemed even partially inflammatory or vulgar would be banned, the people responsible jailed or worse. This even concerned the late emperor’s favourite past-time of course: plays.

Soon the censors worked their way through every book, painting and piece of music. Artists began to leave the city left and right. The former so-called capital of the arts grew silent. Nobody who had enjoyed the time under Solus zos Galvus could be satisfied by the now meagre offering of cultural delights.

A tragedy, as Prima called it.

The natural development of things, Quintus reminded her.

They did not dare risk another Doma. And so the quartets attention turned to other things.

One night, Quintus and Hardrian spent hours discussing the slow remerging of the Eorzean alliance, a group born out of necessity; the last line of defence these savages had against Garlemald. A laughable thing, to be quite honest – at least compared to the might of the empire. Especially after their strongest members got lost years ago: Ala Mhigo had been conquered by their forces and Ishgard, the eternally conflicted theocracy, had withdrawn many years ago.

Van Baelsar should have had an easy time facing the remaining members, who had resorted to bickering amongst themselves. But after the botched invasion via Silvertear Lake and Nael van Darnus‘ stupid ideas, all plans had been halted.

Perhaps their leadership was now more willing to put in the work to bring the remainder of Aldenard into the fold. It was high time for it – at least in the minds of those no longer fighting on the battlefield.

But quickly rumours spread about the three city states of Gridania, Uld’ah and Limsa Lominsa cooperating more and more closely in recent times. Their biggest accomplishment being the ousting of said van Baelsar and his legion.

Well.

Laughing about another’s demise and suffering at the hands of savages was a rather easy task to accomplish when sitting in a warm, safe environment with enough drinks to knock out a small village. And the quartet was well aware. It wasn’t their time any longer. Their honest council was something nobody wanted to hear. So they did what they had to do and explained away what and why they would do things differently, always berating the people in question – who of course were never there to receive their wisdom.

The gossiping turned into theory crafting when rumours of Ishgards possible return reached their ears: How strong would a newly united alliance be? Would they be a match against their legions? Was Zenos (now) yae Galvus a good pick to defend such a vulnerable spot as Ala Mhigo at this very moment?

While the group kept on mulling over all of these questions whenever they met, Hadrian also kept a close eye on their new emperor. He refrained from commenting on any of his actions, new laws or military moves. But he was deeply intrigued, soaking up every piece of information about their new leader that he could get his hands on.

There were his policies, which the former legatus deemed good enough for now – a tax reform, more funding for the magitek academy and an infrastructure bill. Mayhap the cuts to the cultural funds were a minus point on the scale (the emperor did not have to put up with Cerelias wailing about the imprisonment of her favourite actress after all). And then there were the things Hadrian was less interested in. Like the emperors bad relationship with his direct family. (Prima had been in touch with a palace maid, who described the Galvus‘ family climate as „rather chilly“.)

Not exactly surprising or new for that matter was said rulers interest in Allagan technology. It seemed as if Varis was just as enamoured by the long forgotten relics of a time gone by as his grandfather had been. Rumour was that he even went out of his way to accompany an expedition to the peaks of Alabathias Spine, where some researchers pinpointed the current coordinates of the mythical floating isle of Azys Lah.

A fools errand in Hadrians mind. The key to the empires glorious future, the emperor presumed.

Probably.

But who was he to argue with the logic of a Galvus. The last time he had done so, it had cost him his position. This time it might cost him his life.

Quintus on the other hand was rather concerned with his countries dwindling number of capable scientist. After retiring from the military, he took up the offer of an old friend to teach medical science and the use of magitek in healing at the capitals military university. The position also granted him good access to top secret reports concerning the empire, especially those concerning the whereabouts and movements of former personnel abroad.

One day suprising rumours reached him about the resurfacing of the lost engineer Nero tol Scaeva (or just Nero Scaeva – Prima was better versed in these things, but Quintus wouldn’t ask her) and the son of the most brilliant mind ever to be born into Garlemald: Cid nan Garlond.

Both of them had reportedly been involved with a few projects across Aldenard, allegedly supporting the Eorzean alliance wherever they could. As deserters are wont to. The most problematic of all reports he was able to read was of the discovery and subsequent research about the Allagan artefact called „Omega“. A small team including said engineers had set out to recover the weapon for the Eorzean alliance. A fact that did not sit quite right with anyone of the four veterans in the capital. Omega had been buried beneath Cartenau, a region in central Aldenard – yes. A well known fact for all higher ranking officers of Garlemald. But after the savages had activated it (presumably with the help of those two most notorious deserters), it had crashed in Ala Mhigo. A garlean province. How could it be, that people allied with the enemy had access to such a valuable asset on garlean ground?

The answer came in the form of whispers into Primas ear.

