Germanicus rode his horse through the dimly lit streets.
The sun hovered low, its orange glow briefly blinding him—forcing him to squint.
At last, he had left the raucous laughter and the cloying sweetness of passum that still clung to his skin.
But even now, as he quietly made his way home, the Emperor's noisy celebratory banquet still echoed in his ears.
He drew a long breath, letting the cold spring breeze fill his lungs—trying to wash it all away.
His eyes, now adjusted, wandered toward the horizon.
He couldn't help but notice how the world felt so… peaceful.
'Somehow.'
Gone was the rowdy crowd.
The cheers and the shouts.
All that remained were a few drunkards—staggering or passed out along the sidewalk.
As he continued on his journey, watching the streets slip by, something swelled in his chest.
'This… this is the kind of peace I fight for,' he thought, full of emotion.
And yet, despite his horse's steady trot, the tension in his mind and body refused to loosen.
"I'm tired…" he whispered to himself.
As soon as he said it, his limbs suddenly felt heavier.
His heart—restless.
"... very tired."
Worn-out.
Of blood.
Of endless battles.
Of politics.
Tonight's feast was meant to celebrate Rome's triumph over Germania—
A glorious affair of pride and honor.
But Germanicus felt neither.
The campaign had already taken its toll.
It drained him.
Physically.
Mentally.
Spiritually.
Sighing, his thoughts drifted again…
To Caligula.
The guilt gnawed at him.
Germanicus' grip tightened on the reins.
He nudged his horse, urging it into a faster run.
'I should have gone with him.'
Regret welled in his chest as the sharp wind lashed against his face.
But duty had called him elsewhere.
'Because of duty,' he mocked himself, jaw clenching.
'A duty I can't refuse,' he scoffed inwardly.
Then he held his breath—
As if holding it might somehow suffocate the guilt.
'He's young. He will grow out of it.'
But even as he thought it, he himself didn't believe it.
'I'll do anything to restore what he lost.'
A vow.
One spoken in silence, but firm in weight.
'I will retire, leave Palatine…'
The idea took root.
'A quiet farm with a river would be nice.'
He imagined his children and Agrippina playing in the water.
Laughing.
Happy.
Healthy.
And for a moment—
He grinned faintly.
His imagination was now running wild.
Then—
He yanked the reins.
The horse reared slightly, snorting.
Germanicus peered ahead.
There it was.
His domus.
Alone.
Just beyond the street.
Its familiar silhouette pierced through the fading light—
Snapping him out of his fantasies.
"Whoa whoa…"
He pulled again, slowing the horse.
NEIGH—NEIGH—SNORT
"Easy, boy… easy…" he murmured, patting its neck—
Eyes locked on the breathtaking sight before him.
Flickering torch light lit the edge of the patio.
Servants bustled about—wrapping up their tasks before the sun finally hid from the world.
For a moment, his breath caught.
He drank in the view.
"Home."
That was all it took.
The word spurred him.
He urged his horse forward—
Faster than when he'd chased after the Emperor earlier.
Only one thought burned in his mind as he passed through the gate.
As soon as he reached the center of the hortus, he swung down in one motion—
Barely stopping.
The horse kept running, startled—
Its reins were snatched by a panicked young servant.
But Germanicus didn't look back.
His strides were wide.
Urgent.
Almost flying—
As if something unseen was chasing him.
His sandal-clad feet finally stepped onto the marble floor from the doorway.
Then he faltered.
He gasped.
His heart pounded so loudly he could almost hear it.
THU-THUMP—THUMP—THUMP—THU-THUMP
Agrippina stood before him.
Waiting.
For him.
She was bathed in the last warm glow of the setting sun.
The flowing folds of her white stola draped around her figure, baring her slender shoulders and arms.
The fabric shimmered with orange-golden light.
She was like a mirage.
An illusion—of an agitated mind.
'A goddess.'
And then—
The goddess beamed.
Her hazel eyes shimmered.
Germanicus forgot everything—
His daydreams.
His worries as a father.
Tiberius' mood swings.
The war.
The fallen waiting to be honored.
"—!?"
Words failed him.
Agrippina's beautiful face was expectant, yet shy.
'She still looked the same…'
The girl he knew from childhood—then turned into an alluring woman.
The woman who bore his children.
'And I still feel the same…'
Germanicus fell in love all over again.
Deeper.
Stronger.
He whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.
He felt parched.
Starved.
Then—
A slow smirk curved on his lips.
His eyes brimmed with yearning.