Well connected as she still was with the palace staff and higher ups in the military, she was the one who would bring the most disturbing rumours to the table. But only after Quintus had revealed his confusion about Omega: She had heard from a semi reliable source that the eorzean alliance had finally reconnected with Ishgard and together they had overcome the border to Ala Mhigo and even ousted the garlean troops protecting the province, returning the former into the alliance itself, killing the crown prince of Garlemald in the process.

All of this was rather bad news for the country. If they were true. But hadn’t the prince returned to the capital just a few weeks prior? It didn’t make sense.

Hadrian thought about it a lot.

None of the others did. They celebrated how the empires „new“ strategy had backfired completely. Expanding beyond what they called the garlean homeland had always been foolish. How could you hold on to provinces with no native born Garleans in them? You could not.

Ala Mhigo fell. Doma had fallen too.

Their crown prince was in the same state as Gristers coeurl. And the regions of Werlyth and Bozja were in uproar.

What a time to be alive.

And not in command.

Somewhere in the capital, four friends shared some sparkling wine.

Mercenario Ripresa

Friendships are a funny thing. You may know someone for years and not speak to them in just as long. And when you meet again, you pick right up where you left off. Then there are those, where you are best pals for a week, but the moment you lose sight of each other, you loose each other for good.

Friendships. Funny.

Especially between those, who did not choose to become friends because they wished to, but rather had to. A friendship that started out as a necessity and ended up lasting a lifetime. Or at least until this very day.

Prima had known Quintus since joining the military at the tender age of fifteen. He had been a year younger. He had been her first opponent. A punching ball for her to shove around left and right. He had been a weak teenager. But there were also those stronger than her and when she sat in a corner of the encampment, trying to bandage up a graze wound, he’d return the favour and both would learn by doing: She learned how to hit just the right spot to knock one out, he learned how to thoroughly bandage up his comrades.

A win win situation, if you asked them. To this very day.

Later in life they had taken it upon themselves to teach Cerelia. The bloodied and beaten then 15 year old may have grown up in a castle, but she was as feral as a dog. Quintus taught her kindness, compassion and empathy for her peers; while Prima imbued her with knowledge about writing and reading and all a garlean lady needed to know to successfully catch herself a good husband. Well. Funnily enough, the last part had been for naught. To a degree at least.

Cerelia did not need said knowledge to catch herself a dashing husband. It took a few years, yes, but in her time serving as Hadrians loyal bodyguard she grew to care for him more than just as friends. And vice versa. Their affair was an open secret to those who wished to know. It was a scandal on the battlefield. A disgrace for his garlean wife. A surprise for his family. They wed one day after his divorce was finalised. Only a week after his dismissal from command. And they had been one heart and one soul since.

Everyone at least pretended to be surprised by the wedding. Prima and Quintus did not. They deemed it the result of their marvellous work and cheered them on. It could have been perfect. Hadrian and Cerelia would enjoy civilian life, while the other two would stay in the military. Had it not been for the accident which left Prima with the care of her nieces.

Both of them were early this evening. As they had been for a while now.

As Hadrians leg grew worse, so did their shared times: Where he would have joined them for a game of dart or pool in the past, he would now sit in a corner watching them. His knee couldn‘t support him on it‘s own any longer, but the „strong and independent Garlean“ he was, he refused to wear his bracers in their presence.

They might think less of him. They did not. But they were annoyed by his temper.

To not spark a fight between them, the two unmarried and healthy Garleans had decided to grace the bar with their presence earlier than usual and get all of their playtime in before the other two would arrive.

Cerelia knew. Hadrian appeared not to. Either way, he would not have cared.

The cue hit the black eight. It went straight into the hole in the far right corner.

A smile grew upon cherry coloured lips.

„I guess that means I win,“ Prima offered, casually adjusting the fur stole around her shoulders. „Now. Are you going to say it out loud or will I have to do it for you?“

The former doctor leaned on his cue. His eyes closed, he contemplated his options. But there was just one possible end to this. „Dearest,“ his voice was velvet, matching the piano in the background, „you may have won this game, but will you win the next? Even Madame Eagle Eye must admit, that two out of five-„

The indignant sound of a tongue clicking.

„Two out of five? Hadn‘t we agreed on two out of three? Since we are pressed for time?“

Quintus could almost hear how Prima raised her eyebrows.

„I am disappointed in you, good Sir. I thought you would be better. But here we are, with you acting the sore looser you have always been,“ Prima grinned and sipped on her drink.

It had always been like this. Their delightful ups and downs. The playful banter.

Quintus acknowledged her with a nod, readying the table for another round.

„Does this mean my lady is not confident, that she may win the remaining games?“ A challenge. Would she take it up?