'Home.'
The realization that he was standing here face to face with the woman he wanted to spend his whole life with—hit him hard.
She was his sanctuary.
His final stop.
"Wife…" he said, voice hoarse.
Rough.
"Welcome back," Agrippina murmured, her voice laced with quiet relief.
Without another word, Germanicus rushed forward.
He swept her into his arms, lifting and spinning her once—earning a soft, nervous giggle from her lips.
Then, in one fluid motion, he shifted her—
He wrapped her legs around his waist.
He looked up at her face, her hair spilling down like silk, brushing his cheeks.
It tickled.
His hold on her was solid but full of awe.
He buried his face in her bosom, inhaling her scent.
Soft.
Floral.
Achingly familiar.
The tension in his shoulders slackened—just enough.
If only for a moment.
"My lovely wife…" he exhaled.
"I'm finally where I belong…"
His world.
Agrippina chuckled softly.
"I miss you… so much," he murmured.
She shivered as his warm breath seeped through her clothes.
Her hands tightened around his neck.
"I miss you too…" she breathed.
Still holding her, he stepped toward the wide, low window.
He sat down on the marble sill, and let silence wrap around them.
His grip on Agrippina stayed secured—now in his lap.
Neither of them was ready to let go.
Germanicus' skin was getting hot beneath his tunic—his lorica hamata had been long discarded at the banquet.
The soldier had returned to his nest.
Now, he was just a simple man.
A husband.
A father.
"You smelled of wine," Agrippina teased him.
He just shrugged.
Then his gaze settled on her questioning eyes.
Instead of answering, he gently diverted the subject.
"How are the children?" he asked.
But focus slipped from him.
He found it increasingly difficult to focus.
Her presence—her touch—was intoxicating.
Pulling him under.
Enchanting him.
Agrippina, equally affected, hesitated for a beat—
Her previous remark was forgotten.
"They're fine," she answered softly.
Then a small, amused tilt formed on her lips.
"Though… Drusus broke his leg…"
Germanicus blinked.
She added, "... he jumped from a tree."
A soft laugh escaped her.
But then her smile faded.
Her eyes dimmed with worry.
"But little Caligula is…"
Concern clouded her gaze as it searched his.
"... why is he…"
Germanicus exhaled, adjusting his hold—balancing her in his lap.
One arm wrapped around her waist.
The other gently cradled her cheek.
"It's alright," he said.
But the words were more for himself than her.
A hollow reassurance.
A hopeful lie.
"He's alright…"
He couldn't undo what had been done.
But he could be here now.
He could protect them now.
By staying by their side.
By making things right.
By devoting his whole life.
His resolve took shape.
He would retire.
He would leave Palatine.
"He's going to be alright…" he swore.
They stared at each other.
The moment stretched—
Both searching for certainty.
For assurance.
But the two of them found love.
Then—
Unable to hold back anymore—
He leaned in.
Their lips met.
The kiss carried everything they couldn't say.
Agrippina melted into him.
She allowed herself the comfort of his embrace—
Let it banish the unrest that still persisted in her chest.
When they finally pulled apart—breathless, passion stirred—
Germanicus rested his forehead against hers.
For a while, neither of them moved.
Neither spoke.
Only the calm rhythm of ragged breathing filled the space connecting them.
"Tomorrow…" he said with difficulty.
As if the words were choking him.
He closed his eyes.
"... we'll attend the funeral," he murmured.
Agrippina blinked—confused at first—then realization dawned on her.
She nodded tenderly—feeling the burden he tried so hard to hide.
Germanicus opened his eyes, their gazes met again.
Then he moved—he traced his fingers along her cheek—
A grounding gesture, as though her presence kept him from drifting too far into darker thoughts.
Even as he touched her, part of him was already elsewhere—
With the fallen soldiers, whose bodies still lay in carts in Esquiline Hill.
The soldier in him returned.
Agrippina studied him.
Sadness flickered in her gaze.
But then—a small smile tugged at her lips.
Germanicus put her feet down the floor smoothly.
He also stood up.
Their eyes held each other.
He took her hand and guided her toward their cubiculum.
A faint chuckle of anticipation left her.
The sun had vanished behind the hills.
Darkness had fallen.
And for tonight—
And many more nights to come—
It seemed that he wasn't letting her go.
**
INDEX:
hortus—garden
stola—a long, draped outer garment worn by Roman women (similar to the toga worn by Roman men)
cubiculum(plural)/cubiculi(singular)—rooms/room