She probably would have, but the rustling of the elevator drew their attention and sure enough the two missing companions entered. Hadrian gently helped his high-heeled wife across the threshold. She smiled at him.

„Look at them. Behaving like they just started dating yesterday.“ Prima reached for her drink, but couldn’t quite get to it. Quintus obliged. Their glasses rang as they toasted.

„To a marriage quite unlike any other.“

„Indeed.“

Rabbia e Tarantella

Having the full quartet back at the table meant they all were in dire need of fresh drinks. Prima hooked her arm beneath Cerelia‘s and together they approached the bar – because „the new waiter is taking too darn long tonight“.

Quintus leaned back on the green bench behind their table. „So how is your knee,“ he took a sip, „and don‘t start with excuses. I‘ve seen your medical records.“

„It is good to know that you still possess those balls of steel everybody praises you for. I hope you gave Gaius just as much shit as you are still giving me.“

The retired legatus of the second legion rubbed his eyes, drawing his former chief medical officers perceptive gaze. Even though he was standing tall without shaking for once, the man looked tired. His former black hair had grown lighter with gray streaks by the day, giving him silvery sideburns. Since last they met he had also seemingly acquired more and deeper wrinkles across his face. Lines of worry, Quintus presumed. There was something on Hadrians mind that seemed to bother him. But alas – he would never speak about it.

„I asked you a question. But yes, of course I refrained from censoring myself in front of Gaius van Baelsar. Or any other superior. Including you. Now,“ with a quick movement of his foot, Quintus pushed the chair opposite of him out for the other to sit on, „standing can‘t be that comfortable for you. If you only wore your bracers.“

„Quintus,“ the flash of a pair of rather annoyed eyes. So he could still look like the commander he had been for so many years, „no need to reprimand me.“ But Hadrian did sit down. As gracefully as he could with a slightly wobbly knee. „I thank you for your concern though.“

The former medic nodded.

„Tell me about your knee.“

„Well,“ and Hadrian turned his head to see where the women had gone to. To his relief, they were still flirting with the bartender. „It could be better. And before you ask: I do wear the damned bracer whenever I‘m at home. Do you truly think Cerelia would let me walk around without it if she can help it?“

„I figured. She is just as stubborn as you are. Though I‘d guess her influence outside of your home is rather … lessened.“

„What makes you think that.“

„You‘d be wearing that ‚damned bracer‘ if you‘d listen to her as much as you claim.“

A rare chuckle.

„I love the ‚damned woman‘, as you are well aware. But I can still make my own choices. And I chose not to wear these horrendous looking things outside of our home.“

Quintus sighed and emptied his glass.

„I wish you could stop being stubborn for one second and just wear it.“

„Are you done with your lecture,“ Hadrian leaned back. With his right hand he searched the inner pockets of his suit jacket.

„I haven‘t even started. But you‘d never listen anyways,“ the former doctor rolled his eyes, emptying his glass.

For a moment both men enjoyed the relative quiet of the bar. Hadrian finally found what he had searched for and pulled out a brown leather case. He flicked it open and offered the contents to his old colleague, who accepted wordlessly.

„And you are not going to lecture me about these?“

„Is there any hope that we will ever stop?“

„No.“

„So why waste my breath.“ Quintus turned the cigar a few times. „Got fire?“

An amused grin flashed across the weathered mans face. „No… my wife carries these things for me these days.“

„Hm no pockets?“

„No pockets.“

„So your wife doesn‘t only decide what you smoke, but also when?“

„Shut up.“

When the women returned they found both men locked in some kind of staring contest, twirling cigars in their hands. Exchanging curious glances among themselves, the two ladies diverted the spoils of their campaign to the bar amongst them: A glass of smoky whisky for Hadrian, top shelf vodka for Quintus while the refined garlean women shared a bottle of dry white wine – an import from the far shores of Vylbrandt. They had also managed to get their hands on a big bowl of dried fruits and nuts to snack as also a bottle of sparkling water and glasses for everyone. There was no need to tempt fate and gamble with the potential of having a hangover. The next day was a work-day after all.

This specific evenings topics of discussion ranged from local economic news (a new boutique with exotic garments from Thavnair had opened on the main road, selling what they claimed to be the most current and state of the art fashion from the wild lands of Eorzea) to a loud argument about the attending people‘s ability in playing pool (or much rather the lack of it) until they finally settled on the war efforts and the potential troup movements to come.

Cerelia scowled as her husband pulled out another cigar, his third this evening. But she readied the lighter nonetheless, slowly toasting the end from the outside in.

„I must say though that our enemies efforts are commendable,“ she gently blew on the evenly glowing embers, before returning the smoke back to Hadrian‘s hands, „I cannot remember any time or situation when any opposing force was able to stall us so. We usually bulldoze them quite efficiently.“

A snort from the other side of the table.

„Well. Either the Eorzean alliance is good at what they are doing,“ Prima swayed her wine, „or our current leadership is just not up to the task.“ She downed the contents of her glass before refilling it to the brim with water.

Hadrian enjoyed a deep drag from his cigar. „Perhaps. But I firmly believe that the presence of ishgardian and ala mhigan forces quite bolsters the alliances ego. If Quintus‘ information is correct, they have not just grown in military power, but also leadership. What did you say,“ the former Legatus turned towards his former chief medical officer, „the young lord commander of Ishgard is brilliant and has been personally overseeing the skirmishes? And if I recall correctly, the young lord of Doma and the new leader of the Ala Mhigan rebels have been throwing in their ‚wisdom‘, too. These people may be young,“ Hadrians lips curled into a rare, perhaps even slightly proud smile, „but they are quite capable.“

„Hi praise. That is… this coming from you.“ The praising one‘s wife grabbed her own empty glass to refill it, too – but with the last of the wine instead of water.

„He is just flattering himself,“ Quintus offered, „after all… weren‘t we young too when we accomplished our most well-known feats?“

„Are you accusing me of flattering myself?“

„Hadrian van Titus – I would never dare of accusing my superior of anything. Especially when I know I am right.“

Cerelia almost choked on her wine; Prima crossed her arms, eyes darting in between the two men, who had locked eyes again. A momentary, silent contest. Until-

„Well,“ Hadrian gave a wink, „you are not … entirely wrong.“

The table burst out into laughter.

The tables mood was good, the night got late. They would joke around, enjoy themselves.

Downstairs, the bar got more and more crowded. People of all ages and walks of life entered. A bearded man some would say would perfectly fit into one of the dive bars found in a few skyscrapers basements. A gruesome looking fellow with a badly scarred face waved him, two filled glasses already in front of him on top of the counter. Both men wore their third eyes proudly, even if one of them had had his singed a bit.

Even though she had come to the capital as an outsider, Cerelia walked between these men and women proudly. All of them had relied upon her in combat at some point in their career. Be it as a direct messenger between them and their Legatus, unexpected reinforcement in a dire situation or sometimes even spokeswoman for those who dared not speak for themselves. Respected, yes. But not quite accepted. Even after all these years.

The barkeep had seen her coming down the stairs. The moment she placed the tray with the empty glasses on the counter, he already presented her with a fresh cocktail.

“My lady, I must ask for your patience. If you don’t mind, I must finish the current order.”

“Take your time. My comrades have yet to finish their drinks.” She nibbled on her own refill. Dry gin, sweet vermouth and amaro perfectly mixed, just to her liking. “And once again, your skills are impeccable – and well worth the wait.”

He gave her a smile and a nod, before returning his attention to the batch of drinks-to-be he had been working on.

Cerelia in the meantime turned her gaze towards the windows. The view across the city and bay was as beautiful as ever: Dark clear skies and even some stars twinkling high above. Yesterdays snow still covered wide parts of the inner city. The warmth escaping the houses would probably melt what was left of it by morning. The streets were still busy with people leaving their workplaces and people on their way to social events. Only when her eyes slowly wandered towards the bay and the imperial palace did she spot the odd thing out.

Her drink was left abandoned on the counter top as she rushed through the bar. For the first in time in a while she wished she had shirked the high-heels.

Taking two steps with each stride she reached the top of the stairs. Her arrival seemed to interrupt a fresh fight between Quintus and Prima.

“High time you arrived,” the lady Junius commented, “I was about to send this buffoon after you to see what takes you so long!”

“Cerelia. I would like to assure you that I did not-“

The scolded one though did not let her comrade finish his apology.

“The imperial palace is on fire.”

Prima and Quintus were the first ones down the stairs and to the window. Hadrian though fixed his wife in place with one inquisitive glare.

“I am not joking. It’s ablaze.”

“I know. Has the fire reached the bridges yet?”

“Not as far as I could see.”

Cerelia licked her lips and probably cleared them of the last of her lipstick. Not that it mattered. Her eyes were locked with her husbands. He suddenly seemed far older than he was.

“Then we might still be able to contain it.” Hadrian rose to his feet, staggering for just a moment. Soft hands quickly caught him, stabilizing his form.

“Thank you my dear. Do you still have the contact data van Cinna gave you?”

“I think so. We should be able to contact the old guard.”

“Good.” The former legatus’ features softened by a margin. With one hand he held onto the table, while his other reassuringly grazed Cerelia’s cheek. They exchanged a quick kiss before she helped him towards the stairs.

“And … if you don’t mind,” his forehead wrinkled even more, “could you please bring my knee brace? I do believe I might be in need of it … it does go with the armour, doesn’t it?”

She couldn’t contain a smile.

“Of course.”